When I entered the festooned gates of JMC on the morning of 23rd February, I found the atmosphere inside ridden with confusion, with some palpable heat and anxiety flowing around. Reason? The Women Studies and Development Center, my alter ego while I was still in college, was waiting to launch one of their most prideworthy initiatives of the year in the august presence of the Mayor of Delhi, Ms. Rajni Abbi. Quite obviously, my juniors, who now hold the reigns of WSDC, were facing essential bouts of pre-event jitters.It is not everyday that the Mayor of Delhi herself agrees to walk in through the gates of your college to give to your endeavours her blessings and encouragement. However, that is precisely what Ms. Abbi consented to do- to be with a bunch of enthusiastic young scribes wanting to make their quill their sword of revolution- and the kind of person she is, we were easily stunned and mesmerized by her.

"Still I Rise"- this is the name of  a recently launched monthly newsletter by WSDC, JMC, which seeks to address bold topics relating to gender issues- the concerns and the celebration. It is a unique and unprecedented initiative, at least as far as the history of JMC is concerned. If the first issue of this journal is anything to go by, I am more than sure that the forthcoming issues will only get better and more interesting, and will carry lots of informative and entertaining content which will definitely appeal to the sensibilities of the young, the concerned and the daring. You can know more about this newsletter by clicking here. This link directs you to the blog of this still nascent product of young imaginations, trying hard to mark its presence among people who take interest in issues relating to women empowerment, gender parity, inter alia. 

A simple half hour rendezvous with Rajni ma'am ensured us that their could not have been a better icon of female strength and achievement whom WSDC could have invited to launch the first issue of Still I Rise. The fact that they invited me, their ex-President alongside her is something that makes me swell with pride. Tantamount to pride also lingers the humbling feeling of gratitude. Rajni ma'am had a personality that makes one instantly like her. She is a teacher by profession, a teacher at heart, and somehow, I always believed that teachers make for excellent leaders. They already know how to shape futures, mold young minds into mature ideals, and be inspirations without having to try too hard. 

Professor Rajni Abbi heads one of the three municipal corporations of Delhi, namely the MCD. The designation of a Mayor has a lot of pomp associated with it. So while we were expecting a VIP to enter our college at 11:30, Prof. Abbi nonchalantly walked into our campus at 11:25, not as a VIP, but like a humble leader who belongs to the masses. Her punctuality and humility were immediately noticeable, but what was even better was her keen understanding of a student's life and an urge to cooperate with us. She was friendly, and gave us helpful sermons which we ought to remember for our own benefit. No moment spent with her lacked the dynamism she effortlessly exuded. It was the first time I met her, and though I have no idea of what her accomplishments are, I still felt like sharing the first impression she left on me. Political ideologies, I have none. But an addiction to recording the best of experiences in life I certainly do. This was one of them.

My best wishes to the WSDC team. Make sure each step you all now take only takes your forward. What you have began should not end with college. Your passions should accompany you everywhere you go. You all make me proud, for all the right reasons.

PS- Sometimes, its just a smile you need. A smile that you carry, a smile that you can lend. I think some of you reading this will understand what I am referring to :)

With Ms. Rajni Abbi and a copy of Still I Rise in my hand

Protecting her?

Was that the plan?

To nourish, to cherish,

To save from the evil man?

The endless sky

"Dangerous to fly!”

Wide crystal water

"Fatal to enter!”

Inviting golden desert

"Treacherous mounds of dirt!”

Morbid confines of home

"Your haven, your zone!”

So, Protecting her

Was that the plan?

I'm sorry you failed

She’s at best – Jailed!

 

 "You thought I was protected

Cradled in sound slumber?

I was shushing my heart from dreaming

Beating it to sheen-less amber"

"Just that....Love won't wait. You have to immediately grab hold of it, hang on to it, when it suddenly appears in all its glory. Yes, you really do, because it certainly has a way of disappearing on you. In fact, you could say it's ephemeral. It evaporates...just like that!"

"You and I certainly grabbed it, didn't we?"

The above is a conversation between Elizabeth Turner and Robert Dunley, the romantic couple who star as the protagonist in another of Barbara Taylor Bradford's family sagas, this time about the Deravenel Dynasty. At the outset itself it must be remarked, that Bradford, OBE, the best selling author of A Woman Of Substance, does not quite live upto her reputation in this book. The author claims at the end of the book that her story is inspired from the life of Elizabeth Tudor, one of England's most dynamic monarchs. However, it is a classic case of how sometimes too much inspiration is bad inspiration. A plot summary might be apt before I sum up my views on the book.

Being Elizabeth is the story the eponymous Elizabeth Deravenel Turner, the last in the line of what has been fictionalized as the oldest conglomerate in the world, the Deravenal Dynasty. In a story that spans a decade, from the mid 1990s transitioning into a new millennium, culminating in the year 2006, Being Elizabeth essays the journey of Elizabeth as the Managing Director of the Deravenel's which she inherits at a tender age and in a devastated condition owing the reckless handling of business operations by Elizabeth's now dead half sister, Mary Turner. Together with her trusted comrades, Cecil Williams and Roberth Dunley, and with the aid of her impeccable business acumen, Elizabeth succeeds in putting back Deravenel's on the path to glory. With the latter gent, Elizabeth has a scandalous romantic involvement since he is an already married man. Having had an abusive childhood, yearning for a single hint of love from her father who married six women, Elizabeth develops a phobia of marriage which becomes the most significant obstacle in the stability of her relation with Robert Dunley. Problems in Elizabeth's life are compounded by constant threats to her sovereign business empire and her claim to the Deravenel inheritance as well.

Being Elizabeth is a story told in a monotone, granting no serious jolts or gasps to the reader. Having read Ms. Bradford extensively, I have figured that one of her peculiar characteristics is that she weaves the crisis into the very fabric of the story. So it lurks around always. As a reader, you keep waiting for that one serious eruption which will set the protagonists life haywire, and then the story will pick up pace. Alas, with Being Elizabeth, nothing like that actually happens.

Bradford spends a lot of time giving vivid description of Edwardian art and architecture, which, unless you are an aficionado, can make things a little draggy. Still, you will but marvel at her for creating that theatrical ambiance in your mind, in which you can easily place the characters and imagine their story. She does her research well, and in this case, since her characters come inspired from real life figures, their development in the story is rather admirable. They are steady and lucid and distinctly identifiable.

