#4 Dear me! Letters to Myself: Happy Thanksgiving

 

Dear life,

Everyone's happy today in the US and eating Turkey dinners. Their outgoing President even pardoned a turkey and spared its life. How magnanimous!

You know how I love festivals and so, I thought of you and the journey of my life so far.

The long list of happy memories far outweighed the list of things that went wrong like, the time when as a teenager I and my cousin ended up watching a wrong movie at the theatre because we were too shy to ask for a ticket for the movie of our choice. Instead, we asked for 'a ticket' for the next show - which we were told was about to start. We never questioned what was playing assuming it was the new Amir Khan film because there were enough posters around us saying so.

I still remember waiting patiently thinking that the English film, Conan the Barbarian, was just a long-ish trailer and the Juhi Chawla film, Goonj, will start any moment. It didn't help that the morning show didn't have any interval.

We almost cried when 'The End' loomed up dashing all our hopes of redemption. Oh! The follies of innocence and youth.

I have till date not watched the movie in deference to the teenaged me who didn't have the money to watch it in the next show!

Anyhow, today is not about losses. Today is about gains. And though we may not get to eat a turkey tonight - it doesn't matter. I am still happy because I can count my blessings with you.

So, without further ado here is the list:

1) My Family - for their love, kindness and unconditional support - that was a no-brainer!
2) My Friends - for their patience and positivity - I am very poor at keeping in touch :(
3) My Teachers - for believing in me and nurturing my ambitions
4) Children - for sharing their unconditional love - especially three little girls I'll always remember
5) Books - for being the best medicine for every ailment I've had
6) Films - for eliminating boredom and keeping hope alive
7) Travel - for killing the blight called monotony, the bane of my existence
8) Star Trek - for making me believe in science
9) Harry Potter and JK Rawlings - for making me believe in magic
10) Rains - for making me believe in miracles
11) Ice Cream - for making me believe that cold is better than bearable
12) Sea - for turning me into a believer
13) Shakespeare - for just-in-time philosophy
14) Hand Creams - for helping cope with dry air conditioned offices
15) Table Lamps and Cushion Covers - for instantly refreshing home decor
16) Van Gogh - for filling me with curiosity and a different perspective
17) Tintin - for being an amazing role model
18) Cars - for making me self-reliant
19) Delhi - for making me curious about History
20) Bombay - for making me trust again

That was not a huge list but, writing it up made me smile from inside out. Happiness is not a thing that you can buy at the grocery store or a mall but, a feeling that stays in your heart pumping blood into the brains. :D

I remember when I didn't have the money to buy a camera, I would simply capture frames with my eyes and string them into poems. It was such a beautiful way to capture memories and keep them alive!

Today when I look at this list, I know that each point has several layers and memories accumulated in it. If I was to elaborate each one, I can fill pages till I run out of space to write and you the patience to read. But, there is no need for that. You already know what I know.

Happy Thanksgiving dear life!

Love,

Shoma

Love. Rain. Happiness

I love rains.

I have said this time and again.

I cannot stop myself from writing during Monsoon. You could call it Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

Lots of people do not get this fetish of mine.

I don't either. :)

But, it is the clean and freshly-washed beauty of the Monsoon that tugs at my heartstrings every time.

Rains to most people means muck and traffic snarl-ups.

To me, rains symbolize love.

The love of the sky for Earth.

His poor, overburdened, dying-under-the-weight-of-humanity lover.

I feel the love of the skies trying to pull up the flagging morale of the Earth.

I feel the balm of love and not the sting of acid when the sky pours.

In the flashes of lightening and noise of thunder, I hear the anger of a lover who is threatening the hell out of the puny humans abusing his love.

I feel the happiness of the watery Earth.

70 parts water and only 30 parts land.

She loves water.

She revels in the rains.

I feel the relief of the trees in my city.

Washed, cleaned and cheerful.

They look happy.

I can see the sheen of their leaves.

I can feel see the green of their life.

It makes my heart soar like a bird.

The little birds, all wet and fluffy, sitting under thick leaves and tin awnings, look in awe.

They understand the love of the skies.

They are probably the only ones to hear the whispers of endearments that the sky bestows on the Earth.

They are the ones that fly fearlessly up to the sky and play there.

