A hidden world that i wish was mine!

Snorkeling-Snorkelers!

Scuba Diving: The first time Rakesh mentioned this to me, it scared me. It freaked me out. I can't swim. I love the water. But i can't swim, leave alone hold my breath under the water and dive! But in my head, i hoped it won't be so scary.

Fast forward, rather rewind to that one lovely day in October. We were in Havelock, Andamans for our honeymoon. (Now you know why i said this post is long pending!). The beach, the sand, the surf-it was my idea of heaven! I think it was the second or the third day that we got up and headed out to Elephant Beach from Havelock Island.

After being asked to sign a agreement and being informed the basics about Scuba Diving-(maintaining pressure, the signs for SOS, going up etc), Rakesh and I had the very uncomfortable task of zipping into a scuba dive suit. Zipped up, we got into the jetty and waited for the ride to begin.

The boat ride was awesome and breath taking...and finally we reached Elephant Beach. The beach is lovely. The water is shallow and so clear. So clear that you can actually see the fish swimming between your feet. Yes, you can actually see your feet underwater! Believe me that is such a luxury in today's era of pollution!

As we waited for another couple to finish snorkeling and scuba diving (an hour's wait!) we began chatting up with Steve, a teacher from U.K who was on an year's sabbatical so that he could travel around the world (Isn't that cool?).... After that, Rakesh decided to be my swimming coach and to teach me how to float in water. (He claims it's much easier to float in saline water!) After almost drowning (yes, in knee deep water!) i managed to master how to float and it was such an awesome feeling.

And once i saw the schools of fish floating around in gay abandon, i had forgotten that i couldn't swim! I enjoyed snorkeling so much! Just seeing the varied fish in their environment is something that i can't even describe...Soon it was our turn to go scuba diving.

By this time, i was over my initial fear of drowning and was a little confident of doing this. The trainer, a very patient one at it (I think her name was Angie) helped me gain confidence first by taking Rakesh and me through some exercises. The toughest was holding my breath under water! It was so difficult. I felt so claustrophobic! But i decided to fight it out. Perhaps it was the curiosity of wanting to experience scuba diving or the longing to do something out of the world, but the fear became secondary at that point..

Soon we set out for scuba diving. I had this wonderful trainer with me holding my hand as we went under water. The scuba gear is very heavy but the minute you drop a few feet (We went down over 20 feet i think) it becomes light as feather. And believe me nothing, nothing can beat the beauty of the life under water. The first sight of the corals, the amazing variety of fish around the corals and the different plant life is something that nothing can beat. The schools of fish which look at you and pass by you nonchalantly or the big fish which look at you as intruders, scuba diving is one heck of an experience.

If you are the kinds who loves watching documentaries about ocean life or simply stare endlessly at aquariums, then scuba diving is definitely your thing. I still remember the awe i was in, as i was diving. The fear that i could drown, the fact that i could not swim or the fact that i was so many feet underwater had vanished. All that i registered from that experience was the beauty of it all. The beauty of this world that exists parallel to all the madness above it, the boring monotonous city life.

It's a world that you don't ever want to disturb once you experience it. It's a world that you wish you could be a part of but are scared at the same time. It's world that never ceases to surprise you, please you, amaze you and leave you in wonder. For instance, as we were moving from one coral area to another, we saw this school of blue fish (wish i knew the names of all the fish!).

They stopped and when i saw 'they' it was a school of over 50-odd fish and they all stopped for a brief moment and in unison and perfect coordination turned. It was such a smooth turn. Or the time when i accidentally touched what looked like a stone and it moved much to my shock. It was a crocodile fish!

Or the time when suddenly out of the clear still sand, a ray fish came out of no where to simply glide away-it almost feels like its flying inside the water. Then there was the time when i saw an oyster and i almost shrieked in joy (of course when you shriek underwater you can't really hear yourself!)

And Rakesh, the romantic that he is, didn't pass the opportunity to give me an underwater flying kiss which had me laughing (when you do that underwater-it sounds like gurgling!)... I was under water for 40 minutes till i could not handle the pressure any longer and decided to float up..and after that i didn't want to stay up. As i floated up and felt the sunshine beating down my face, i felt a deep sense of regret that i was leaving this world and that i might never see it first-hand again!

I loved Scuba diving and everything about it and i strongly feel it is something that everyone of us must and should experience. I know, i want to do it again!

All geared up to take the plunge!
Elephant Beach!
The lighthouse enroute Elephant beach
Best friends, lovers, life partners and honeymooners for life! :)

Who has been abandoned?

His signs haunt me. They are everywhere in the house. On the floor. On the switch board. On the kitchen floor. At the entrance of my room. He is everywhere. How does one wipe out four and half years of a relationship.

I committed a crime recently. A crime that is going to haunt me for years to come. A crime that I don't think i can ever redeem myself from. The crime of abandonment. I abandoned Spidy. My dog. Of course, I was not there when he was abandoned in an area unknown to him. And I wasn't there when he ran out of the car as soon as he was freed from his leash. And I am not there now.

All that I do now is wonder. Wonder where he is. What is he eating. Who is he with? If he is alive? If he has been bitten by other dogs? Wonder how he is surviving in the big bad world. And then am filled with overwhelming guilt. A guilt i don't want to feel. A guilt i don't want to sense. A guilt that I just want to bury deep down somewhere and continue living in denial.

But it all comes back. And simply intensifies. Each time I see his leash in the backseat of the car. The leash that I had bought lovingly when i got my first bonus at the current job. Or when i see the chewy sticks lying uneaten, when i see the half finished pedigree packet or his water bowl...