Although it would help readers if they have read the previous two installments of the Ravenscar Dynasty, this book would still not rev up the intrigue which makes one want to turn pages. It is predictable. Highly so. The descriptions about imminent family coups, takeover bids, business strategies, and much else, are intelligent and informed, but also lethargically long and repetitive.

For me, the high points of the book, besides Bradford's amazing prowess at writing impeccably beautiful and poetic English, are two. First, she, like always, has for the subject of her book a smart, empowered and a woman in control. You would never find her heroines shedding tears or feeling oppressed. Her heroines always rise above their predicaments, and shine bright. Secondly, I love the love angle in the story. As stated earlier, the love story between the protagonists in this book is inspired by the rumoured affair between Queen Elizabeth Tudor and Robert Dudley, her closest aide, and the first Earl Of Leicester. Bradford does a fine job of carving out an intense, passionate and touching love story, though I find the erotic element a little over emphasized in the book, unnecessarily so.

I would give it a little less than 2 stars on 5, and that for a Barbara Taylor Bradford family saga is a little disappointing.

The Author- From her, you instinctively expect more.

"So, what would be the top five things you do if the 2012 fiasco were to happen?"
Kanika Chaturvedi left this query for me @twitter a day before. I had never given it a thought. If the world were to end, as has been predicted in some quarters, in the year 2012, what would be top five things I would want to do? The high bred among my stock of friends would snub the query, as useless confabulations of some vacuous brains. But it was an interesting note to have welcomed in the year 2012 with. So, I tweeted.

The first interesting detail I would remember from the year 2012 would be the following five points, which are the innocent first thoughts to have entered my brain. I find them naive and cute at the same time, and I am copy pasting them straight from twitter. Of course, with slight bit of my musings accessorizing them at their tail end.

#1 I have letters to write. I want to finish them before the world ends.

As said earlier, I love the whiff of paper. There are certain traditional paradigms, which, I wish, had not been hijacked by the technology which establishes itself as an omnipotent deity at present.  Writing letters is a romantic's delight! Quite obviously, hence, it is mine. There are some I started on. Some are pure cheese and corn mixed together to let my special ones know they are special. Some others are important confessions of guilt, hurt and anger which I wanted to convey to dear kith after putting thought and heart in it. They lie incomplete. But they are cozy reminders of how much I value those who make my world. And if it were the world, my world coming to an end, these I intend to complete as a first priority. Sounds bollywood-ish? Well, that's what I grew up watching. (

#2 There is a large chunk of Italian Cuisine I still have to taste. Learning it won't make sense anymore.
To call myself an inveterate foodie would be an understatement. I recently started falling for Italian cuisine, realizing quite late that luscious Italian culinary specialties are naturally made for me. I am 'cheesy' and 'corny' in my thoughts and writings, may be also in my appetite. Those dollops of cheese of a dozen different kinds, that creaminess, that subtle aroma of herbs, and the generous quantities of corns and mushrooms in different preparations- this is stuff that dreams are made of. Give chocolates and give me cheese- I won't have a single regret before dying then.

#3 There are some people I met via WSDC/EOC interactions, who are in need of urgent smiles and warmth. They will take my attention.

Hugs and smiles in copious quantities, to everyone walking past by. On a serious note though, being at the helm of organizations like Women Studies and Development Cell and Equal Opportunity Cell made me come across some faces and some stories that can touch anyone at the softest spot in their heart. These were stories of courage, of despair, of honesty, of losses, of dreams, of daring, of tears and of smiles. The faces behind these stories, some at least, don't need, but deserve some genuine smiles and warm hugs. 2012 or not- this one thought I intent to keep. At some places at least, we should not procrastinate.


#4 I dream of a novel. To compensate hastily, I will compile Nascent Emissions into a book, printed with a jazzy cover, & kiss it when done.
It was supposed to be a secret dream, but the moment I posted on twitter, being a published author no longer remained secret, but it still remains a dream. I realized it a moment too late, but the thought of the alternative devised to suit the requirements of ending time filled me with mirth. Nascent Emissions forms an important part of my subconscious, I realized. And why should it not? It has been a companion for the most special of my thoughts and ideas.

#5 I will marry!

Oh yes! This, I will. Now is not the best time to write on it, because I am filled with the visions of passion which surface when Elizabeth Turner (the heroine of a compelling Barbara Bradford historical fiction which I am reading currently) meets her love and is consumed by it before she can take another breath. However, this is perhaps the most important part of my top five. So, even though the visions are their, describing them is a near impossible task. I can only share a chuckle and some knowing smiles with other fellow romantics, females specifically, for they would know why this wish. All this romance, it has to go somewhere, isn't it?

Thanks Kanika Chaturvedi, for being the idea behind this post. More gratitude for giving my these silly smiles and thoughts. Not all of them are silly though. He was an intelligent man who asked us to live each day as our last. To do a few things mentioned above, and a few more things which are pullulating inside my brain, I do not really need to wait for the end of the world. What should be done, must be done. So, except for the marriage bit, I shall do all. Its a better note to begin the year on, rather than resolving to lose weight, because, as Sonal Kalra puts it, 'woh hota toh hai nahi'.

And now that I mention her name, I am also reminded of the fact that I wanted to dedicate my first post of the year to the people I love. But Ms. Sonal Kalra stopped me. In her casual yet persuasive tone, she churned out another priceless set of calmness tricks, this time on the first day of 2012. Her article, titled Are You Ready To Fall In Love? was about just that, falling in love, not with anyone, but your own self. Her fabulous quill yet again worked its magic, and made me want to dedicate the first post of they year to myself. I will heed her advice and not spend the year seeking the approval of others. I will make sure I have my own.

“To fall in love with oneself is the beginning of a life long romance.” –Oscar Wilde

PS- All this new blissful affection, its my new year gift for myself. I believe in gifts, remember? I hope you all do to :) Love and best wishes for a great year(s) ahead! Even though my most clairvoyant friend thinks this is the last, I'm happily assuming the opposite.