Enough said. I love rains. They clean my soul and make me happy.

Copyright: All images used here were clicked by me 

Salaam Khushwant

Aaj khushi rooth baithi hai Dilli se;
Phir kaali hui siyahi surkhiyon ki.
Kaun kahega ab husn-e-yaar ke kisse?
Ke Dilli aaj hui phir se berang aur shehron si.
Salam Khushwant!

Story of a Woman Driving on Delhi Roads at Peak Hours

Some days I wonder sitting in the crawling Delhi traffic that I'll die of boredom and everyone around will just honk and curse me because the car would be immobile once the light turns green. It kind of tickles my funny bone thinking, all the misogynists on the road would simply point finger at my smiling corpse and say, "a woman has no road sense. Look at this one, died right in the middle of a traffic jam making things worse!"
Macabre is all that stirs-up humor on the humid, wet and crowded roads these days. The rage on the road is seen to be believed. Women don't stand a chance.
If rain falls (even if it is a five minute squall) the vehicles start rushing to get into others' paths and looking out for women drivers like me to cut into. It is too scary not knowing which way to look - straight ahead or on both the sides. One never knows which car, on either side, decides suddenly to veer and charge straight at mine.
As a woman I feel the men on the road who often cast disdainful looks at my jalopy and me, think I have no right to be there. Woman are best locked in the kitchen. Right?
Often I see someone jumping into my way with complete disregard to my right to road/passage. I say this also because I do not often see men doing this to each other unless it is a lowly auto rickshaw they are running off the road.
Earlier, I used to shout and curse, but these days I just concentrate on survival. This stand I took especially after two different episodes. In the first, a guy came lunging at me on the wrong side from the opposite direction and started flashing his light at my face. It was broad daylight. I had my sister sitting next to me and this was a crowded market place with many other cars behind me. When I glared at this fine specimen of male testosterone he bared his fangs at me and asked me to "Fuck off!"
Needless to say, I was taken aback and wanted to shout back at him but, before I could react, he charged with his expensive Skoda and zoomed at me calling me names that everyone on the road could lip read and braked only at the last moment when I was sure that both I and my sister were sure to end up in the nearby hospital.
If that was not enough, he honked and revved the engine and continued calling me what is the common expression to describe a female dog before taking a sudden right to move on with a noise strong enough to wake up the dead.
I was left nonplussed and embarrassed that day and also thankful to be alive. The guy was mad enough to ram and kill both of us. He, like most others, know that no matter who is at fault, the blame can easily be shifted to the woman even if she has lost her life.
The other incident happened a few days back at night on my way back from work. The drive is long and by the time I reach home I have driven 30 km in the peak hours. No wonder that the noise of unnecessary honks irritate and anger me.
That day, there was this car that came out of nowhere and wedged itself right behind me on a two-lane narrow arterial road and started honking incessantly. (I don't know why the traffic rules are not changed to 'challan' (write a ticket) any vehicle that uses a horn beyond a certain decibel level?) So, this guy keeps honking till my head is ready to explode and I have no idea why. So, I did something I've never done before, I rolled down the window and showed this mad man my middle finger because he's an asshole.
I thought that the sight of the offending Index would embarrass him and shut up the racket, but, I was so wrong!
This fellow took it as an offense and just put his hand on the horn and held while flashing the headlights of his Swift Desire at my tired eyes. I was besides myself with impotent anger when he came as near as he could and then, as I faltered and slowed down because I was zapped by the ugly noise and the flashing light, he overtook me, missing my car by a hair's breath, zoomed ahead and braked suddenly. I braked too. Many behind me too stood on their brakes to save the car ahead.
I thought he was going to get out and smash my car when, he softly rolled down his windows and pulled out a middle finger at me. While I was struggling to make up my mind whether he was a manic or a cheapo, he pushed out his ugly head and called me some choicest names and then vroomed off to the next red light where I saw him idling with a smirk on his face when I reached the spot in another two minutes.
He looked at me and I just could not resist myself - made a puking gesture that he saw. I don't know what his next move would have been because the light changed and I turned left to enter my locality while he buzzed-off on the straight road.

