Sarfaroshī Kī Tamannā

                                

Travel sojourns not only fill the void of monotonous life but also widen our horizon and enriches us with beautiful experiences of life. Lately, we travelled to our honeymoon destination - Andamans & Nicobars after twenty-three years. The only difference was that this time we visited with the price tag (that usually comes along with marriage) - our little miss Snoopy :)


Her bizarre questionnaire and queer understanding have pushed our travel experiences to another level. Along with regular touristy tasks, the most which intrigue her is the history and the tales of the freedom fighters associated with the place. Port Blair offers such fables in abundance! The most picturesque archipelago and pristine beaches roar the weirdest tale of brutality by the British and the darkest chapter of India’s struggle for freedom.

                                           

KALA-PANI or CELLULAR JAIL stands tall till date and quavers with rage while narrating the soul-breaking stories of our great freedom fighters. As the light and sound show chronicles the barbarity of the Irish jailor, David Barrie: children like my Snoopy realise the cost of freedom our martyrs have paid for the privilege of the motherland.

                                          

As the grand Peepal tree started reverberating inhumane suffering of the Patriots, (Fazl-e-Haq Khairabadi, Yogendra Shukla, Batukeshwar Dutt, Babarao Savarkar, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, Sachindra Nath Sanyal, Bhai Parmanand, Sohan Singh, Subodh Roy and many more) goosebumps appeared all over the body and eyes welled up involuntarily. Their sacrifices jolted equally irrespective of their caste, creed or religion. They only sang one song in harmony “Sarfaroishi Ki Tamanna Abb Hamare Dil Mein Hai.”

Forty-five minutes show infused us with patriotism, we moved out with the mixed bag of emotions. Snoopy fretted, so much so wanting to flog David Barrie’s ghost.
I appeased her with candy and a book about freedom fighters, and myself tuned in a news channel. Regardless to say the fight on the news channels was more heinous, and many appeared to me like jailer David Barrie.

Our forces were being questioned.  Communal fissure being created to propagate 'KISSA  KURSI KA' more critical than the motherland. Coincidentally that day our Braveheart, Abhinanadan was handed over to India. The euphoria of the public was unparalleled. The whole nation was glued to the television, young men were dancing with the drums --- for a moment I thought his contribution would go to the history like freedom fighters, but the very next day he went into the oblivion and talks about ‘only trees being uprooted by our forces’ surfaced all across the news channels. They belittled the gutsy effort of our forces.
In the times, when our netas are addressing dreaded criminals as ‘JI’ and forces as ‘KYA KIYA JI?’ is it even heroic to fight for the country?

In case netas have forgotten the price tag for the freedom, and need some insight,  I think they should board a flight and visit KALA-PANI!
                           

#RewariRapeCase

                                   

"Beti Bachao; Beti Padhao" a slogan so derogatory in itself; belittling female infants, girls and women.  Bachao from whom? Who are the predators?  Fathers? Brothers? Uncles? Relatives?

Somehow, 'Bachaa Liya'! Then what? Padhao - Likhao, for a bunch of scoundrels to make her a bait? To let her dreams and aspirations squeezed by the lusty fangs of some venomous creatures? Or to slog from one police station to another to expose her scars to make the officials believe that such a heinous crime has been done?  Or for the endless debates on the primetime news for a couple of days?  Or to be left to live in despair and gloom?
Has anyone answers to these questions? Hopelessly - no!

Haryana girls have notched up to space,  have brought gleaming medals for the country, have set precedents in every field. Nonetheless, men treat them like doormats - to get over their frustrations, nympholepsy and lewdness.

Gang-rapes in Haryana has become a norm, a sensational headline for newspapers every day. #Rewarirape case, where a topper of the state is being offered a spiked drink, raped for eight hours by more than eight men,  hopped from one police station to another to register an FIR. No police officers visited the site of crime as every official was busy at CM's rally, her critical medical examination suffered (SWABS SAMPLES) because of the delay in filing a complaint. And CM said yet again, "Law will take its course and assured that culprits will be punished."

Culprits give two hoots to your laws, Mr CM! Judicial procedures and punishments offer no deterrent to these criminals. They goof up with regulations and boggle your law and order again and again.
People talk about gender sensitisation, I want to talk about law-sensitisation about police-force-ethics sensitisation; about human-values sensitisation! Even animals don't behave like these rapists. We as a nation are failing to impart core values to our fellow citizens. Our primary education is not going in the right direction. I think we need to change the curriculum, and the first and foremost need to teach respect for each woman and human . This nation has learnt to protect the cow, when will they learn to protect a woman?
As a woman, as a mother of daughters, my blood runs cold. Even after educating my daughters in the world's best universities and schools, my pulse runs more than usual until they step inside the house. What is the use of such education? How does it empower a woman? Or what will it take to enable men to understand that an abominable act of few minutes can make a women imbecile for whole life?
Last night primetime news was loaded with #rewarirape case and the hurricane in USA and Philippines.  The images kept haunting me till wee hours. People suffering from storms will emerge out in some time, but will this girl ever be able to come out of the tornado of ravishment? Will, the scars of sexual assault,  keep haunting all her life? Or that bus ride in the hope of higher education will detest her from any further journey?  Questions can be many, but where are the answers?

