Delhi has never been more beautiful. Not in my immediate memory at least. It is raining, and raining real heavy. The roads are wet, washed clean. The trees are dripping, with the green of their leaves accentuated and absolutely pleasing to the eyes. Summer is seeming like history, and a chilly breeze is constantly caressing my cheeks. The best part- scent of the wet earth. Taking in the fragrance of soil made wet, immediately after rains is easily one of those pleasures i would never get over. Everything is at its pristine best, despite the concrete jungle that forms my immediate habitation. With this little, random, silly smile on my face, am looking at the raindrops lashing against my room's window, reminiscing my best spent moments with life. Moments that touched my heart, moments that i can romanticize forever.

And what such a weather does to me is anyone's guess. "Hopeless Romantic"- I don't know who tagged me this, but whoever it was, was a very sensible man/woman. Just about a few days back, summer was at its peak, and so was my temper, and irritability, and stress levels. It was hot, and sweltering, and nothing seemed to be in order, and fatigue and discomfort seemed to creep into my existence from all sides. However, for the past three days, things have themselves fallen into order. I am calm. I am finding time to even do things not originally in my schedule. I am happy. I am lost. And the same, silly, faint smile is forever accessorizing my face.

And I am thinking about things. About a lot of things. Things, which have one thing in common- They all make me inexplicably happy. It may be people, situations, incidents- everything that left even a faint impact on me, and is still lurking in the penumbra of that part of my memory, which i associate with pure, unadultrated bliss. Let me quote a few examples-

~Somewhere during last week, when i struggled my way up the metro stairs ('cuz the lift was ready to explode with the number of people trying to squeeze in), taking the kanchenjunga exit from Barakhamba Road Metro Station, I saw a couple who would remain etched in my memory for a really long time to come. They were in their middle ages- the female far more graceful than any I have known, and the male, very dignified, with his slightly greying hair at the temples adding to his charm- and visibly, very much in love. However, why I remember them, is not for their looks, but for something different. The couple, both of them i presume, had not been blessed with speech and hearing. They were carrying on an animated discussion, with their hands flying in all directions. It was only a moment i stole a glance at them, and then averted my eyes, slightly conscious by the fact that i was invading their privacy. However, when i looked around, i realized, in India, not many people are blessed with scruples of conscience, and they continued gawking at the two of them, even sharing totally contemptible laughs among themselves. I climbed out of the metro station, stole a last look at them over my shoulders, and whispered to my heart-"bless them"

~I do late night studies, often keeping up till early hours of the morning. Generally, the curtains of my room are drawn, to prohibit early rays of sunlight from entering my territory, and depriving me of slumber- a much coveted, scarce commodity for me. However, today morning, i clearly noticed the sky changing color through my huge window, with no curtains to disposses me of such a magical view. I ambled into the balcony, and I don't know for how many minutes i stood there, immobilized, my eyes soaking in every little detail of the alluring scene in front of me. It was unnervingly quiet, for most people were still snug within the blanket of sleep, but i was glad for not being one amongst them. I was glad for being blessed with a private rendezvous with the most stunning part of the day, the sky over my head being cast in layers of at least three different colors....

~" Sometimes i feel everything in the world is so beautiful and simple. Quite contrary to what I think. But its nice. :)" My friend Saurabh, practically out of nowhere, and 2:17 am at night on 5th July, sent me this message. I had been trying hard to fight out the hideous images of Statistics' formulae and diagram which had been annoying me for past couple of days, when I recieved this, and smiled another of my silly smiles at the mobile screen. Firstly, 'cuz, there are fewer things that can give you more happiness while you are caught in your mundane chores than the name of your favorite friend flashing on your mobile screen. And secondly, the content of the message was so random, abstract, yet enough so effective in transforming my virulence into gladness, and the sms chit-chat which followed for nearly and hour or two after that, one of the fondest i've had in a long time.

While I was pondering over these very things, flipping through the pages of my diary, when i came across a few lines i scribbled as a reaction to a 'Spiritual Solutions' article in HT, on June 15, '10-
"Love is a phenominally understated, grossly misunderstood, and supremely assaulted emotion; but, it possesses a remarkable resilience. It keeps coming back in the lives of all those, most often without their cognizance, who at some point or the other have desecrated this divine object, this blessing than God gave us to directly be connected with Him."

Quite honestly, I did not believe i had written this. But then, I guess I had. I guess something had bothered me so much, that rather than stain the pages of my diary with long, lachrymose content, i simply expressed my anguish in these words.