Mere liye :)

Did you witness what was supposed to be the last complete lunar eclipse of this year? I missed it! By some fifteen minutes. So when I finally did climb onto the terrace, the majestic moon was not clearly in sight. That was because, it was right overhead. Putting her knowledge on display, my sister pointed upwards and said "Aapko pata hai didi, jab moon sar par hota hai, tab hamara weight sabse kam hota hai." I grinned and looked up to thank Mr. Moon for granting some respite to a universally-criticized-for-being-overweight-girl. I do not know the logic behind this fact, nor the veracity of the same- but I am glad I locked eyes with the famously romantic moon.

With a halo of soft glow surrounding it, the moon surpassed it's own reputation for being one of the most alluring celestial objects. It glowed right down at me, and like a loser out of some romantic bollywood flick, I smiled back at it. On fewer occasions have I seen it more beautiful. Nascent out of an blanket of darkness, which first consumed it, and then revealed with care and titillation its radiance to the world, the moon was like this fresh damsel waiting to be appreciated by all. Why would I not get poetic? And then the focus shifted from its beauty, to its blemishes. These otherwise obscure spots were strikingly visible today, may be adding more to the moon's beauty (as the cliche goes), may be taking away from it. For me, they played the role of a memory bell, which rang hard to bring back to my mind the most touching of stories I heard this year, which is fast fleeting by.

It interests me to know the story behind each new individual I come across. All of us do have our stories, each distinct, each worthy of being told. I met many interesting people this year, heard many interesting stories, but there was this one which stuck by with remarkable obstinacy. I do not think I am the authority to be telling this story, still I will. Because I know this is one tale which will not simply breeze past my head once I feel I have absorbed it enough. I feel a need to put it into words. A simple, subtle, short story.

There was a girl in my college, a junior, who with humility in her disposition, sincerity in her eyes and sweetness in her smile immediately warmed my heart to her. She was one of the most active workers of WSDC, the society I presided over when in college and with whatever responsibilities she was given, did never let me down. I often noticed some hints of recalcitrance in her social interactions, but once given the confidence of being the ablest at discharging duties entrusted to her, she would work with tireless dedication to translate all our visions as a society into reality. I did also notice some abnormality in her skin sometimes, it appeared to me too wrinkled for her age. But I didn't think much about it, partly because of the fear of developing awkwardness while looking at her, and partly because of her face which I genuinely found wonderfully beautiful to look at. I did ponder over the possible story behind her ever smiling face, but never had time to ask or to sit down and listen to her.

This was till she herself told not just me, but our whole WSDC family a small part of her life's story in blue ink, on a couple of A4 sheets. We had organized a bilingual creative writing competition for pan-Delhi students, the best entries of which were to be published in our annual magazine "Being A Woman; Being Me". She participated, chose to express herself in Hindi and picked up the simplest, yet the most sacred of the themes to write her entry on- "Mamta Ki Chhaon". While I received the best of poems and powerful prose works under the same heading, hers was different- it was a simple tale of concealed poignancy.

I was right when I thought that the wrinkly skin she has was kind of abnormal. From what I got to know later, she was born with it, born with a rare skin disease. Belonging to an extremely humble background, she related how her mother told her later on in life the reaction her birth met with from the elder and insensitive relatives. Her's was not a celebratory welcome to planet earth. Her welcome was one ridden with shock, dejection and, as I hinted earlier, insensitivity. Firstly, she was a girl- and yes, my experiences within the framework of WSDC have taught me that large sections of Indian populace are still obsessed with the wont for a male progeny, which often leads them to lament the arrival of a girl-child. Secondly, she was not the prettiest of babies, as her so-called astute relatives saw it. The concerned relatives did not hesitate from labeling the new born as inauspicious, as a burden and best to be kept away from. And yes, I hope you could guess I am writing as euphemistically as I can.

However, God's abundant grace, encapsulated within the single body of her mother was what proved to be a lifelong blessing for that still unaware infant girl. Her mother was the one who saw all the beauty in the world in her daughter's innocent face. She was the one who resolved to not just take care of her child, but to help her grow into a smart and educated young lady. Her mother was the one who ensured not a single speck of dust ever touched her daughter as that could trigger off immediate allergic reactions. Her mother was the one who stood by her daughter and inspired her to consistently progress ahead. She always tried and is still trying to find a remedy for her daughter's skin condition, but that without ever letting her daughter feel that she lacks something or is different from others in anyway. Her parents have fasted for her; told her she is their adorable and intelligent daughter. The girl, on her part, admits, that if she is alive, it could not have been if not for her mother. She prays that each daughter born on our land be blessed with the kind of affection her mother showered her with.

I do not know if this is her story, or her mother's, but the beauty of a mother daughter relationship is that they are both inalienable parts of each others stories. Because their lives overlap, their stories do too. It is only one of those many stories I know, which is in the process of unfolding. I only hope the best for this girl who gave me the most memorable story of the year. And since this post has turned out to be very long, and I cannot find a fitting end to it, I will just leave the readers with these lines I read somewhere on the occasion of mother's day-

Motherhood makes women crib, complain, eat chocolates and cry. But ask any mum whether she'd barter it for anything in the world and you'll get one hurt, definitive answer. A big, fat, "NO".

Now this was a book which made me nervous of my nocturnal reading habits. Why? Because I had no clue when I would fall off the sofa laughing at insane decibels even as my family rejoiced in hitherto peaceful slumber. Fortunately, nothing ugly did ever happen to hinder my night-time trysts with Butterfly Khan, and for all those guffaws which continued for 3 nights and 2 days, I have only her to thank!

Eminent Pakistani columnist Moni Mohsin takes you for an roller-coaster ride through the world of socialites- whom, by the way, Butterfly calls 'Socialists'. But what to do! Poor Butterfly, caught among her own rigmarole of thoughts, often find herself prone to adorable malapropisms, which literally spice up her journals. So, you could find yourself wide eyed as you see an 'angina attack' transforming by the virtue of Butterfly's innocence into a 'vagina attack'.  Later you would just settle for howls of laughter as the luscious malapropisms transform 'botox' into 'buttocks', or 'Bangkok' into 'Bangcock'. You will meet business 'typhoons', and see Butterfly becoming 'historical' with laughter.

