Remembering Anu

  My Dearest Anu..

                                     

        For someone who had waited for me long one hot afternoon under the foot bridge of Thiruvanmiyur station in 2015 for our first meet and thanked me for tracing her out, never had I imagined that our association would unfold into a series of wonderful experiences while happily volunteering together for PETA, TEDx Napier Bridge, MASH Project and veganism back in Chennai.

Source: Saarang, IIT Madras facebook

  
         I was inconsolable that night. I was devastated again. Possibly not  just that night but for the days, months and even a year to follow now. As a toddler, these have been the biggest fears of my life- fire, my sleeplessness and the fear of losing loved ones. With all such malicious stuffs getting combined together, I didn't know how I would deal with such after effetcs, Anu. As I went for my Masters convocation in Anna University the same year in December, I knew you won’t be there to

 Source: Saarang, IIT Madras facebook

take me around to the all those nice places to eat around as promised earlier. I feel immensely heartbroken owing to the fact that you won’t be any more making such beautiful paperweights which actually had caught my attention in IIT Saarang Madras four years back even before we had met each other. To the world who knows you as the ‘pawsitive-vegan-art-lover’, and beyond, you still stand as that little, humble and ‘Never say No’ girl to all my requests.  A girl of few words, incredible sincerity and ‘take-no-nonsense’ attitude is how I am going to treasure you in my life as long as I breathe. Now that I don’t even see your consistent daily dose of motivation cherishing singlehood, ethics and happy faces on my Instagram and WhatsApp stories, one would definitely see me imbibing me all those what you had bothered to guide me on what to eat and what not to. That list I still have now. As I recollect cherishing our vegan snacks from the same plate in Ascendas, I would miss you not just I visit ‘Namma Chennai’ everytime but one incredible friend with such magnanimous impact in my enviable friend’s circle. Sending all my abundant Daimoku, prayers, wishes and gratitude for your wonderful family, brave sister Madhu Priya and you my proud fellow Libran..  

                Naan unai kaathalikuran, Machi

As I remember Anu Vidya through her memorialised account, I celebrate her short yet meaningful life. You are in my thoughts wherever you are. 

                  A tribute to the Kurangani forest fire victim, March 2018..

The Valiance of the Mother of a Martyr

 A visible effect on urban media and flushed up posts on the Day, celebrating the altruistic love between the daughters, sons and their mothers. Indeed it is Mother’s Day! A man-in-uniform, too must have written a post on his timeline with a picture of his Mamma, in similar words. 

“Though I am at a point of distance farther from you, though you think I am in a castle of  war and death, I want to tell you Mamma that I miss you. Your blessings are a bonus to my physical strength and span of life. You are the hope and belief of mine because you are the point of my creation for which I am on the land to fulfill my duties assigned by the Real Creator. I wish you carry on the same strength Mamma, which you bore when you brought me up into the beautiful world of your lap. I’ll be home soon. I just want to let you know that I love you Mamma and I wish you a Happy Mother’s Day”.  

No matter if she is a literate modern lady or a rural home-maker, what must have she thought inside her heart when she must have gone through the post or what must have gone through the heart of his sister when she must have read it to the mother on his behalf? All of a sudden, did she gather a state of calmness in her mind or a moment of pride wrapped with the smile on her face?

Otherwise a nostalgic thought must have crossed her that stance of the good old days, each time when he must have come home with a bleeding elbow from the cricket ground during his teens and how she must have gone mad on him of not being careful, just because it hurt her heart to see his blood but the anger acted a shield of strength on her face.

Again each time when he must have been slapped by his teacher in the school, what would she have done to the teacher, or how would she have reacted on seeing her little son upset. Indeed, a little more strength, she must have carried.

And wonder!! What that same selfless, fierce yet a pious woman must have thought when she had decided to send her boy for the service of Folks of her Nation.

It remains an un-descriptive thought for every clueless human, a tough thing to be thought and the hardest to believe about the state of mind, of the woman, called Mother. For the first time when she must have looked upon him with the uniform on his body and the day she sent off her son to serve.

What must she have said to the boy, when he warmly touched her feet and bid goodbye for the time being, because the borders gave him a call of duty.