Our sluggish system, our callous authorities will forget this episode in no time. But, I would like to raise one question, if this whole paraphernalia is not enough to take care of each woman of the state at least provide one toll-free number for such victims where they can reach - and a dedicated police officer and a doctor come to record their statement and offer instant basic medical aid.
At least save them from the disgrace of pleading to register an FRI after the wreaking havoc. At least do this much!
Or soon #MeToo movement will become passe and #Gang-rapeToo will become synonymous to Haryana :(

FOR THAT SMILE

                 

                 

" Oh, mother earth are you infuriated or oppressed?

   Why your own land has become so deplorable?

   Why are children and old groaning in agony?

   Why is the swill of floodwaters making everyone thirsty?

   Why are foods and farms under your gnawing teeth?

   Is the endless deluge is nothing but your rage?

   Or is that we have done something blasphemously wrong?"

  I am sure these words must be pounding in every person's head in GOD'S OWN COUNTRY.

The Malabar Coast of the nation, kissed by the Arabian Sea, sprinkled with palm-lined beaches, backwater, mountains and spice plantations are panting for breath. All this happened in the month of the ONAM...the harvest festival of the state! But what are we reaping this year?  Pain, misery, distress, hopelessness and above all homelessness.

Now that the Kerala flood has been declared as 'SEVERE CALAMITY' funds are pouring in from around the world. Nevertheless, the deluge-ravaged Kerala doesn't need rehabilitation it needs a rebuild. And the courage and resilience of our fellow countrymen can reassemble and reconstruct Kerala in a better manner, I am sure of that. But keeping in view the intensity and magnitude of the floods and landslides in Kerala, the funds needed for this elephantine task is colossal.

The political tussles are on one side and harsh realities on the ground on another. Some authorities say we want to donate others say we don't want to accept. NDRF has released 600 crores, but much more is needed to accomplish, recondition and rehabilitate GOD'S OWN COUNTRY.

We as a humble citizen can contribute too, even if it's a drop in the ocean.  Dears,   'little by little fills the pot'!  And donation in kind and cash are the best options (donating your old clothes and shoes and earning some dharam-karam is a big NO in the name of contribution).

And, we are in no dearth of inspiration for the same:

An expectant mother’s water bag burst - a life she was nurturing for the months in her womb was in danger. She survived and gave birth to a baby boy after being airlifted. Contribute for many such lives those were ushered into this world in such grave conditions and have no home to go back.

A months old child whose mother kept her in the vessel to float above the water at the mercy of water gods. She might have been rescued, but she has to live beyond this.

                                                     

For the elderlies who are almost in the last leg of their lives and of course didn't deserve to see this anticlimax on the peaceful piece of land.

                                               

To appreciate the stellar contribution of Indian forces, to adore their valour and sense of duty. This one picture portrays the commitment and dauntlessness of our Jawans. Contribute to make their efforts more meaningful.

                                       

                                                                       

  SALAM as a salutation for the hundreds of NGOs who worked day and night selflessly. They can only spread their wings only if we contribute generously.

                                                                       

For all the mothers and fathers, who have spent sleepless nights so that their children can sleep peacefully. Let's become benefactors for such mothers so that they can also catch a few peaceful hours of sleep. 

A big shout-out for all the volunteers you have worked relentlessly for the welfare of distressed people, unperturbed.

                               

             

And last but not the least, a homage to all the pandits, priests and Maulvis, who rose above the religion, caste and creed to show respect towards the humanity. Out of the catastrophic episode, if something has shown the ray of hope, it is the reflection of unity and integration. This indeed calls for a celebration in the otherwise fractured nation.

                                                                  

                                                   

 However, if none of the above motivates you, look at the million-dollar smile of this gentleman. His livelihood (probably) on his shoulder and a complacent smile on his face when he is deep down in the water will surely make you think... ‘We can still celebrate life’.

                                               

   

   

OUR CRUMBLING HERITAGE

Last week Karnataka's political drama beguiled us all! The elements of the drama were bizarre, and the characters were taken to refuge from one place to another.
By chance, we checked in the same hotel - in Hyderabad - where the puppetish characters were rehearsing their next scene. My husband and I were delighted by the fact that we might witness people moving in and out with black briefcases. Nevertheless, we couldn't see any of it as, by the time we reached the hotel, they were deported back to Karnataka.

However, my zest to explore the antiques of the city of Nizams kept me going. When I started digging into the history of 'Hyderabad', I found out that the city of Hyderabad was born out of love - the love of gusty Muslim prince, Muhammad Quli Qutab for a young Hindu courtesan  Bhagmati. He was so enamoured of her beauty and voice that he would ride to the village of Chichalam across the river Musi, to meet her beloved. When his father Sultan Ibrahim heard about his alliance with a Hindu girl, he was devastated, but later relented and constructed the  Purana Pul - a massive stone bridge so that his son can reach to his beloved easily.