The Diary Of A Social Butterfly is a book devoid of a plot or a storyline. Rather, it is a compilation of articles published fortnightly by the eminent Pakistani author, Moni Mohsin, in The Friday Times. Moni Mohsin has to her credit other works which gathered much acclaim, like Tender Hooks and The End Of Innocence. This particular book, The Diary Of A Social Butterfly, takes the form of journals written by a Punjabi Convent Educated Socialite, who can think of little else, other than attending parties and maintaining her up market status. Butterfly's journals were scribbled during a crucial and sensitive time for Pakistan's internal stability and international relations- between the years 2001 and 2008. However, our central character, Butterfly, couldn't care less even if the world was on fire- what she needed were parties, and social engagements, and perfect attires, and shoes, and hairstyles, and shawls, and accessories, to remain among the creme de la creme  of the Page 3 crowd of Pakistan. Something in her journals reminds you of Sophie Kinsella's Shopoholic series, but Butterfly has that distinct identity which can makes this exaggerated satire on an incorrigible socialite's life totally worth a read! Each of her journal entry begins with two news headlines- one perhaps sourced from the Reuters, the other, from her own life. Whether it is about firing a maid, fighting with her husband, celebrating Eid, or buying a new jora(dress)- Butterfly takes her life very seriously; she, after all, plays the lead role in it. The lesser happenings, like bomb blasts, terrorism, tsunamis and political turmoils the world can itself take care of. These not withstanding, Butterfly will always stay focused and prepare to fly elegantly to the next event in the city.

The characters in Butterfly's life as as colorful as her own self. She has a Oxford alumnus (an 'Oxen' as she calls him) for her husband, who is smart and learned and everything that Butterfly is not. Fondly called Janoo, her husband is routinely abused in Butterfly's diary as 'crack', 'sarrhial', 'donkey', 'dog', 'zinda laash, 'boodhi rooh', et al, especially for holding strong and empathic political views and social concerns. Butterfly has a 13 year old son, named Kulchoo, and even at that tender age, Butterfly can't help but be far sighted and prepare for his wedding each time she is inspired by a novel idea or some innovative decor technique in one of the many weddings she attends. She has a mother-in-law, addressed as the Old Bag, and two sisters-in-law, called as the Twosome Gruesome- the perpetual sources of misery in her otherwise blissful life of glamor and glitz and parties and more parties. Other delightful characters in Butterfly's colorful life include her Mummy, her Aunty Pussy (whose husband has a curious epithet as 'Uncle Cock-up') with her unlucky-in-marriage son Jonkers, her friends- Mulloo, Flopsy, Furry among others.

My ecstatic bit of writing so far would have made it obvious that I LOVED the book. It has humor bordering on insanity- you can ridicule Butterfly for all her ignorance and self obsession, but you can't help loving her for all the light moments she grants you. And, if Khushwant Singh endorses on the cover that this book is 'hilarious', the book has to be just that- hilarious! Huge thumbs-up to the crafty malapropisms- some of the absolutely refuse to leave my head. And the local slangs, aah, they are what make Butterfly's ridiculous English all the more gorgeous.


All in all, Butterfly makes for a highly recommended read. The only caveat I would like to put in place, sourced from a fellow blogger's critique of the same book,  is that dumbness as the source of humor, begins to tire out readers towards the end of the book. It is one thing to read this content in the form of fortnightly commentaries with contemporary happenings to relate with, and quite another to read it as a book of chronologically arranged articles lacking any storyline to adhere to. Still, I would regard this book as one of the best I read in the year 2011.

Generously enough, its 3 stars on 5 for me. For all that laughter. :)

Moni Mohsin- the author

Have you ever gotten a taste of your own medicine, as they proverbially say? I mean, have you ever landed in a situation which is like this giant mirror of your life, just that you see your own role being performed by someone else? And all this in a pleasant and amusing way, not with any masochistic or depressive undertones.

It happened with me, at the beginning of the 'month of musings', as I call it. December, as insinuated by me in Flakes Of Love, is that month where besides indulging in hopeless romanticism, I also take a stock of the big and small details of the year gone by. Right from the best books I read, to the people who mattered to me- I like revisiting things that made my year special. Introspection, on the problems faced, moments lived and lessons learnt is perhaps the most important aspect of this yearly catharsis of mine, and this post is precisely about that.

Unlike the previous years, this year's cathartic recollections began on an extremely amusing note. I am known to be this extremely insecure person, who craves undue levels of attention from people she loves. When that is not becoming, situations have been known to get ugly. At times, certain unfortunate friends of mine have been caught in pugnacious encounters with me without any apparent fault of theirs, specifically when even a tiny figment of my brain assumed that they've been sharing with a third person some part of their life which I rightfully think to be my own. Though I am learning to grow up, envy and a certain degree of possessiveness towards people I love have always characterized me. The closest to me suffer the most. Anger and tears follow. Acrimony, thankfully, is kept at bay.

So what was so amusing? The fact that I got a taste of my own bitter medicine. In one of the most harrowing situations in my life, I entered into a confrontation over issues of attention and insecurity where I was on the receiving end! It would've seemed implausible at one time, but it did happen. And the person wroth with me, wroth because of hurt feelings of extreme love, was my mentor. She was the first person ever in life I looked upto, and I know I fell in love with her even before my brain acquired sanity. She is much elder to me, and as much as I wanted to see my future in the strength of her character, she liked seeing her own past in my childhood achievements.

Maturity is often confused with passivity of emotions. May be that's why I was dumb initially when I saw that unmistakable hurt in her eyes caused by my callousness in loving her enough. I was in disbelief and denial. Here is how I defended myself in my thoughts- How could she feel hurt? How could she doubt me? She should know that even though I don't lurk around, I always hold her dear, shouldn't she?

Well, no! She is not obligated to assume that I love her, if I do not care to show her enough the love and concern I hold in my heart. Her getting hurt is not her fault, it is mine. The disbelief and surprise was soon replaced by delight, translating into a smile on my lips. I felt really good in my heart. Firstly, because of the realization that I mattered so much to someone, and secondly because I kind of felt at home. When I threw similar tantrums in front of others, I was assumed to be immature. So, I vowed to 'grow up', implying that I vowed to close myself to such extremities of emotions. No more! I smiled because her one outburst assured me that I wasn't some abnormal being always sulking for attention. Her words were my words, used many a times before. My problem is that I verbalize my thoughts too easily and too often, and ride an emotional high throughout my existence. It is the reaction I get which makes me doubt the very person I am.