Mother!!!  If someone would want to talk to you about your cognition when he spoke to you before he finally must have stepped up on the bogie, and when Mamma’s boy must have smiled and hugged you tight, with a word to return home soon.

With a vigour, could you have believed on the day when you, while dining with family instantly come across certain videos on TV where your uniform laden son was being abused and maltreated by a number of strangers on the street. It makes sense that a corner of your heart must have cried and screamed out with an unseen injury, to which you would have wrapped up with a pride filled girth of your chest. Each day within your morning and evening prayers you would have sought for your son’s victorious long life.

But then again another day during same dining the moment when a news telecasts a fellow boy of your son being buried underneath the snow over the altitudes, your heart again must have thumped loud, asking the Mother Earth for why she got rude being another mother? The incidence of a broken out gun battle at the nearest area of his posting where you must have heard that a few of his fellow mates being martyred. How have you held yourself until you heard about your son being safe? 

When the whole country must have mourned on their martyrdom, what was the thing you held inside, mother? For her when we talk about, a glimpse of her son smiling makes her day or a beautiful talk of her girl makes her feel complete. 

There is another side of her being firm like a rock when her eyes bleed out of ache, when the same son of hers returns back home with a wrapped Tricolor around his blood pooled body, to see the young boy of hers inside a coffin. Who could define the state of her heart at that juncture, the same fierce and a proud woman when calls for death, so as to make it possible to talk to her boy again, just once again. 

Undoubtedly the easiest job for anyone is to pay a heed after the later consequences of the war and the martyred boy of the same mother, had it been much proudly given a deserved esteem, admiration and reverence to the one, prior.

To the Woman, selfless, pious, a chosen up creature of His behalf, bringing up humanity, serving humanity, who donates her womb to the service for all of us. Regards, Honour and the warmest of the wishes on Mother’s Day.

  

                     

Guest contributor Dr. Radhika J. Sharma, a proud Dogra from the beautiful mountains of Kathua in Jammu & Kashmir is a veterinarian and poetess.

                                                                                                                      

Wanderlust

Stop making amends for the mistakes you have made,

Just let the droplets on the window pane fade,

Look at the sky, birds flying in a V,

Just take out the 'I' and replace it with we,

We are all going round in circles,

But the circle only has one side,

So swallow a tinch of sea water,

And gulp down all your pride,

Stop thinking about life, you will never get it done,

So shake a few leaves or go in search of the sun,

It does not really matter which direction you choose,

As long as you have roads left in your shoes,

Standing in front of a silent mountain,

Take a lung full of cold winter air,

Sitting on top of an old bus,

Let the wind gush through your dusky hair,

GO FALL IN LOVE ONE MORE TIME,

WHAT HAS BEEN STOPPING YOU ALL THIS WHILE?

Drink down your sorrows with a slice of lime,

May be set coarse for an enchanted Isle,

Go jump around, dance in the monsoon rain,

Let the rain drops carry away every tinch of your pain,

Walk in through the morning mist, go find the morning dew,

Or just let the clouds draw a picture for you,

Bounce pebbles off water, hold the first flake of snow,

Share your secrets with the sea and only the moon will know,

Let your mind sway away like dust,

Embark on the journey called LIFE, 
GO FEED YOUR WANDERLUST.

                         


Guest contributor Ayan Roy from Guwahati is a techie, volunteer, and happy-go-lucky Bong buddy.

                         

No shame DAINLa !

From the pen of a gynaecologist, a doting mother of a wonderful girl TIA and a DAINLa, guest contributor Dr. Sagnika Dash strongly advocates humanistic ideologies.

It was my fourteenth day at my in-laws' place. As a newly wed, I chose to follow all that was requested, directed and dictated. Most of the things made sense except for the rituals relating to menstruation. As soon as a daughter-in-law (Let us call her DAINLa!) gets her menses for the first time at her in-laws' place, it is no less than a shame and guilt for her that is she meant to feel but also the fact that she is not PREGNANT. This goes circulated amongst the peers as she is asked to go through some specific untoward rituals which makes it all the more obvious that she is MENSTRUATING!