After ascending the throne, prince defied all the traditions and married Bhagmati. In 1951, he laid the foundation of a new city which he named 'Bhagnagar' after his beloved queen. And, Bhagmati embraced Islam and changed her name to Hyder Mahal and Bhagnagar was renamed Hyderabad after that.

Isn't this Hindu-Muslim love saga a motivational tale in this much-polarised phase of our country?  Do name and religion are over and above the humanity? Or the politicians are juggling 'casteism', 'religionism', 'states' like tangerines in their hands to lure the floating voter.

Anyhow, me and my little bub, far too innocent to understand all this, started to explore the next day and landed at THE FALAKNUMA PALACE.  (also called as 'the mirror of the sky' and now, The Taj Falaknuma). The majestic building took our breath away. One-thirty-four years old pristine-white palace still stands taller than the palace of  Versailles. Then why after more than a century we are failing to construct sturdy flyover bridges or buildings which keep collapsing now and then?
Regardless of technology and delicate machinery probably sincere intention is missing!
Though we left the palace after a couple of hours, the grandeur and opulence travelled along.

Before retiring to bed, I narrated the story of CHARMINAR to my bub, that the King of Hyderabad nearly 527 years ago, knelt and prayed to ALLAH to end the epidemic - plague. Miraculously after a few days, the disease ebbed.

To celebrate the end of plague and to thank the almighty he erected the majestic structure at the very point where he knelt. The grand edifice - a melody set in concrete -  is still trying hard to sing a rhapsody of its past.

The story ended, and we went to the see the alluring beauty the next day. It was around nine in the evening - a month of Ramzan - Lad Bazar effervesced with the food and ITTAR. My bub and I swarmed through the burka-clad women, men and children to reach near the CHARMINAR.

Alas! All the sprightliness faded as we approached near the CHARMINAR - it was crowded with all sort of peddlers - selling Chinese goods around the inspired piece of architecture.  The structure was not even cordoned off. One of the MINAR was covered with the grubby green cloth - trying to hide its falling grace. I looked at the monument with bleary eyes!
Every time I see our golden heritage - abandoned, fragmented and ripped - I feel robbed!

Sometime back I visited one the oldest fort of India, Ranthambore Fort. An approximately 1300years old fort was in shambles - walls scribbled with chalks - women washing clothes is 1300 old HAMAM, after being declared as world UNESCO site.
Corroding TAJ MAHAL is a familiar story.

My little bub asked, 'So mom where did  the KING kneel exactly?'
I looked around - the chaos in and around the ailing MINAR turned me deaf and dumb. I snapped, 'It's late now - let's go back to the hotel. '
But are we late to save our heritage? I thought. And, then I thought - one or two black briefcases could save our splendid allegorical monuments. 

But would anyone like to woo these monuments? That is a question of concern.

Baba Black sheep!

                                               

Baba Black sheep have you any wool?

No girl! No girl, for I am a wolf.

I am not blindfolded, and I am not  a fool,

Baba Black sheep you are not a wolf!

Oh, girl! Oh, girl! If I am not a wolf,

Let's go into the den and let me give you wool!

Baba black sheep you are copious and warm,

Oh! Baba Black sheep, I love your charm.

Oh, girl! Oh, girl! Are you captivated by my charm?

Shoo away now, or you will crumble down.

Yeah, I am blindfolded, and I am a fool.

 You are not a Black sheep, but you are a wolf!

  Oh, girl! Oh, girl! Yeah, I am a wolf :)

 - Amita Thakur Dogra

NIRABHAYA

                 

Winds were brazen; clouds were dark.

The crisp wintry night that was!

But my spirit was sprightly, buoyant and czar.

My bosom friend's warm embrace was ajar.

We joyously hopped onto a bus. 

We sizzled and giggled, losing ourselves in each other's warmth.

We cared a little who was in and around.

But we realised very soon,

hawks and vultures; beasts and goons were floating around.

My bosom friend tried to shoo them away,

Instead, he fell prey to their hawkish eyes.

Vultures ripped my body; beasts gashed my soul apart.

Goons hurled us out of the bus; naked, bruised and agape.

We cried we bled, almost till our last breaths.

After five years of the barbaric and devilish act,

I heard they are going to be hanged to death. 

One vulture, one hawk; one beast and a goon,

will go away from this earth very soon.

What about the looming hawkish spirits?

Can you hang and bury them forever? 

Till then I am not - 'Nirbhaya.'

Purple Pulp!

PURPLE PULP!

I was green, my greenery gave solace to everyone.

For a while, my foliage was enough to bring radiance and luminance on everyone's face.

I tried hard to serve propitiously!

                          ****

I was pink, my pinkness took over greens and blues. 

My pinkness made everyone blush and flush. 

I was gazed upon with love and lust. 

I was kept tight - high and low, far and wide.

Till recently a purple tide came, I became an eyesore for everyone.

I was abandoned, I was burned, I was molested and deserted.

                            ****

I am Purple, I am rhetoric and grandiloquent.

I know I am acting bit pricey right now. 

It's only my final effort to tell you all .....

Usher me tenderly, love me honestly, place me where I belong to.

'Bhaioon aur Bahno' - I don't want to be pegged out like pink !!!