I narrated this incident to a friend late at night, with palpable alacrity in my heart. It was a weird state state of excitement. I ended my narrative with these words- "and there I stood, smiling, but with absolutely no idea what to do now!". His query- "So, what will you do now? In fact, is there anything at all that you can do?". Poor chap, his query was obvious. He has been the victim of my outbursts way too often, and this is what I had to say to him- "I will now do everything for her, which I expected others to do when I put them in the same spot. No matter how hard I try, I cannot erase the bad memory, the hurt-that is how it works with hyper emotional beings like myself. But what I can do is to lurk around, and create enough happy memories to make that bad one inconsequential. She matters to me enough to put in that effort, and it is just that I need to let her know."


Lost somewhere within the pages of my journal was a five point mantra I devised for myself long back- more like compiled from various sources. This incident, fortunately, compelled me to find it once again. These five points were put together by me in not some gloomy-reflective condition, but in a state of perfect bliss, when I wanted to pamper my self, and feel proud of the person I am, but with responsibility. Time is good to share it on my blog. This constitutes my treasured lesson from the year 2011. They are not some divine secrets which promise a glorious existence- but five simple lines which if understood simply do have the potential of helping screwed up situations get a little better.

1. Stop lying to yourself. Harms no one but you.
2. Ask for help. Give your near ones the right to interfere while they still can.
3. Do not rationalize, i.e., do not make excuses for yourself. There cannot be a good enough reason for failing to do what you did not.
4. Count your blessings. List your motivations and rewards. Naive, but  has the awesome potential to make you feel great.

5. No matter how hard you try, you cannot change the person you are. When it comes to that, let go; with an understanding that holding on and letting go are divided by a invisibly thin line based on personal discernment

I think the best note to end this post on would be a painting by my favorite, Leonid Afremov, titled

Expectations of Love!

Julia Child! I seek your blessings...

"Khaana banana aur bana paana do alag-alag baatein hai"

A micro second after my cousin commented this, with his sharp, gloating, humor filled eyes set firmly on me, about half a dozen people seated in my living room split into laughter bouts loud enough to drown any other sound which competed for attention. Cause was the usual discussion over my non-existent culinary abilities. This discussion invariably starts with me politely offering my aunt a cup of coffee (or tea in some other cases), made by me, with appropriate disclaimers of a potential taste hazard being put promptly in place. My polite offer is always accompanied by a humble, almost begging request, to gulp down my coffee like a medicine just in case the taste is too atrocious, and surpasses even the bitterness of coffee beans at choking one's taste buds. So while my aunt displays her grace at sipping my coffee with a smile, which (deceivingly) conveys that I did a good job with putting milk, sugar and coffee together, some other guests are not always so gracious. If ever I prevaricate over questions of cooking, I am reminded of my 'gender' with an almost irritating promptness, as if I am dumb enough to not have realized my feminine attributes and obligations in the past 21 years of my existence. But 21 years, this is where the problem lies. I am almost marriageable now, though the auspicious nuptials will not knock on my door for at least half a decade more (they better don't!). In this half a decade (audaciously assumed), I have to not just learn cooking for survival, but have to master the culinary art with high grades. What will otherwise be the decisive accessory on my marital resume?

As I ponder over this, I almost get those visions in my head, straight out of loser bollywood movies, where the very first glimpse a hero casts on his would-be is as she heads in his direction, with her eyes demurely lowered, carrying a huge tray of snacks and tea in her hands (Pick up any Rajshri movie for example). Even before their eyes meet, the aroma of delicacies, I am sure, wafts in the air, and a quarter of the decision about accepting or rejecting the girl is taken then and there. (The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, have they not been teaching this to us since time immemorial?) This, given that traditionally, it is a girl who is supposed to have cooked up half a dozen snacks- or is at least boasted to have done so. Even in the not so traditional families, it is the girl who is supposed to serve her would-be/could-be in-laws even if it is admitted that her culinary abilities suck. This is what took place with a close friend of mine, whose nuptials are soon to take place. This, however, is a scarier vision. My clumsiness, especially when it comes to food, is world famous. Ask my cousin why I always get my sub packed, and he will tell you in between loud guffaws that it is because I can create quite a scene while attempting to savour it, even while I am careful at my best.

The worst sufferer of my clumsiness has been my own self. Some three years back, I decided I wanted to dabble in the domain of cooking, beginning my culinary journey with my then-favorite Chinese cuisine. I made Chilly Paneer in gravy, and added that ominous essential ingredient, cornflour in a little excess- I like my gravies thick. However, before I could safely transfer the extremely hot dish onto the dining table, I fumbled, stumbled, and the piping hot gravy splashed right onto my arms and shoulders. The extra cornflour proved to be extra fatal. as it stuck to my skin like burnt, molten plastic, and had to be pulled out along with some skin in a triangular patch which is still discernible on my right arm if carefully checked. My culinary adventure came to a screeching halt. And since then, Chinese has been sacrificed as my favorite in favour of the cheese-rich Italian cuisine.

My bharta did not look as perfect. Sigh.

Why the musings today? That is because today is the second time I attempted to cook the good, old baingan ka bharta , and today is only second time in my existence that I burnt it. I am consistent, amn't I? Just as I was smiling about how simple the recipe seems, I faulted on the technique. If not for my mother, I would have idiotically continued watching Bodyguard, as the bharta simmered away to its eventual demise; as it morphed into black mass of in-edibility. Now that I think of it, Bodyguard is not even a movie worth sacrificing a yummy bharta for. Good news, my mother saved it. Bad news, I had to carry sheepishness in my heart to sleep.

So, while food is what I live for, cooking certainly is dreadful for me. The rebel in me often fought against the imposed learning of this supposed art. I vouched for keeping a servant as I honed my other skills. However, in today's age influenced by the MasterChef India Series, where martial arts instructors, corporate trainers, office errand boys, painters and anchor persons are asserting their skill in cooking professionally competitive delicacies, to claim ignorance in this basic art in nothing short of a crime. For now, I am thinking of becoming my mother's permanent kitchen assistant. The earlier rebel inside my is consumed with envy as I see my 6 year younger sister chop and cook with more expertise than me, and have those culinary discussions with my mother in which I feel like an alien. For now, I think I will take advantage of my short break, and take small steps towards accomplishing what is not short of a herculean task for me. So I will be my mother's unerring kitchen assistant. It would help me more than it helps her. 