Thus there I was an obedient DAINLa who spotted a few blood stains on cloth then, naive enough to ask her mother-in-law who then guided her through the unprecedented treacherous process of rituals. Then there followed a bunch of orders, "Don't touch anything Bahu! Use the separate bathroom. Don't touch the tap. You will be given one bucket of water to wash yourself. After you are done with your bath, we shall give you a cloth." Meanwhile I could not stop analyzing about the ground, the soil which is a good conductor and thus the logic of impurity for me failed miserably then and there. Washing off oneself with that one bucket included a nine yards of elegance, the stained garment, the body smeared with a paste of herbs and sticky-stinking oil and the one and a half feet of long hair. It was only a sari that I was handed over at the end, I mean a single sari without the accessories. I wrapped up the long cloth, trying to hide my body which eventually made me look like a character from "The Mummy Returns".

Believe me! The walk from the celebrated bathroom to home was not a cake walk. I call it  the worst RAMP WALK as I was on full display considering that the neighbours on the first floor and some peeping could very well sense what had happened. Shame, puppy shame!! The bride was menstruating. I was instructed to clean my sanitary napkins in a separate polybag thoroughly even though they were complete disposables. The polybag belonged to the celebrated bathroom. Thus everytime I went to dispose those pads off, it made people around me aware of the length of my monthly cycle. That was the day I decided firmly that I would not declare my menstruation at my in-laws' place ever. I was lucky that I never had to stay there for long. The next month I went to visit my parents. Even though my dates were approaching when I got back, I mentioned all intentionally that  I got them at my parents' place back then. Isolation of menstruating women makes things worse, especially  when I was given a bucket of water to clean myself which I was unable to do so that day in a complete new place. Instead I was made to waste precious water on cleaning a disposable pad, to what avail and to ward off which black magic I am still not sure till date.

Odia Raja hallmark - Alata

Making women clad in improper clothes on full display to neighbours, outsiders and so what if even insiders is never a sensible idea to deal with the pain, bleeding and the shame associated with menstruation. When the world cannot stop going ga-ga about building toilets indoors for ladies, why can't the menstruating woman take bath indoors there? This particular saga makes me wonder if a woman with a voice and social relevance can be made to follow unbelievable customs which belittles a normal physiological bodily function, what about the million voiceless suffering? I can't imagine! I belong to a state which proudly celebrates the menstruation festival since ages known as Raw-Ja. But the persistence of ignorance and customs ingrained in households somewhere still humiliates my womanhood. 

                                              

When my daughter grows up, I would want her to feel empowered because of menstruation and there shall be no rules and no shame. 

For more understanding on menstrual hygiene education, please refer 

 https://www.womensweb.in/2020/07/significance-of-menstrual-hygiene-education/   

Let not the DURGA wither!

                     What does it take to be an urbane DURGA?

                 Today is Durga Mahashtami. Being a Navami born twin kid, Durga Puja holds a special place in my heart. This is why I am a little biased to the Dussehra grandeur when that's celebrated either in our Odia households or anywhere in Chennai. Pandal hopping is a must. May be that's why even the Stunning yet Angry Indian Goddess somewhere in me just cannot take any slightest form of injustice in any shape. Wait! Is it that am I overreacting? Well, you let me know if I am after complete reading.

                 ‘Arey! You are so beautiful. Very fair’, said one of my seniors Shankar (Names changed to maintain anonymosity) whom I met recently. Over these years he has not changed to my utter surprise despite being a high ranking senior official posted in my city. Then he remarked, “How come are you still so fair? Chennai climate has not affected you I guess.” While looking at me sheepishly and staring again and again not straight into my eyes but somewhere that left me uncomfortable (I am sure you would have guessed where!), I tried distracting him asking about his wife, who is also another high ranking official posted somewhere else, her posting and little son.“So I thought you had a great time enjoying Chennai, uploading pictures and going around beaches and moving and travelling alone, you obviously did. By the way, long hair. Hmm! Don’t tell me you were not paid for that (I had donated my locks for natural wigs preparation for cancer patients a year ago).” he exclaimed. With all round of talks from career to having boyfriend(s) or if I drink or I smoke or if I am getting married sooner lasted for an hour, we left finally.