It a hard thing. Attachment. And detachment is punishment. I can't get over the fact that Spidy is not around anymore. The same dog who was there all through for 4.5 years is suddenly not in the house. It's worse than abandoning a child. A child can speak, cry, tell where or who he or she is. What can an abandoned dog tell? How will he even tell that he is no orphan? But an abandoned orphan. It's breaking me apart- this feeling that I will probably never see him in my life.

I want him back so bad. I don't want to even think of the reasons why we had to take the tough decision of abandoning him. But i want him back. And want to give this relationship another shot. But i know that's never going to happen. That's how relationships are. Time and destiny doesn't always give you a second chance.

He came from nowhere. Cute, chubby, fluffy under my car. He has the cutest brown eyes which didn't leave their puppiness even as he became a big scary dog. The magic is all in his eyes. And i just hope that his magic works on some other kinder family. He was pampered and he was a foodie. He loved eating people food. And never preferred his own dog food. He didn't like being treated like a dog and like i often joked he had an identity crisis. He could never see me cry. He was possessive of all of us. He was more human than all of us in the house. He would sense when things were really wrong. He would sense it when we were happy. He would sense when someone was unwell. He just knew it all. And he would show he cared in his own doggie way. I will remember spidy as the dog who loved to run around, who loved to dig, chase frogs, bark at cats, cared for a kitten, who loved being patted and petted.

He was my dog. And he has left a deep vacuum in me. A vacuum that is never going to be filled. And nothing is going to absolve me of the crime i committed. Of abandonment.

A hope for tomorrow

So there i was attending this annual day function at Geetanjali Devashala as part of my work when i was hit by a wave of memories that just flooded me. It was a different sensation altogether being in the audience of a school's annual day and not being part of one.

I remember how much fun i used to have during my annual days. The excitement, the enthusiasm and just that feeling of doing something on stage for your school, is something that will never come back. The crazy costumes, the rouge that's applied on your face, the anxious teachers and parents-annual days were fun.

It's been years since i have been to one-not after i passed out of school and i felt so good and so positive as i watched the performances begin.

School annual days and sports days are a big deal in our country. And am glad they are. Because to me they are those few opportunities that you as an Indian student (of course times have changed now) have to present yourself, to put your best foot forward and to shine. It is also the time for you to get over your crazy fears and just do your best, not to mention learning to work in a team.

Today, as i sat in the front row and watched the students-from the tiny tots to the teenagers-i felt a strange sense of harmony. I felt at home, though this wasnt my school or these weren't my classmates.

And perhaps what made me feel so peaceful and positive was that even after 9 odd years after having passed out of school, the school annual day routine was still the same. It still reflected India, its diversity, its challenges and still brought out the patriotism that few of us adults feel or can identify with nowadays.

The innocence and enthusiasm with which they performed those dances-traditional dances of different states-and participated in plays, gave me hope. It for once silenced the cynic in me which keeps telling me oh nothing is going to change... for once there was this really strong positive voice in me which told me-hey there is still hope.

If my next generation and their next generations are still getting the message of Indian independence, of religious tolerance, of terrorism and corruption, then there is hope. Because, this generation too, like many in my generation will strive for a better tomorrow. And they are so a very aware set of youngsters. Aware of their rights and responsibilities. And that thought gives me hope.

It was with a lot of pride as an Indian i watched them unfold the different facets of my beautiful country. I was filled with pride as these little ones showcased the diversity of my nation and made me realise that in my cynical little world, i was missing out on the larger picture-that despite all the problems and challenges, we as Indians have managed to live with tolerance and in harmony.

Yes, we have problems but then we also have people like u and me and those students who performed today at that Annual Day with their full heart and soul, who will find solutions.

And yes, the feeling of singing your national anthem with others is a different feeling altogether.

Has the line blurred or disappeared altogether?

So, finally the can of worms has been 'Open'ed. And the worms came crawling out...slimmy, slippery and gooey; the worms are out there creating a storm of sorts...crowding over the people in the center, as they gasp for breath...to save face from beneath all the worms.... And there you are a silent spectator, watching as the worms slowly eat into everything that you perhaps believed in.

#barkhagate #radiagate... the tags, hashes, searches, the terms may be different..The slimy underlying truth remains the same. That journalistic 'integrity and ethics' are now just restricted to "Key Issue Lectures" in Journalism schools. The can that has been opened now, has brought out different worms-the integrity worm, the ethics worm, the honesty worm, the courier worm etc. These are issues that should have been in discussion long ago. These are issues that need to be talked about openly by editors to cub reporters...but then wait a minute...what does a cub reporter do if the editor is the one at fault here?

This is the land of media. The land of powerful men and women (And please Barkha Dutt cut the 'feminist sexist' crap please!) where the real stories remain hidden and the ones that you as a reader or viewer read or see are just shallow reports. There is an underground cellar here where the stories that need not be and should not be reported are pushed to. Where so-called cub or junior reporters are discouraged from 'investigation'.

This story is not just about one Barkha Dutt who according to her, was 'gullible and missed a story'. But also that of the changing editorial policies of media houses across the country. Where news channels are started with motives, where journalists are no longer the 'watch dogs' but are the 'power brokers'; 'the blackmailers'; This story is of the larger issue of changing media roles. Of a media that is toothless (and deliberately at that) but wealthy. This is the story of the 'fourth pillar' of democracy's changing role to that of 'courier' and 'wealth accumulator'.

It is also the story of the disappearing (or disappeared!) lines between a journalist and a PR person. Of the changing motives of both the sides. Of turning a blind eye to legitimate stories.Of hiding information from the public. This is the story about the fight for unfiltered information.

But, will the media gurus and so-called who's who take the responsibility of clearing the muck thats swallowed Indian media? Do they have the balls to take these issues head on?? Will this issue to be forgotten like the 'paid news' story?