Of the Village by the River

It was a sad, sad sight this morning. All those displaced people camping by the roadside while the river swelled by the minute and threatened to engulf them in a slushy muddy embrace. Many stood staring at the raging waters with lush green tree-tops standing like markers to a village now lost. They squinted at the spot where their village with its well and dainty fields that yielded melons and pulses existed only till last night. The temple, half-submerged looked like a brick red mound with some forlorn red and gold flags fluttering in the wind. With the water lapping and licking the edges of the dome it was only a matter of time before it crashed into the water like the mud houses with thin walls had last night.
The TV cameras were thrust at their faces, panning on to their bare minimum lives. The threadbare and rickety string cots with gold and silver highlights reflecting the dull morning light making everything around look tarnished and morose. It was like a scene from a funeral. Most of what they had was now gone and though their lives were safe but the cattle had mostly been washed away. Now was not a good time to seek an interview but, the fresh and pretty girl holding a large microphone was asking question after question while the cameras rolled. This was easy news.
I spied a little boy holding his toddler sister with a grubby little hand while using the other to clutch the string that was tied around the neck of a small goat. Three kids - I smiled at the pun. But, it was not funny because, they were trying to cross the busy highway. The fast and careless cars zipped past at breakneck speed. I wondered who was waiting for them on the other side - there were tents on the divider too. Was it their mother who was perhaps sitting pragmatically by the fire lit between three bricks and cooking a breakfast for the tired family. Perhaps the little ones had gone to meet their cousins who were parked in a tent across the road. Perhaps, the children had spent the morning playing make-believe games while the elders stared tearfully at the watery horizon that was their home till yesterday.

I saw a tent that looked well taken care of. It had a row of potted plants and a few cows and a buffalo tied outside. The animals looked oblivious of the loss or the noise or even the change of scenario. They munched on hay quietly staring at the passing traffic that looked like chaos stirred up.
A young girl came carrying a bucket of water. She divided the content of her heavy bucket between the potted plants and the animals. They looked like they had always lived there, on the edge of the road with the raging river at the back and the chaotic morning traffic in the front. They had moved maybe earlier when the Army had sounded the first alarm and perhaps that was the reason why they were so well-settled and calm or maybe the lady of the house was meticulous. What would this family be having for breakfast? I wondered.
It was a strange world that had come up overnight. I stared across the road and saw the swish and silvery Metro streak past at high speed. Its body was glistening in the same dull Sunshine that made the sparse belongings of the villagers look like throwaways. The high-rises peeking behind the sky-rail track looked sleepy, like the people in them were still slumbering before hurrying off to another hectic day that did not allow them to worry about the squatters for more than a few fleeting moments as they passed them by in fancy new cars on way to work at remote locations where there was no raging river nor devastated, recently homeless squatters.
And that was the moment I took the turn, leaving them behind with a hurried prayer, realizing I too was one of those who saw but, did not do anything because I too had to hurry on. And so, I shifted gears, increased the speed of my car and sped on across the river and the submerged villages to an ancient location that is now all modern, all chrome and glass, to work.

The Chief Minister moves past in her secure red top

Storm Outside an Icy Tea Cup

Iced tea on a stormy day.

Iced Tea

Delhi needs some cooling rains, not dry dust storms. But, dust's all we mostly get at the end of dry hot days. It was fun today though. How? 
Watching the kids standing in attention in the play areas with one hand covering their mouth and the other, their eyes was too funny. Everyone was laughing at them while they were oblivious.
But, ladies took the cake! The stylish ones - most in Delhi fall in this category, especially on a Saturday evening - lunged for their perfectly done up hair with both hands. The result, devastating for the divas and enjoyable for the onlookers.
Within seconds, most of them were choking on the dust and sand going through their distressed and thus, wide open mouths and eyes, making them sneeze and cry at the same time as their perfectly manicured, pink-topped grips fought a losing battle. 
That they could possibly be crying over the destruction of a perfectly coiffed head made it even more poignant and...well, erm... mirthful. 
Where was I? Well protected you could say, sipping syrupy ice tea and watching the mayhem from behind an air-conditioned McDonald's shop window. Even Ronald McD looked worse from wear, sitting forlornly outside in the swirling dust to welcome the stragglers in. 
Oh Summer! Thou are definitely upon us!
Here's to summer and to iced tea! Cheers!