                 Honestly girls - fair, dusky, wheatish and dark have their own share of pain. I do have my woes and a lion share of discrimination for being fair skinned. Yes, I have. But now the point of letting everyone know about such things is not just to grab attention to let you know that I am no more meeting that senior again in my life despite receiving his constant messages or draw sympathy for enduring his typical statements. No, I don’t need that but I must let everyone know about the mindset of highly educated and extremely good ranking men in the society about the present day educated women. Is not this judgemental, extremely outrageous, morally demeaning and equally ridiculous? Exactly the situation was. Does not it sound weird? No! But why? Don't our parents or we look for potential life partners in them? I love meeting people. But meeting such people never deters me from meeting and thanking good people too. Again talking to another senior Raj (Names changed to maintain anonymosity) another day over messenger chat made me wonder what it takes to be a present day city woman. He was heart-broken somewhere learning that her pretty independent crush Sakshi (Names changed to maintain anonymosity) who could not marry him due to different castes was getting an ugly divorce from her miser husband due to petty dowry despite being amazingly talented and affluent. It was devastating for both Raj and Sakshi. So was that for me as she was too young. That was awful. No woman is married for a broken heart and broken home. These are just two unrelated examples that I could enumerate of gender discrimination. 

                                  

                                         Don't you meet broken angels?

              Discrimination of women in cities at each and every step of their lives has now emerged in different forms and you will be astonished how. Disrespect, verbal abuse, emotional torture, shaming for making different choices in life, prohibition to exercise their will and character assassination are the emerging, unreported and less talked forms of humiliation for the fair sex in cities. Yes! They exist. The eagerness to have a male child biologically and even adopt has not still dawned in many educated families. Again, it might break me if I drift my attention from cities to rural areas as the levels of atrocities are even higher. 

               The structural problems based on gender might be similar everywhere but the difference lay in performance across communities or families, highlights Mahaprajna, a teacher of English Access Microscholarship Programme in Kalinga Institute of Social Sciences, Bhubaneswar. A woman in an urban slum might be economically empowered, might be responsible for the family, but an economically empowered woman in upper caste, may not be the decision maker of the family. Probably one could risk generalisation and say in cities, gender based discrimination is more subtle. It is evident in our daily parlance or perhaps through expectations set for each gender, clarifies Ms. Nayak, who is also a PhD scholar in Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Kolkata. Gender discrimination is carried through the nature of accessibility to public spaces. Do some of us go to movies still alone? Do we chat for hours sitting near a tea stall? How much of the night belongs to us? All these activities are governed by cultural modalities than legal privileges. In larger structure the struggle of a lower caste woman would be in certain contexts worse than upper caste. Even upper caste women get humiliated or oppressed within the families. So the dynamics have to be contextualised to have a critical understanding, bewails Mahaprajna. 

                Listening to heart wrenching struggles every other day and undergoing a tonnes have made me realize that it all comes down to us. Who is that ‘Us’? It is ‘She’ and that will be my stern answer. Now it does not matter whosoever is responsible – a boss, a husband or a boyfriend. Charity begins at home. The root cause of such gender based discrimination is the ill attitude and the mentality of the individuals irrespective of the economic background, educational qualifications, foreign exposure and cool quotient. A child develops and learns manners from home and that is where the role of a mother to teach her child right and wrong comes into the picture. That is how a comprehensive change can be expected. So that way, in most of the gender discrimination cases at college, workplace and home, if you look at, a woman is the reason of another woman’s woes indirectly. And that is the irony - a woman against another woman. This is tricky. This is preachy but not untrue.

                                     

                                             SHE for SHE 

                   In the lime mirth of Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore, “A woman’s heart is as soft as a lily and as brave as a lion”. That is how women are innately created. They may not tell you what they reel under when such brutal discrimination happen. Some don’t dare to voice it out due to peer pressure. Some can’t talk. Some just discuss. Some choose to ignore. Some tend to suffer. At times, it becomes necessary for some to put a smile and march. But it is ‘Us’ who can help and motivate each other to curb the burgeoning menace. No, it is not just sacrifice, humbleness, confidence, undying spirit and strength within that take to be a woman today. Instead it takes a woman to let another woman, her good will, an ounce of empathy and a little prayer to co-exist in peace. Thus it is a vicious cycle. That is where such life ruining discrimination and major crimes in the society can be checked. 