I am a cynic. And i believe that would be the case. Endless blogposts like these would be written, columns published, debates held and a month later, the issue is forgotten. Will 'Padmashri' Barkha Dutt who attacked Manu Joseph on her show last night about his failure to 'follow up', follow up this story? Her own story? Will Vir Sanghvi do that?

And will we remain mute spectators to all the injustices and scams around us?

One Saturday...

It was the perfect Saturday morning...blue skies, a slight breeze and lots of sunshine. After many days, it felt like the rain gods had decided to take a break and let the Sun God take charge.

And this Saturday was a special one. After almost five or six years, i was entering the Parade Grounds in Secunderabad to watch a dear friend and his team 'Sunshine' play a cricket match.

The expansive ground had close to twenty teams playing matches against one another at the same time. As i sat down to watch 18 year olds and 20 something year old play the Gentleman's game, i was filled with a sense of curiosity and wonder at the passion these guys had towards the sport.

Every year, dozens of C-Division league matches are played, my friend and captain of team Phalguna informed me. And most teams work hard, practice hard and take these matches seriously. And boy do they take them seriously! I watched, a mute spectator, as the Sunshine team cheered when their captain took wickets; screamed hard as another team mate dropped a catch and appreciated another team mate for wonderful bowling. The sentiments were the same as that portrayed by our national team. The same sense of anguish, pride, anxiety, happiness and ecstasy.

And then you wonder-what pushed them to play cricket in the first place; what pushes to take the sport so seriously, knowing well enough that you wont be earning big bucks like those in the spotlight? The friend had this to say "At the end of the day one gets immense satisfaction from winning a game. And its for that satisfaction that we play". Here are young, talented people who perhaps held a dream once-to make it big, to play for the nation and hoping to be noticed. And for many, it will just remain a dream.

These youngsters pool in money to register as a team, to use the grounds with the HCA. The one's working in the team contribute a little more than the others to play 10 matches a season. When my friend was telling me this, i wondered why the Cricket Association needs to take money from these teams? why not simply let them utilise the grounds? Isn't it these small teams that are keeping the real spirit of the game alive? Apolitical and non-commercial, I found the real spirit of the game, for the game and team spirit among the Sunshine team.

Here was a team that was playing to win. Here was a Captain who was asking his opening batsmen to keep wickets and play calmly, and play to win. Here were other team mates and capable batsmen, cheering as their star batsmen Lokesh hit fours and sixes (though it was quite hard to determine what a six and a four was in the parade ground).

They weren't jealous that someone else got an opportunity to bat longer. They weren't here to get great scores. But they were there on that Saturday morning to simply play cricket in its rightful sense.

And it was this team spirit that pushed them to win their first match of the season. And that's when i felt that the real game of cricket was still alive. Not on television. Not among the sensational IPL matches or test matches. But here among the C-Division league was the true spirit alive and kicking...

Tragic Voyerism

May 22 2010 will be remembered by families of over 158 people who died in the Air India accident...It will also remembered for the insensitive and disturbing reporting by almost every news channel in the country. While some channels did tone down their description of the fatal accident, little was done to control the desire to air 'exclusive images and footage' of charred bodies and grieving relatives or putting up 'body count'.

While it was necessary for the media to do their bit in showing the severity of the accident, i found myself asking as a viewer and as a journalist whether it was necessary to show the charred bodies lying amidst the debris. Was it necessary for news channels to air the horrific image of burnt child being carried away? What was the point of blurring the image minutes after airing it? (Many channels like NDTV and CNN IBN did this.)

Death and gore, whether we like it or not, feeds on some morbid fascination humans possess and accidents like this brings out that out among the opinion maker and seeker. Be it the Mumbai carnage, the Aarushi murder case or the Nithari serial killings, the media coverage was appalling and remains appalling. And with the pressure on to bring 'first live images' and 'exclusive images', editors and those in charge no longer seem to ask vital questions: is it necessary to show the whole body?

Or could the footage have been shown in a less traumatic way-for instance with emergency workers huddled around the charred bodies Many might argue that the footage was shown more to perhaps highlight the work being done by rescue workers. But does that truly justify showing it?

Was even the slightest thought given to how the family of the child would have felt or of viewers at large. In our attempt to 'highlight important issues' and to show 'things as they are' we are perhaps falling into the trap of 'desensitising' the larger public by sensitising events like this. How many of us truly cringed when we saw the disaster?

But then there might be instances when photographers might capture powerful and newsworthy images that might depict the anguish of events one covers-of loved ones waiting to hear tragic news or people rushing towards the spot of tragedy.. Though the emotions might be on public display, certain photographs may feel like an invasion of privacy to some readers and those photographed. And these are instances, when an editor has to take a call on how to handle these photos.

For instance, during the Gujarat riots, the image of a crying man with his hands folded touched a chord with almost every one who saw the image and the photograph managed to capture the full intensity of the carnage without actually showing the victims. However, was the photograph that was published in almost every leading newspaper today of the child necessary?Or could it have been avoided?

Then there is also the question of thinking about the family and their reactions to such disturbing photographs and footage. The mother of one of the air hostess who lost her life in the accident is yet to be informed of the tragedy. The father, for the sake of his wife's health was forced to disconnect the cable connection even as relatives tried to keep the over-zealous media out of the house. The need to get 'reaction' of family in their time of grief needs to be tamed and it depends on the self-control of the reporter in question.

Even under pressure situations, I think, one needs to place themselves in the shoes of the family before barging in on them with cameras and mikes to get that sound byte or quote. I remember an instance where i was asked to go the family of a MS student who was found murdered in the US. The family was in shock, the mother weeping uncontrollably. One Hindi channel reporter with little regard and respect to the family members thrust her mike in front of the weeping mother and asked her 'how she felt', even as the cameraman invaded the privacy of the household by getting footage of the house, of photos of the girl who lost her life etc. Where does a journalist and a cameraman or photographer draw the line?