Sigh. The compulsions. Ugh! 

The only silver lining is a vision..I lay down a an exquisite dinner table, with a dozen guests seated, ogling with their eyes at the perfectly garnished dishes I lay down with a smug smile on my face, knowing just by the wafts of the subtle aromas that I what I have cooked will be eulogized by the dinner guests till days later.... Dreams.....!

How about an inspiration to begin my foray into cooking with? Chef Vikas Khanna, the latest talk of the town just seems about perfect! Any bribe which includes his mention will certainly make me the best cook on the planet!

PS- Mageirocophobia translates as the fear of cooking. It ain't all that acute, but it does describe the dread in my heart to some good extent.

So desperate was I for a doze of fiction in the busy exam season of my life, that the first book I lay my hands on, I finished it in less than a day.

I did not read the whole book in one day; part of it had been read earlier by me. Keep The Change, authored by Nirupama Subramanian, is a book I started reading in the breaks during my brief stint as a Derivatives Trader. In its initial pages, it did not arouse enough interest, and so was comfortably abandoned to give way to the more bulky text books I needed to mug up for my CS(M) exams. Once they got over, it was only natural that I returned to this book. And now it seemed more entertaining, for I found myself flowing with the story-line.

Keep The Change is a book I would classify under the mundane chick-lits, with nothing really new or exciting to offer. It tells the tale of a Chennai born, conservative, unmarried and ambitious B.Damayanthi, whom fate leads among the demanding corporate realms of Mumbai from the stagnating accountant's job she held back home in Chennai. Employed now at FirstGlobal, a leading bank, it is quite simple to predict the kind of turns her life would take. Enough of new age literature has been written delineating the insides of the corporate world; and there is nothing novel this book presents. Interspersed into the demanding, hectic, unrewarding and unpredictable office life of Damayanthi is of course, the essential ingredient of love, which she craves for, sorry, lusts after. She stumbles, both in office and her supposed love life, and learns her lessons. And when she does, the story ends. Simple as that.

Damayanthi Balachandran is sent to live her new life in the Mumbai milieu with cautioning parting words of her mother, concerned with her marriage more than anything else in the world- "Be good. Don't do anything silly." To her (supposedly correct) judgement, Damayanthi translates these words as "Stay away from sex and alcohol." The plot then unfolds to show how she deals with a size-zero flatmate, Sonya Sood, who is completely anti-thetical to her her own self; a friend, Jimmy, at work place who looks after her and often imparts arcane words of wisdom; a senior, CG, whom she wishes to impress and attempts to understand and re-understand; a typical, parasitic office senior, Harish, who sucks of her work and leads her to depression; and the hot and immensely desirable Rahul, whom she clearly lusts after, but checks herself in time.

Typical. Predictable. Mix all those characters together, think of a story, and you might as well have created the same one as Nirupama Subramanian does.

The author is herself a South Indian, who had a brief stint at a bank. So the setting of her narrative was quite obvious. The story, as made quite evident by now, was nothing spectacular. So, what kept me hooked onto it till the end? The first reason, is of course, the desperation of wanting to read and the guilt I develop over unfinished books.The second reason was the mode of writing which Ms. Subramanian employed. The whole book is written in the form of the protagonist's journals, which I know is not a strikingly new technique, but it added a layer to the story line. Her, Damayanthi's journals are written in as her letters to an imaginary friend, Victoria, with whom she manages to have a two way conversation. This two way conversation is sustained on the imaginary persona of Victoria, which Damayanthi creates as an image of everything she aspired to be. I know I have attempted such relatable weirdness in life, so it felt kind of good.

The third reason is the language of the book. It is easy, contemporary and witty. Humorous too, and effortlessly at that. At the end of reading, I was left with a many pithy one liners which I would love to employ in appropriate situations. The author is immensely successful in creating Damayanthi's character as any other woman you might see slogging away in the corporate world, with an apposite peek into her psyche as and when necessary. Her inner self is an important character in the story, called the Little Voice. Besides her and her inner self, the development of other characters is just under satisfactory, as it leaves a lot of scope for a reader's own judgements and imagination to aid their picturization. May be that is how the author intended for things to be.

The fourth reason was Damayanthi herself. She came across as a loveable and familiar 26 year old, who is trying to find the stability in her existence, as she juggles between the stereotyped orthodox notions and regulations of her home, and the forward, dynamic, sharply competitive and challenging life of the corporate world. This is a situation which would give a sense of deja vu to many.

I would give it 2.75 stars, as 2.5 seems too less and 3 too much. And this, on a scale of only chick-lit literature, if I can call it literature at all. Read it like you would watch a movie. If at all you do.

What I would preserve from the book are the following lines, along with the context they emerged in

"Regret is a more miserable bedfellow than guilt"

"I am still trying to understand my non standard deviation from the desired behavior and do a variance analysis of the factors that can lead to an above average specimen of the male species to call a girl at the end of the bell curve."

"There is no direct cause and effect relationship between many things that happen in this world. Things just happen and we try to rationalize them afterwards, to make some sense of this random existence."

So, I finally finished the book I was gifted two years ago on my birthday.
Now onto
1. The Winner Stands Alone, by Paolo Coelho
2. Kadambari, by Banabhatta.

I was red in my face, but my heart was galloping. That feeling is best experienced. Back in college to see the society I nearly built in my last two years embark on another year long journey of activities, I had imagined I would be ridden with nostalgia of the worst intensity. However, ecstasy was the only emotion I could experience as my juniors made me feel so grand, and so special- they gave me the VIP treatment I have been giving all my guests who would grace the events I organized during my tenure as the President of WSDC. Right from the invite, to the honor of launching our magazine, to giving a speech for concluding the event, my day could not have been better.

WSDC was indispensable to my existence in college, and going back to pass the baton on to some very able juniors was an occasion for much joy and celebration. It was a near perfectly organized Orientation Ceremony, where all new members are inducted into the Society, with permissible goof ups here and there. The Chief Guest was an inspiring lady with strong oratorial skills; most importantly, she was a Civil Servant of the AGMUT Cadre, and my obsession and awe relating to Civil Officers is fairly famous. At points during her speech, she drove me to tears while describing things as basic as hygiene conditions which are largely deprived to a large section of Indian girls- both, because of economic, as well as issues of ignorance.