      Let the Durga within us never wither and die.  Durga Puja ra anek anek abhinandan!!

We are Pandal hopping. Are you?

This article has been put up as a guest contribution on

 http://socialpukar.com/citywoman/ 

and

http://thebarefootchronicles.com/guest-posts/what-does-it-take-to-be-a-present-day-city-woman/#more-119

Madras: An emotion

When Mumbai becomes Chennai in Delhi.. 

Joining blogger in 2010 and posting in 2015 were never my conscious efforts, but this post is. It was my today's early morning thought while having a shower (Exactly! That's where I ponder. My free time I must admit) that somewhere urged me to post something that people will correlate to, where I can vent my emotions that I own and just talk about anything that I love. I love meeting people but somewhere I never have perfect answers to things that they ask when we meet. May be! 'Can we talk?' might help. It is a conscious decision.

          Leaving home for Masters in Chennai two years back was never my first preference despite the fact that the metro had the country's top most veterinary university and Asia's first Veterinary and Animal Sciences University. May be the picture drawn by the then Chennaiites for me, who were there or had been there at some point of their lives, of India's first modern city was not too appealing. It's fine. We all have experiences. Thanks to my all India ICAR post graduate counselling in Delhi that brought me here. I proposed Bombay, God disposed. It was the love which bloomed gradually despite an initial cultural shock when 'Namaskar' became 'Wannakkum' and 'Smruti Smita' became 'Smruthi Smitha'. 'Smruti Smita' oscillated between Smriti Irani and Silk Smitha for them. I don't blame them. Infact I enjoyed that. But having stayed in Chennai for the last two years, I miss the city as I am back home now after studies. I prefer calling it Madras not Chennai. I am like that! An old school girl. It's like me, an amalgamation of balance and little restraint, somewhere extremely modern still culturally rooted. I loved the name. I loved the mad rush. I loved the deep seated culture. I loved the Madras Tadka (Rehman's Hindi songs in Tamil and it's no where in India) on radio. I loved RJ Tausif. I loved podi idlis. I loved crispy dosai. I loved the healthy breakfast. I loved Marina. I loved the fast local trains. I loved Thyagaraja Nagar. I loved my confined yet restricted freedom. I loved the vibrant environment. I loved my college. I loved my friends. I loved the weddings. I loved going to Iyiytee (IIT you know). I loved the broken Hindi that simple people spoke to me. I had not seen the city beyond 7 PM. That was quintessentially Chennai for me before my hostel curfew time. More than that, the city gave me so much in form of appraisals, love as 'Social Icon of the Week', identity from 'Chennai's Cutest Vegetarian' to 'Chuttney Devi' (I loved chuttney), amazing people, friends for lifetime, rebukes and learning and life changing experiences, which I will enlist with due course. But with Madras turning 377 years old today, my love for the city which gave India first modern English language school, first modern hospital, first modern municipality, first modern bank, first modern police force, first modern court of law, first modern postal service, first modern printing press, first sky srcaper, first drive-in restaurant, first drive in-bank, first multiplex, first key-club, first ice-cream parlour with forty varieties and first modern university refuses to fade now. I am a MADrasi somewhere. It will always live in me, no matter wherever I go. It's a realization that people are same wherever we go. From having my independence to solo trips, getting my first room mate to a nose piercing, from great career exposure to volunteering opportunities, from my first fashion parade to my first little black dress, from learning little Tamil to having a penchant for Malayalam movies and being gifted with a healthy vegetarian lifestyle to being bald, that's how Chennai liberated me. You are an emotion. You are a great teacher. Romba Nandri! Happy Birthday Madras. Iniya Pirantha Naal Vazhthukal. Happy Madras Day! 

          Thus take life as it comes. You never know when it turns you into a story teller. But I am not done.

Gandhi Beach was my stress buster.

A sunset view at Gandhi Beach 

The view of Southern Railway Office from Rajiv Gandhi Government General Hospital. Thank you dengue. Yes! You had me.

  Thanks to the long waiting queue that made me peep one day and view Chennai Central station from the reservation office building. 

                                                                      

The article has been published  in

https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/readersblog/smruti-way/madras-an-emotion-22830/

                                                  

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