There is also the question of how one plays the photo. Newspapers have stopped considering carefully how to play a photo once a decision is made to publish a disturbing photograph. Take for instance, today's New Indian Express and Eenadu which published gruesome photos of the tragedy on page one. Were there no less-sensationalising photos available? Was it necessary for these papers to publish these images? Was little thought given to how the families and readers would react to the photos and the rights of the victims. A better way of handling the dilemma would have been to publish a less disturbing photo in the front page with a disclaimer warning of the content of a photo in the inside pages.

We are living in a world where there seems to some sort of vulgar display of suffering, almost like a pornography of suffering. And it is at times like this one needs to exercise self-censorship. But then with TRP's ruling the roost, i really wonder if we as journalists and viewers will ever see such a day of restrained reporting.

Reality Check

When i started this blog in January 2008, it was started with a purpose. To enable people to read my articles and reports on my experiences following the covering deprivation trip to Vidarbha.Soon, i added a couple other reports and at some point it also turned into a personal diary with lot of my random thoughts becoming a part of it.

But this is not a random blog post. Nor is it a fun one. It is a serious one. Perhaps it might be at some level be rhetorical. But it certainly is a post which aims to do what this blog was meant to do-a reality check of our times.

And this time its a reality check of media houses. If you are tired of reading criticism about Indian media you are most welcome to close the window and walk away. If you are wondering where this leads to..read on. Ps: This is purely my perspective gained out of my experience in the media industry.So, If anyone gets offended reading this, you are welcome to ignore it.

It's been almost two years since i have joined one of India's leading English dailies and been a part of the media industry. I had never imagined media to be clean industry and had heard tales of corporatisation of media, of manufactured consent and what not. But to face it in reality far from the lectures and seminars was something that i was perhaps not fully prepared for.

For all our rhetoric about freedom of speech and expression, the fact remains that media industry is perhaps one of the many industries where freedom of expression and speech are hardly exercised. There is no scope for wider discussions and debates among reporters, more so if there is a hierarchy at place. As a journalist you have the right to question everything and anything, except your own editor or your paper's editorial policy. You have no freedom to challenge a viewpoint or present your perspective. And if you do chose to exercise this constitutional right, then you will be bringing upon yourself wrath. So, at the end of the day..all this hype about "getting truth to people" falls flat because you are not allowed to write truth-not the plain truth at least.

Most papers hide under the garb of being just, neutral, objective, apolitical and what not. But most media houses are quite opposite to that and that includes even self-proclaimed objective papers which believe in 'plain reporting'. The agenda, is often hidden under all this self-righteousness and rhetoric. And those who do 'real reporting' are shown the middle finger. Most media houses are corrupt and stink of nepotism and egoism at its worst can be experienced here. And journalists are as good as stenographers or glorified Public Relations Officers selling their souls by typing out reports and press notes.

And the power of 'Power Seat' corrupts them all.The media which goes on and on about corrupt politicians, society and questions and analyses how 'Power of Kursi' corrupts people should do a reality check and have some internal analysis. And no this doesn't mean having a seminar where the so-called and self-proclaimed journalists sit on a dias along with other 'intellegentia' to discuss this.

Like old politicians (not wise-old), the senior journos too are not open to perspectives from 'juniors' or 'youngsters'. And these youngsters who i think should ideally be used to the fullest extent are relegated to frustrating menial jobs..and so you are caught in a vicious circle of frustrations..anger etc.

News sense: This is another aspect that really worries me. We are living in a world where romps by Swamiji and greying Governors are aired prime time and published as front page news. Where 'issues' are relegated to third, fourth and sometimes district editions. Where real news is used as fillers and meaningless reports and press conferences cram your daily newspaper and news channels. As an opinion maker, media has forgotten its role of analysing the news and simply dump its viewers and readers with 'infotainment'. Every rule in journalism is broken every single day by countless papers and channels and no one questions or critiques them. Sensationalism has reached a nauseating level and we will do anything for TRPs even expose rape victims or publish photos of rape victims in our so-called attempt to get the truth out.

Objective news analysis are far and few in between and opeds by so-called Magasaysay winners fail to address the issue internally, in their own organisations. Journalists and media houses don't waste a minute in criticizing and at the same time are highly intolerant to criticism of any sort. Honest straightforward opinions are not welcome in this industry. Real stories are squashed because your boss's friend may be in the thick of it all; And meaningless reports are given space because it concerns your boss's friend. Some reports are killed because you don't want legal complications (read you may lose ads!) and a couple others because you don't want to offend the sentiments of the readers. Question all this and you are in a soup. And you are cooked in the soup in a slow,painless manner!!

Of course the 'higher-ups' remain oblivious to all this. While some papers do all this by wearing multiple masks, others do it shamelessly and blatantly. There is absolutely no intelligent reporting and majority of news that you read or watch is absolute nonsense. Reams of paper and hours of prime time is wasted on talking about inane issues which are not issues in the first place.

Price rise is discussed but the real story behind price rise is hardly told by anyone. Why doesn't anyone report on the food-stock that is wasted every year? Or talk about the tons of pulses that are exported as cattle-feed? Why doesn't anyone tell you that USA has access to our traditional seeds through a brilliant -'Knowledge Exchange' programme? Why doesn't anyone tell you that hundreds of children are employed in cotton farms by Monsanto, Bayer etc? And why doesn't anyone report fearlessly on how shamelessly soft drink companies are allowed to exploit ground water resources in this country just to 'quench the thirst' of those who can afford them?

Till two decades ago, journalists were a feared lot. Journalism was a honourable profession. 2010 A.D journalists are 'people who can be brought' and are not feared. Journalists are people who throw tantrums if they are not given 'complimentary' gifts, passes and tickets. Journalists are people who will threaten you with an 'expose' for personal gains.