The best! LIIT

Of a Freezing Delhi and Birbal ki Khichri Retold

"Happy new year aunty!"
"Happy new year Shoma... Though it does not feel too much of a happy new year if you ask me. It is altogether too depressing."

Yes, it is too depressing but, so is winter every year in Delhi. As the temperature plummets dangerously close to the cut-off even those who profess to 'love' the freeze, start feeling the pinch and believe me there are only a few who actually love winters when the Sun hides itself behind multiple layers of smog and if you please - clouds.

Cold and dismal days of January when you feel as if the end of world is near is not unusual in Delhi and it is something no one looks forward to either. Just like no one looks forward to the harsh summers.

Today as I sit covered from head to toe in layers of woollies, I feel suffocated and irritated.

Last night as I was entering home, I saw the watchmen of our housing society stuffed into multiple layers of winter wear stoking dead embers on a large iron skillet-like basin that is normally used by masons to mix cement. I stood near the 'fire' for a minute trying to absorb the warmth that I realized was actually non-existent given that the temperature was 4 degrees Celsius or less and the wind blowing in was sharp as a razor blade.

It reminded me of a favorite story that I loved to read and hear while growing up and I shared it with the poor shivering men who listened to it sagely nodding their heads - probably too frozen to understand but, being impolite to a resident is not an option for them. Simply titled, 'Birbal's Khichri' it is one of the many tales from the famous, 'Witty anecdotes of Birbal', a courtier of Emperor Akbar.

It goes thus;

Once on a bleak winter morning during Akbar's regime, a thief was caught and brought to the Emperor's durbaar, court of justice at Faehpur Sikri near Agra - not too far from Delhi. Since his crime was not huge he could not be thrown into the dungeon. The just king decided to award him a punishment that would set an example and deter other criminals. So, he came up with a unique idea after much soul-searching.

Emperor Akbar

"Take him to the bank of Yamuna in the evening, strip him off his warm clothes then, tie him on a scaffolding and let him chill there the entire night."

Now, Birbal who was one of the Emperor's advisers was appalled at the decision. "But, he'll surely die of cold," he begged on the thief's behalf.

But, the emperor was in no mood to relent and thus, the poor man was sent off to an almost-certain death for a paltry crime.

The next morning Akbar woke up with a bad feeling about his decision and asked after the plight of the poor thief. Upon his asking the young rogue was brought into the court. He looked chapped and blue round the edges but, was alive and mostly healthy apart from a bad sneeze or two manifesting itself at close intervals.

The amazed Emperor asked how he survived the cold and the boy said that he was saved by the king himself. Upon hearing this seditious declaration by the rascal, the Emperor roared, "What nonsense!" or something of the sort and asked, "how?"

"Sire, while I was being tied up and left to freeze by the river side, I asked my gaoler to tie me up facing the palace with my back to the river bank. He agreed and I was tied up in a manner that I was left facing your chambers in the palace that was ablaze all night and kept warm by the lights of a thousand lamps and fire burning in the hearth."

Hearing this the king probably started feeling even more guilty and said, "stop describing the warmth in my chambers and tell the court here how did I save you?"

The poor thief overcome by fear and fatigue now spilled the beans saying, "I looked at your chambers all night thinking of the heat and comfort and did not allow my mind to dwell on the bitter cold and the thick fog rising from the river and I survived. So, I thought I'll thank you for your generosity and for saving my life."

Now, instead of having the humbling effect, this speech left the king feeling silly because in his mind, his own strategy to 'set an example' had backfired. So, after a lot of stern stares and deep breaths, the emperor ordered, "throw him into a dungeon because he avoided his punishment."

The entire court was rendered speechless but no one spoke up knowing well that the king was angry and saying anything would incur the wrath of the angry Baadshah upon them. Birbal who was also present at the durbar decided to take matters into his own hands and strategise a way out for the young thief.

When the next morning dawned clear, the Emperor, refreshed by a trouble-free sleep in his warm quarters appeared at the court and at once saw that Birbal was missing in attendance. He at once inquired and was told that the courtier was unwell and therefore taking rest at home.

The king, who was very fond of Birbal decided to visit him after the day's judgments had been delivered.