Leaving that serious thought there, the clear highlight of the whole day for me was when I launched the second edition of my magazine, so lovingly drafted last year by me and a few friends-cum-colleagues. It looks pretty- the cover from last year has been retained. It was perhaps one of the most ambitious literary excursions I undertook during my college life, and honestly, though nothing close to perfect, it is still very special. The way the magazine has come out, it is not so commendable in presentation, but has a very rich and pride-worthy content.

Pasted below is the Editorial (-cum-President's message) written for the same magazine, the cover for which is displayed on the right, above.

Time really flies fast. This is the worst cliché with which I could have begun the editorial for this magazine, but really, I cannot help it. The Women Studies and Development Cell was more than just a part of my personality in college for the past two years. Two years! Now that is a lot of time. However, it does not feel that way. There is so little we’ve done, and so much more we can still do. But, like all good things, my tenure as the President of this wonderful society is finally coming to an end. It is an eerie feeling to know that there will come one day when I would wake up, and WSDC activities would not form a part of my daily agenda. It is equally disheartening to realize that this little-big family I had cultivated among the members of WSDC will soon be estranged. I will move on, from WSDC, from college, leaving behind things which will adorn the most beautiful canvas of college memories for me.

So, as my last offering, I along with a team of some amazingly supportive members, present to all of you the second edition of ‘Being a Woman, Being Me.’ Our magazine is still in its nascent second year of being published, but from the first edition we published last year, it has certainly come a long  way. The first edition was experimental. More than anything, it aimed at providing a portal to our members for expressing that which affected them most. The magazine was received with much appreciation, but we knew in our hearts that we could do much better.

And so, when my team convened to put in place the themes for this magazine, their enthusiasm for bringing out a glazed finished product was palpable. We collectively decided to keep it simple; but we wanted to move ahead in a focused way. We pride ourselves on the kind of society we belong to and the kind of causes we espouse and fervently work towards. The first section of this magazine, hence, is dedicated towards highlighting issues of grave concern for females of all ages, strata and nationalities. We also knew that womanhood is not just about tears and melancholy-it is a celebration! Our second section is a tribute to the wonderful feeling that being a woman is. A poetess resided in the hearts of many of our society members. It was remarkable to notice the ease with which member girls of our society could express themselves via the relatively abstract medium of poetry and not prose. A third section was thus decided upon to provide a creative vent to the blossoming poetesses of our society.

Besides these three, a fourth very important section was born. While I was circulating our last year’s magazine among some NGOs and activists, a very unassuming confession was made by one of the NGO members about her inability to understand the magazine because of the linguistic barriers. I sat down to explain the varied topics which we covered in that magazine, and with more zeal for wanting to read it, she requested if I could attempt a translation of the whole magazine. Now that was a Herculean task to fulfill!  However, I made a mental note of the fact that if I am to ever again work on a magazine which has to have a larger mass reach, I have to make sure the linguistics don’t post a barrier. A first tiny step has been taken in that direction. We have introduced a Hindi section at the end of the magazine, which I hope, will only grow as successive editions of this magazine are born.

For anyone flipping through the pages of the magazine, I hope you stumble upon something that touches a nerve, that makes you stop and think. If that happens, the purpose of bringing out this magazine is more than solved. It goes without saying that I hold immense gratitude in my heart towards every single person who has contributed towards this magazine. I cannot end the editorial without thanking Ishani Tikku, who almost single handedly edited all articles for me, and treated this magazine with as much reverence as I did. I thank Rosemary and Priyanka Tampi, for their promptness in making the magazine visually attractive. I thank Ancy and Rohini for all their support. I thank Nikita Sailesh for being the tireless silent worker.

Most importantly, I need to thank my convenors- Dr. Amita Tiwari and Dr. Alka Marwah. I have gone on record saying that they are the best convenors we could have got, and I reiterate it most emphatically here. They were the prefect guides, motivators and friends throughout our endeavours. It comes from the heart- such was the faith they posed in us and encouragement they gave us that I could not have helped falling in love with them. For this magazine too, they were instrumental in giving me and my team all the necessary aid, guidance and assistance we most needed, and hence were pivotal to whatever the magazine has shaped up as.

Thank you all!

A quote would just do to provide the perfect end to this editorial. This quote coruscates in my best dreams. I share it all with you here, hoping it will inspire you as much as it inspires me.

“We live in deeds, not years: In thoughts not breaths; in feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.”

 

-Saumya Kulshreshtha

Editor, Being a Woman, Being Me

President, Woman Studies and Development Cell, JMC.

 

 

PS- You can also read the Annual Report of WSDC at  "From the Pen of the President, Women Studies and Development Cell, Jesus and Mary College"

 

Our logo, designed by Priyanka Tampi

an artist blessed by the Almighty

A few moments back, I signed for the last time as the President of the Women Studies and Development Cell, Jesus and Mary College. Nostalgia. I was drafting the Annual Report of WSDC, to be published in the the JMC Annual Magazine (and I cannot remember its name). For those who do not know, WSDC has been my alter ego for the past two years in JMC. It has been that aspect of JMC, which I have been most intimately attached to. My friends call me a 
workaholic, and I reckon that is because I enjoy working like nothing else. And, its been WSDC, which has given ample of avenues to work in, to take initiatives in precisely the direction I have desired and which has not constrained me in any manner whatsoever. I have had a mad, at times even a rough time working, but on not less than thirty times in the past year, I have had a smug smile on my somnolent face, reflecting the satisfaction in my heart at having done something constructive during the day.


With a member strength of more than 180, the year ahead did seem an uphill journey, but the cooperation of each one of them (with, of course, few disappointing exceptions) made my tenure as the President a smooth, delightful and memorable experience. We functioned as a single, cohesive, well functioning, and a well intentioned unit, and managed to succeed at endeavours that did not seem viable at the time of their inception. We've had our little failures, but they have only served at making us understand and learn a bit more, and improve as we go ahead. Personally, as the President, I received a lot of love, affection, and respect from my juniors, but the most gratifying was when I received a note from one of my batchmates, Ancy Thomas, congratulating me for my work and calling WSDC my 'baby'- something I have nurtured in the past two years to make it reach to the level it is at present. Of course, I could not have done it alone; many names are responsible for it having journeyed successfully this year.The most important among them, I feel, is the preceding President of WSDC, Rashneet Kaur- the most dynamic leader I have known, and a woman who essayed her role with a poise and perfection which was very nearly inspirational.