Of course, what do i know about journalism? Am after all a 'junior'.

Brand Hyderabad

Image Courtesy: The Hindu

Lost in A.R.Rehman's latest offering from Em Maya Chesave, i was staring out of the auto, not thinking anything for a long time as i set out home the other day. Just near Shopper's Stop where the traffic flow tends to get disrupted, i saw a head peeping out of a Silver Innova, staring right at me..a guy with blonde hair, perhaps 18 years old, with blue eyes staring right into me, gave me a small smile and looked away staring at the traffic with open mouth.

Seated beside him were his friends and some Indians, presumably their hosts, perhaps.. My auto was right beside their Innova..and it was not difficult for me to see the awe on their faces coupled with horror at the way traffic moved here...

And they pretty much had the same expression till Rasoolpura cross roads where we parted ways...and that got me thinking. What is Brand Hyderabad? Over the years, Hyderabad has been called Cyberabad, IT hub, Green City (this no longer holds true) so on and so forth.

What has remained consistent in the past ten years is this tag "Drive in Hyderabad and You Can Drive Anywhere in the World". Over the years, the tag, once said sarcastically has now become a proud statement. Something that is said by many of us (Hyderabadis) matter-of-factly. And this is the tag that foreigners or our 'Athithis' carry along with them. And believe me they don't do it in a nice way.Nor do they laugh over it.

During the recent Telangana agitations, lot of people (Hyderabadis) expressed their angst that Hyderabad's branding has taken a beating ..But then this happens almost every year doesn't it? Doesn't brand Hyderabad's image take a beating when we drive without lane-sense, traffic sense and civic sense? Doesn't it take a beating when we scribble sweet nothings on our heritage structures or encroach them? Doesn't it take a beating when we pollute our lakes and dirty our surroundings? Where does the thought of Brand Hyderabad go then??

When Hyderabadis and Indians can in general desist from breaking traffic rules, littering etc when they are in other countries, what makes it so tough for them to follow the same here? I have heard many NRIs tell me that the rules need to be more stringent here. I don't think it is about rules and regulations. It has more to do with us, individually and common sense. When we go to France, UK, US, we are awestruck by their heritage, take photos, go gaga over the buildings etc and when it comes to our own country, we go "tch-tch, this government isn't worth anything" and believe me we say this for every government.

So, next time we go 'tch tch Brand Hyderabad is taking a beating' let us think what Brand Hyderabad is in the first place. Is it just an image for wooing investors or beyond that? And what are we doing in contributing (or not) to this Branding?

The year that was part 1

Wow! So the year has come to an end..well almost...exactly 24 hours from now and we will be entering the next decade-2010 and boy does it feel strange!!
Like every other year, this one's been a mixed bag for me yet again...but i seem to remember the happier moments over the sad ones this year. The sad ones have taught me lessons...lessons i will remember for the coming years. Of death..of life..of friendship..of betrayal and of trust.

The year started on a sad note...i lost a friend...murdered by the society's insensitivities and by her own haste. And the high point was that i had become permanent with The Hindu..a permanent employee with perks et all!

And then came March when i went to Chennai to visit my best buddies Nalini and Sumitra..Though the four days passed in a haze i remember having lots of fun...the walks on the beach..the endless hogging...non stop yapping...venting, laughing, giggling, bitching! It was four days of masti! :) of clicking super crazy photographs...A month where i revisited some superb memories when we went to our dear ACJ together..and caught up with some super cool juniors-Ajai, Moon, Mehran, Sneha and others.. March 2009 my kid sister Soumya turned 18 and i was once again amazed at how fast time flies! From being the naughtiest cousin to a mature young woman, she has come a whole long way! :) And i really hope she discovers herself better in the coming years! :)

April, May were 'hot' months in every sense! I got a taste of political reporting (almost!) when i got to cover the Assembly elections...was amazed and disgusted at the same time at the money that is spent (given away) to acquire votes(read)..the period left me disillusioned and worried with our so-called democratic system...I also voted for the first time...No i don't have a voter id card still! I just know my serial number! I remember standing at the polling booth and wondering whom to vote...and also remember regretting the second i voted! May 28 my sis Sandhya left behind her teens and entered the 'Terrific Twenties' ... Wow! I still can't get over the fact that these two sisters (Sandhya and Soumya) have grown up and then i am reminded of my own age! :)) :D And my birthday in 2009 was also one of the best that i have had in a long time.. :) Thanks again to all those who made my birthday the 'Most Memorable' one...

In between all these special moments..was my own emotional craziness...of people whom i thought i knew 'well' turning out to be 'not so well'...and i realised that detachment is not a bad thing after all and that there is huge difference is saying "hey iwill be there" and someone becoming an 'emotional leech' on you....The months were also difficult as i was fighting against the system at work...thanks to some really close friends...i managed to pull through that one! Thanks Rak, Nal, Sumi, Abhi, Anna and Akhila Aunty for being there for me :)

June-three new ACJIANs entered the Hindu world...two who made my life at office much more bearable and fun! Thanks Suvasini and Jayashree for all the fun 'canteen moments', for the friendship..for the sisterhood! :)

Then came July when a secret trip happened! Haha :-) And No i shall not disclose it even now! ;) But yea the keywords remain-friends...trip...farmhouse...food...fun....and some superb bonding! :) From discussing heartbreaks with anger to verbally bashing a few 'idiots', the entire trip was a fun and supremely refreshing one! :) :)

But the weeks and days were interspersed with days of intense frustration to days of intense joy...and on days of frustration, a special someone would always know how and when to make me smile...so much so that even getting caught in crazy Hyderabad jams become enjoyable and i was actually looking forward for them...like i would look forward for the 'ice-cream breaks' just as i would look forward to just getting a glimpse of that special someone-my soulbrother :)

The year that was....part 2

But no,the year was not a bed of roses for me...It was also an year of some freakishly scary moments..like the day when i found out that Venky Anna was hospitalised...I remember feeling scared and lost and praying fervently to God...I remember going to the hospital and getting impatient just to see him...and feeling at peace when i found out he was going to be alright....