When Akbar reached Birbal's home in the evening, he found that Birbal was all alone at home since his family was visiting relatives in a distant place. Akbar was shown to the backyard by a bearer where Birbal was supervising the cooking of his dinner.

Akbar was at once shocked and irritated at the sight that greeted him upon his arrival. Birbal had concocted a small spit-fire over which a vessel was hung at least 10 feet above ground in which apparently the food was being cooked.

"What is this nonsense?" The emperor roared which made Birbal turn around and almost trip on his pointy, jewel-encrusted mojris.

Birbal

"Welcome to my humble abode O' Emperor of Hindustan! I'm sorry I could not appear in the court today due to my illness and am also sorry that I was not there in the house to welcome you since I have to supervise the cooks as my wife is not in town and she hates if I enter her kitchen."

"I see!" Was all that the Emperor opined to the flowery speech that was totally unlike Birbal to make. The intelligent man had no doubt realized that there was more to come.

"Why don't you join me for dinner tonight O' Badshaah? I'm getting prepared 'khichri' and though it is not much I'd be really obliged if you accept this humble request from your humble servant."

"Hmmm... and how long do you think will you need to cook this 'khichiri dinner'?" The Emperor asked pointing at the vessel hung high in the air far away from the fire-pit.

"By my calculations, if the thief was able to survive the chilly night being kept hot by the heat of  your majesty's chambers that were at least a mile off then by that rule, my dinner should be ready in...:"

"I should have known this was coming," said the humbled king who was actually kindhearted and just and thus, rushed back to the palace with Birbal in tow and calling the royal gaoler asked for the young thief to be released immediately while the king and his able and witty courtier settled down for a scrumptious meal cooked by the royal bawachis.

PS: The last part - about the royal banquet - was totally a figment of my imagination and I tacked it to the story only because the thought of warm and delicious food is the only thought that keeps my heart warm in the deadly cold, which in turn keeps my bones from freezing.

Keep happy, keep healthy and may your minds be full of stories and life full of love to keep you warm. Wishing everyone, "Happy winters" because if you imagine, it will happen. So, go on, think of this as a happy time and wait for a month - then this too shall be over!

When I'm Gone

When I'm gone and so are you, then, who'll hold chaos at bay?
When we both decide to move on, then, who'll take care of the world?
~ Shoma

I had written this a few days back because I knew she'd die of the grievous injuries that she had suffered at the hands of the rapists and was worried that those who had been fighting for her cause on behalf of every woman and girl who walks the streets at all times of the day and night - because it is her right to do so in a democracy - will quit.

I was happy to have been proved wrong. It makes me weep with joy to read that thousands have walked out of the comfort of their homes in this chilling December morning and are silently paying homage to a brave soul whose life was cut short but, in her short life, she shook us up and made us sit up and rethink.

She single-handedly gave a huge impetus to the cause of the thousands of voiceless, powerless women who suffer ignominy and harassment mutely because that is inherent in her conditioning. The society and the judiciary expect her to suffer in silence or suffer the consequences of being a fallen woman - there are never any fallen men - strange!

She showed us why it was wrong of Sita to take refuge in the folds of mother Earth and why it was sad that Ravan died because he pulled Sita by her hair to the presence of her husband and NOT because he had kidnapped and harassed her and kept her a prisoner against her will. Why did Rama NOT suffer for sending his wife to the jungles to protect the sanctity of his throne when she was expecting his child?

Why did the Kauravas suffer for being rude and lustful of Draupadi? Why was Yudhishthira still the one to reach heaven though he had put her on stake in a game of chance without her knowledge and lost?

Our scriptures are flawed and our Gods and Prophets tortured souls. We pray to Goddesses for strength but, openly humiliate and burn women in our homes. We look up to our prophets and Gods to show the way when they too have made the same mistakes as any of our men. And if someone tries to point it out then, we fight among ourselves to prove that our Prophets were mere men who still need our protection.

We need angels like this brave girl who has finally shown us our flaws and held a mirror to the society we live in. She has made the supreme sacrifice that is no less than that of any prophet and brought everyone together in a mass of humanity that wanted to protect its womenfolk - a rarity indeed. God bless you and bring you peace and happiness wherever you are little girl and please continue to show us the right way.