A satisfied Core Team after successfully concluding the
Declamation Competition
From left- Riya (my most trusted), Namita(the silent worker),
Sharon (her creativity on the board at the back), myself, Ishani (my magazine head),
Priyanka (whom I cannot work without, simply)

I can go on and on about my society, my WSDC, almost my doppelganger, but I feel its not required. Enclosed below is the report I wrote, and although its painfully concise (enlisting only about six of our twenty endeavours), I guess it reflects enough let readers know that we are a society with purpose. And dedication. And sincerity. I wish I could write more, but for that, I will wait for my own annual report- a ten page document that talks exclusively about WSDC


The Women Studies and Development Cell is one of the six compulsory societies of Jesus and Mary College. Until last year, our society enrolled members only from the second and the third year, but from the academic year 2010-11, we enlarged our membership to include girls from the first year also in our society. With a vision that aims at creating more awareness and sensitivity among the youth on gender related issues, and a desire in our hearts at contributing our bit in improving the adverse and prejudiced conditions for the fairer sex, WSDC does not aim for the stars; in stead, it looks to promote simplistic, and realistic ideas and thoughts, all of which point in the direction of general welfare of womanhood. In each of our member, we look forward to a sincerity and an incorrigible urge towards doing something constructive for the society.  WSDC has always made its presence felt on the campus, our last year being exceptionally successful with a plethora of diverse events being organized by us, viz., talks, seminars, workshops, cultural programmes, debates, etc. We, at WSDC, have a reputation of putting a lot of heart in what we do, and being in a progressive girls' college only aids us in all our endeavors.

Launch of the Annual Report 2009-10 during the Orientation Ceremony,
held on 18th August, 2010

The year began for us with the ritualistic Orientation Ceremony, where all the members are inducted into the society, and the year ahead is planned. At the same event, we also launched our facebook page, to keep our members better apprised of all our activities and to promote discussions on matters of concern. The Orientation Ceremony was followed by many more events, aimed at sensitizing the college students about different issues like Honor Killings, Female Genital Mutilations, Cervical Cancer, Human Trafficking, Healthy Food Habits, Girl Child and about a dozen more topics which directly or indirectly affect our existence as a society. One of the first proud moments for us was when Mr. Shiv Khera, a renowned motivational speaker and author visited our campus to address a full capacity audience in the MPH. He spoke about the Value System in the Indian Society, and the meaningful role played by womenfolk in preserving and upholding our values. WSDC, to emphasize its dedication at fighting the most pernicious of evils prevailing in our society, invited Smt. Sreerupa Mitra Chaudhury, President, International Congress of Woman and the Chairperson, Committee for Review of National Policy on Women, Government of India, as the keynote speaker for a National Level Symposium on Contemporary Social Evils on 12th November 2010. The Symposium was a resounding success and the topics discussed, viz, Honor Killings, Human Trafficking and Prostitution were further taken up by our member students as the theme for the Annual WSDC project, prepared and printed under the guidance of Dr. Nivedita Giri, with Namita Joseph as the student head. The President of WSDC, Saumya Kulshreshtha, who also serves as the Campus Ambassador of Teach for India, conducted a placement talk for JMC students along with the recruitment officer of TFI.


Our Annual Cultural Festival, Jagriti '11, only into its second year, attracted massive participation from many colleges across Delhi University. Besides holding events like Folk Dance Competition, Painting Exhibition, Creative Writing etc, WSDC also launched its official logo, designed by Priyanka Tampi, head of the WSDC Creativity Team.  The logo, a simple yet attractive illustration, reads 'Being Me'- a tag line inspired from our Annual Magazine- "Being A Woman, Being Me!". Our magazine was very well received and lauded by staff and students alike in its first issue last year. It is now ready as a new and improved magazine for its second print to be released soon. To cater to the very contemporary concerns of keeping fit, WSDC organized a Wellness Check Up Camp where many girls received valuable tips on a healthy lifestyle and diet. We also conducted a talk of the upcoming concept of Stem Cell Research and a Registration Drive for stem cell donors as a follow up of the same. One of the novel steps in the past year was to invite a counselor, Ms. Shifa Haq, on biweekly visits to our college, with whom, girls can share their problems and seek appropriate advice. Besides this, we conducted a declamation competition, a field trip to Ma Dham- a widow ashram, workshops by NGOs including Smile Foundation, and GDs to promote dialogue on several issues.

The banner for Women's Day

 The year for us culminated with a huge celebration of womanhood on 8th March, 2011- the International Women's Day. Many eminent speakers, including Ms. Barkha Singh, Chairperson, Delhi Commission for Women, Ms. Meenakshi Lekhi, a dynamic lawyer, Ms. Rama Vaidyanathan, a prolific Bharatnatyam exponent, graced the occasion. The event started by a captivating dance performance by Radhika Kathal, member of WSDC and a disciple of Ms. Geeta Chandran, and, it ended with a soul stirring Odissi performance by Ms. Kavita Dwibedi, Director of Odissi Academy, New Delhi.

Ready to host the Women's Day-
In style!

WSDC has always received a lot of encouragement and motivation from the Principal of Jesus and Mary College, Sister Marina John who takes keen interest in all our activities and guides us for improving at each step we take. WSDC is blessed to have as its Convenors Dr. Alka Marwaha and Dr. Amita Tiwari, who have never said no to any initiative we wanted to undertake. They have been wholly encouraging, and since the very beginning of the year, they had high expectations from us, expectations which we have hopefully been able to fulfill. A big, heartfelt thank you to all the member of WSDC core team- Rosemary Lobo and Nikita Sailesh in particular, for tirelessly working behind the scenes to make every single event a huge success.It would be appropriate also to thank Rashneet Kaur, who served as the WSDC President last year, for doing wonderful work during her tenure and laying a foundation for us to build upon. And, lastly, none of our events in WSDC can be made possible without the support of the non teaching staff, who aid us in all conceivable manners and work very hard to make every event of every department and society possible and successful.


-Saumya Kulshreshtha
President,
Women Studies and Development Cell,
Jesus and Mary College

Core Team of 2009-10
Seated to my left is the graceful and dynamic ex-President, Rashneet Kaur,
 whom I succeeded as the President this year