A few months later...i saw my otherwise agile grandfather weak and wanting to give up on life.To see someone who had lived life to the hilt in that manner bothered me intensly...I saw him slip into a depression that was never part of his life..2009 also marked the end of my grandfather's drinking years (he is not an alcoholic)...But thankfully, he hung in there and fought it off :) it's good to see him back again in his elements..

August was a visit to Mumbai-to attend Rajesh's engagement and i made two cool new friends there-Nitya and Vidya :) Nitya the silent mischievous one and Vidya the cool funny babe :) The trip was a special trip as both the families were travelling together for the first time and it was super duper fun! :) The train journeys..the engagement ceremony et al and the Mumbai trip..But all through the trip i missed Rakesh a lot...i would phase out at times thinking how nice it would have been if Rakesh was here..It was a special trip also coz i met Rahi and Homi after over an year and felt sooo nice! It's so nice to have insanely sane friends! :)

September 2.the Chief Minister YSR died in a terrible helicopter crash! The month was one of crazy reporting..of seeing and experience mass grief for a supposed despot...it was also the month when Rakesh turned 25 (:D) and a bit more mature! :)

October 2009 my darling niece Sarayu (second one) was born...It was awesome being there and seeing her minutes after she was born! A tiny little creature with cute little features who is growing up rapidly with each passing month...It was a different feeling all together watching my second cousin donning the role of a mother...We all had grown up together and though there is a good 5-years gap between us, Swetha never let me feel the gap! She was the one who would be the first to know about all my crushes..who would hear out my stupid school problems and who would counsel me..she was perhaps also the first of my cousins who treated me not as a 'kiddo' but as 'Priya'... Swetha,Jagathi akka,Ranjitha, Karthik, Vikram (my own bro) we have had a time of our life together...and hve shared some crazy moments together...so it feels weird to see all of them (minus Karthik) married...and in new roles! :)

October was also the month when i got my FIRST BONUS! And boy it felt goood :) Professionaly the month was interesting as i was allowed to do report from Kurnool district,following the floods...the trip saddened me personally....the destruction..the loss of life and livelihood.....

And then came the best news of the year-That Rakesh would be coming to India after 15 Loooooonggg months in November for his brother's wedding and for our ENGAGEMENT! :) :)

November: We got engaged! :) But the best day was when i met him at the airport after so long (November 22)...just feeling him beside me...and not just hearing his voice...just holding him..and hugging him and knowing that he was here now...and then the pre-engagement shopping happened..the hunt for the perfect rings began! :) and the clothes..and the arrangements! And then the friends landed on November 25! :) The month was also the time when i realised that i had a wonderful set of girlfriends who are just there at every special moment and difficult moment of my life..who just know how to make my special day a brilliant one... even if it means being asked crazy questions like "Are you ready for this engagement"or being told that "Life is going to different after engagement"...But then these are people who are there for me come what may who take me for what i am! Thanks once again Chandrika...my darling cousin, Krishna, Sumi, Nalini, Mallika,Neha, Priyamvada (though she wasn't at the engagement) Jayashree and Suvasini for making this year and my special day so much more special :) November 26 is a day in pictures! :) I was humbled by the sheer fact that almost each and every person-family and friends who were invited had turned up to bless us-myself and Rakesh... be it the old friends or the new friends..the cousins..the uncles and aunts and not to forget my new family who have made me one of theirs! :-) Thanks Mamaya, Athaya, Rajesh, Nitya, Pavan, Dheeru,Karthik, Swetha, Charan, Lalitha and Lakshmi athayas and Gopi Uncle :)

November 29 Rajesh and Nitya got married and it was one hectic day but a day full of fun and lotssaaaa bonding with the family again..

December has passed me in a haze....it's just been a month full of Rakesh Rakesh and more Rakesh and i remain unsatiated...my thirst for him and for his love remains unquenchable...every minute i have spent with him so far has been memorable one...whether it be sitting at Barista our favorite coffee shop and talking 'family' stuff or just hanging out at Eat Street or discovering our combined love for good food at Tansen, Little Italy and elsewhere..or laughing together in cinema halls... or just chilling at home...the month has been one of the best months of 2009 and i wish time would stop!December was also the month when i met up my other besties from school Anusha and Bhavana..not to forget the brilliant Christmas lunch with Akhileshwari aunty, Pronoy,Amulya and Rakesh :)

This year will be remembered for many reasons...most important of all...friendship...New friends of 2008 A and V are now my closest buddies...older ones remain the golden ones :) Here's a toast to all those who made my year so so so special! :)

And Yes HAPPY NEW YEAR 2010 :)

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... 

 

Where dreams weave stories....

Since childhood, i have had the knack to remember dreams, if not whole, at least partly. I would wake up with a particular image or scene or feeling and sometimes even taste in the morning. And then there are some dreams that recur...always leaving me wondering what they meant if they meant something.

She was standing in a playground. It was sport's day at school with tent's put up at one corner... She was there with her four year old. As he dragged her into the crowd towards his class, she goes back in time. Revisiting her memories of being 13 when she stood there in the same ground in a white salwar proudly sporting her house colour... And then she was snapped back into time by the little one who was running excitedly towards his friends. He looked cute in his blue checks shirt.. As she watched him, she saw her fifth standard school teacher looking at her, trying to recall her name. "Ma'am it's me. Do you remember?". A hint of recognition and a smile as the teacher asks her to sit beside her. "So, how are you what are you doing?,"she asks. As she tries to find an answer, she looks across to see her four year old gleefully play in the mud, making circles with his shoes. "I am a mother now," she says with a smile. The teacher smiles...as she remembers her struggle to have children. of wielding uncomfortable questions. Of dashed dreams and lost child. She saw the sadness creep into her teacher's eyes. She was no longer a doting student wondering what had happened to her teacher or where her tummy had disappeared. She was a mother now. Who understood the angst of the lost child. She looked at her own son again. She moved towards the parent's corner remembering times when her own parents would sit there watching her perform the drill or take part in athletics. Buildings had sprung up in her school campus. Little corners where she used to sit with her friends during the games periods were no longer there. She glanced at the basket ball court and dribbling the ball came back to her. She saw the curly haired boy with dark eyes look at her giving her a smile, waving enthusiastically at her. The drum beat started. The same old band, the same old beats..123 123 1 2 3....she smiled as her son took position to do the drill. The little hands moving up and down.
And then a loud blast...she was taken aback. As heads turned towards the source of sound, another loud blast this time much closer. Shrieks, wails and screams followed. She was shocked. Rooted on the spot. Wondering what had happened...Bomb blast?Here?In her school?
Before long she saw white gowns taking a reddish shade. Bloodied body parts were strewn on the ground...a white canvas shoe had turned red in colour...a burnt saree... a broken watch...children lying dead their lives cut abruptly..the red blood mixing with the brown mud...and the she looked for him...

She looked for the curly haired boy. He was looking for her. She moved towards him even as he was being pushed farther away in the wave of the overwhelming crowd moving away from the playground... spotted his little head. And then it was gone again. She screamed his name, but it was drowned in the the confusion... she started to run..run into the crowd, towards the curly haired boy... who was lost.
She saw her teacher hold a child and run out..crying..she was going to lose yet another child..She was running when she felt a hand hold her.. she looked down..it was a girl, she picked her up and ran..ran looking for the curly mop.
He wasn't to be found. She was crying now. . feeling helpless...she wanted to hold his hand...look into his dark eyes. She felt a small hand wipe her tears...the tears blurred her eyes. The hounds had come in now..mute spectators to mindless destruction carried out by humans... She saw a khaki clad man come towards her.
She put the little girl in his hands. As she did, he called her by name. She looked up, recognised him and broke down. She put a white handkerchief in his hand as he looked at her questioningly. She was muted by shock. Unable to react. "Please...find...my....boy...."she said in between sobs... As ambulances rushed in taking people in, she was frantic..looking for her boy...she saw blue shirts everywhere but not her boy...Her friend came.
As she looked at him with hope he remembered looking at her with the same hope during the exams. A look and she had passed her answer sheet to him.
He held her hand..took the hanky and let the hound sniff it.Soon, there was a tug at the leash, as the dog ran towards the auditorium.... parents with their children were in the auditorium that looked more like a makeshift hospital. As she ran past the auditorium, she couldnt help but remember the days she spent there. As a student, as part of the choir, or enacting a play, or during a fancy dress competition.
They were behind the auditorium now, near the green room. He began barking, scratching at the door. She pushed it open and ran inside..The room was dusty, filled with cobwebs and unused benches. She called out his name, almost shrieking now. And she saw the curly mop come out of a cardboard....He was there..bleeding from the ear...shaken. She went towards him, picked him up and hugged him tight, the dark eyes pleading her to never let him go......

This story, is my attempt at weaving a story out a dream that i had today morning.... of who i presume was my child getting lost...the blast..the crowds ..and the dream ended with him being found in a cardboard box. I often have strange dreams, but this one was in a sequence. My old schoolmates will perhaps remember which teacher i was talking about...the ground, the school all that were part of my dream today. the remaining i tried weaving out of my imagination. ...

The beauty of darkness...

Light...something that we take for granted...the bright yellow sunlight...the tubelights in our office...and then when you experience darkness...u realise its worth...the value of light...as valued as love is for those who never had it in their lives...

It was around 9.30 pm when i returned home...i was all alone..and just as i entered the house..the lights went off.it was a power cut...as i edged my way into the living room..i was intimidated...by the pitch darkness..by the blackness of it all...the sofa suddenly seemed like a strange creature...and the curtain in the darkness had a spooky feel about it...suddenly it seemed full of life....as i moved into the kitchen...i was suddenly faced with the impossible challenge of finding the matchbox... I let my hands wander over the kitchen platform..the cold granite tickling my finger tips...the stove almost laughing at my helplessness....my leg touched something cold....and i felt something brush my feet....i was scared..and froze on the spot...as i let my eyes adjust to the darkness i realised that i had bumped into the rice container...my search continued...for the matchbox..for the giver of light..and at the moment i was forced to think of times before fire was discovered..images of stone age men and women couped in dark caves came to my mind.... and then i was amazed at the ability of the visually impaired to depend on their senses...my search continued even as thoughts muddled my brains...and my sense of touch was overwhelmed...my fingers were doing something they were not used to..i was too dependent on my eyes.... Fifteen minutes passed...i was conscious of the sounds around me..of the children running out to take a whiff of fresh air..of neighbours catching up on lost time....and then suddenly i found it...the matchbox... at that point felt like it was all that i wanted! As i struck the matchstick and the little flame danced..teasing me...i realised i needed a candle..and before long the dance ended...and i was plunged into darkness again....thankfully i had the matchbox...and another ardous search for the candle began....and i wondered yet again who invented candles?who discovered wax...who makes these candles for us....as i lit the candle...i was enchanted by the flame...the orange core...the bluish outline...i remembered my science class vaguely on the properties of flame...and i saw the strange shadows that were thrown on the wall as the flame gyrated... i was in a magical land that lies between light and darkness....and i was lost.... as i saw the candle die a slow death...slowly shrinking in size...i was amazed at the creativity of it all...of the magic behind it all.... i was in the land where senses are heightened,teased and stretched... where shadows become your playmates..and where silence no longer seems eerie...and then the lights were back on...and i was transported back to my land....of light...i heard the children run back into their homes...doors slam....i heard the televisions being turned on...and dinner table conversations coming to a halt....and neighbours getting back into the monotony of their life..perhaps to catch up only during the next power cut........ I was back to real world....where light just takes you back to a routine...where there are no real challenges like the visually impaired have...where there is light but no enlightenment..where there are conversations without warmth..where watching tv together means spending time together.....where life without email, cell phones seems impossible... where cities live in 'light' at the cost of villagers living in darkness for 18 hours...

Where love is overshadowed....will miss u anusha....

If I had written this post a week ago... it would have been written with lot of angst.... and sadness. with a heaviness in the heart.... after a week I am calmer... composed and in a position to write with a sense of sadness... with emptiness in my heart.... and as I write... it I no longer curse the God... but yeah I feel helpless... I feel numbed with the society...

This post is long due... really long due... and I dedicate this post to all those friends I have lost over time... by losing I mean, the ultimate loss. Where there is no turning back. Where sorries won't bring them back. Where nothing would bring them up. I lost them to death. The most recent one being-
Anusha Cherukuri - a childhood friend... a playmate... classmate...

I met Anusha at my place of birth Guntur where I had studied for an year... in my seventh standard.... her smile... that was the first thing that struck me... if I look back now.. that’s the only thing that I seem to remember of her… Her bright smile... which always went up to her dark black expressive eyes... and of the 40 odd students in the class from varying background… she was perhaps from those few who wasn’t ashamed of her family background....and unknowingly taught me something essential in my life: Dignity of labour. Her father was a bus conductor....a job that I would not have thought much about if it wasn't for Anusha. She would talk endlessly about her dad's long hours spent in district buses... and her mom’s endless patience… she wanted to work hard... be a doctor... and help her parents... We would sit in the ground and talk endlessly... she would insist I speak in English with her because she wanted to pick up English and she would in turn help me with my math and Telugu... that January holidays I had to be operated upon for Appendicitis... and missed close to 10 days of school... by the time I was back she had the notes ready for me… written down... not even xeroxed... she had made a copy of notes in each and every subject for me and then she helped me learn all the chapters I missed in Maths... as I write these lines... memories are flooding my eyes... memories of pure love... pure friendship... a purity that is so hard to find now.... and I feel knives pierce my heart...as I realise that she is no longer there... Anusha was a hard worker and would help those who were weak in subjects... she was what I call a doer… always there to help... never asking for help for herself...

After I left Guntur... she was one of the very few people from my class I had managed to keep in touch with... her dreams of becoming a doctor remained unfulfilled… as she was soon married to her cousin in her degree first year... I remember her telling me, that she wanted to study but she doesn’t want to go against her dad who had worked so hard... what she didn’t tell me was that her dad had in the past few years turned into an alcoholic and had no savings at all... then I slowly got caught up in my own life... and I lost touch... lost numbers and lost contact... then three weeks we were back in touch... and my darling Anusha had grown up... and she asked for help… reached out for help... and before I could help... she was gone... she had taken her own life... and no she didn’t do this coz she didn’t want to fight it out… but coz she was pushed into a corner... She had been diagnosed of being HIV+... she was five months into her pregnancy… soon after as she revealed the same to her husband ..she was accused of 'sleeping around' ...and when she asked him to get the teest done as she was sure he was the carrier....her husband and in-laws kicked her out....and she was back in her motherz home...but that too wasn't of much help...and that's when I got her call... my initial euphoria of speaking to her after years soon turned into anger and sadness when I heard her speak... we spoke for a good hour... when she spoke of her dreams... plans with the child... and her will to fight... she wanted to live... and she had so many plans... She was going to name her child Saraswati if it was a girl and Vidyasagar if it was a boy... she wanted to educate her child… and she was ready to fight the disease...knowing fully well it would kill her in a few years time… but for those few years she wanted to live... and I had got her help... rather my brother had found help... but before the help reached... she did what she had always spoken against – ‘suicide’.... coz she was suspected... coz the society even today thinks that a HIV+ has no right to live... am not trying to generalise… but I know and this is just a case in proof that HIV+ are treated as shit and its triple oppression for women affected with it... even though the husbands might be responsible......where there is absolutely no support for those affected with the disease from their families... where misnomers and myths continue to exist about the disease...and what’s heartbreaking is it that women like Anusha are blamed for no fault of theirs... their character assassinated... their dignity ripped apart... and in the end many are forced to take their life... and believe me this is not a 'village' or 'small town' phenomenon... those living in Urban India are faced with similar problems... where a simple HIV/AIDS test is looked at with suspicion... where in the name of traditions and culture, the simple test is not being made mandatory pre-marriage...!

Untouchability still exists in India - In different forms - Talking about sex is still a taboo... talking about child sexual abuse… domestic violence… about marital rape... those with HIV/AIDS are treated as untouchables....and the untouchability is doubled in the name of reputation, pride, prestige...where love for your daughter is replaced by the family's pride… where support and care is replaced by ego and false prestige... where desperation is forced upon people... where death is shown as the only way out...

Anusha and her child were murdered...by her own family...by her own friends… by her own life partner who chose to let her suffer in silence... who cut her out from seeking help...she was murdered by the society which still questions the woman's character and not the man's....and am left with a vacuum... And I know this is not the first case of its kind... and also won't be the last...

RIP ANUSHA…!