So, the conclusion. Despite disdain flowing in copious amounts from all sides from the more sensible and pragmatic male friends of mine, the sort who look down on females who are mushy, senti, easily attached to the most silly things in the world, I will continue doing the following things-

~I will read the Twilight series as many times as I desire (in fact, thats what i am doing in my free time at present), despite the fact that i have seen the movie like a zillion times, and read all the four books twice over already;
~I will collect money and buy myself a copy of the classics Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, even though I've read them emough times now to know the lines by heart;
~I will keep watching movies like A Walk to Remember, Autumn In New York, Notebook, Titanic, and keep shedding bucketful of tears, even long after the movie is over;
~I will totally refuse to give up my obsession with Katherine Heigl, and James Marsden starrer, 27 Dresses, and see it as many times as Star Movies thinks it fit to air it;
~I will continue sleeping with my copy copy of "I Too Had A Love Story" hugged tight to my bossom on those dark days of my life, when things would be awry, and genuinely feel remorse for the author of this cute, little book;
~I will continue going to movies like "I Hate Luv Stories" despite enough warnings from the media and the disappointment, scorn, and incessant protests of my companion, whose definition of 'paisa vasool' for such movies is to avail the benefits of air conditioning and simply sleep. And after trying for the sixth time to wake him up, i would simply give up, and enjoy the movie;
~And here comes the big one-I will continue hoping, in the labelled 'nonsensical' fashion, that my boyfriend came with a vampire bite scar somewhere on his neck, making him an exact replica of EDWARD CULLEN, blessing me with a kismet akin to that of Bella's

Some supremely intelligent individual has quoted- 'Love makes uncomplicated, earnest idiots of us all" (-Tim Dowling). I would like to agree with him, and state furthermore, that it is this specific idiocy, which can grant us those precious few moments, which will flicker in front of our eye lids, when we approach the evening of life. The crepuscular being i am, i firmly believe in the concept of dawn after dusk, and can't leave this post to end on a note with a slight melancholic undertone to it. With nothing left to write, I'd just end with a quote from Acts of Faith, an awesome novel from the magical spinner of Love Stories, Erich Segal-

"It was one of the Jewish legends of the mystics- that when the soul descends from Heaven, it has two parts, one male, the other female. They separate and enter different bodies. But if these people then lead righteous lives, the Father of the Universe will reunite them as a couple."

Is it strange that I have not been perturbed by any sort of intrigue about the much hyped, recently released Aishwarya and Abhishek starrer RAAVAN? Well, at least my cousin thinks so as he gives me those incredulous looks when I tell him I don’t care about the ‘hot new looks’ of the stars or the scenic locations or the great direction of Mani Ratnam which has surely made this movie a masterpiece. Frankly, I am glad the film has bombed at the box office (1 and ½ star rating by HT), a befitting answer to all those die heard Abhishek fans, eagerly awaiting the release of the epic film, hailed as a ‘landmark’ in his career. It may still turn out to be just that, but for me, the hullabaloo surrounding it has been consistently incomprehensible.

What I am glad for, though, is the fact that due to this movie, the media and the intellectuals have been compelled to undertake a debate on the conceptualization of ‘villain’ in our society, in our films, for once trying to give their characters their due respect. This is most aptly stated in the following lines- “Every story needs a villain. The Jain Chronicles are very clear about this. For every Vasudeva, they say, there must be a Prati-Vasudeva. Against Rama stands Ravana, against Krishna stands Kansa. In fact, the villain comes first, justifying the existence of the hero. The villain’s villainy props up the hero’s heroism, justifies the adoration and worship.” (-Devdutt Patnaik, mythologist, and author of The Pregnant King)

A particular source of fascination for me has been the obsession of print and electronic media with revisiting the much celebrate, legendary villain-Ravana- straight out of the epic Ramayana, composed by Valimiki. He is the iconic villain- one whom we love to hate!

Having my mother as a Sanskrit teacher has its own advantages. I dunno how small was I when my innocent tongue started chanting these lines-

“Damadamadamadamanninadavadamarvayam
Chakaarchandtaandavam tanotuna shivashivam”

I never understood their meaning - I still don’t. I was merely overtaken by the rhythm and vigor that emanated while chanting the initial part of these lines. What I do know today is the fact that these lines constitute the second part of the first verse of the 16 verse long Shiva Tandava Stotram, composed by the Asura king Ravana himself. When the fact that Ravana was a staunch devotee of Shiva, so much so that he composed this Stotram to appease the Lord from his petrifying anger, was first revealed to me, I stood in disbelief. Ravana was the sinister demon king who abducted Sita leading to his own destruction at the hands of Rama- how could someone like him be then related to a figure of a deeply religious and learned king, I failed to fathom.

“Ravana is a symbol of evil”- has it not been fed into our system since the time we were toddlers, and were still learning to identify figures, and used to sing alphabets along with other nursery rhymes? We couldn’t boast of any worldly wisdom at that time when our grandmother taught us that evil always gets defeated at the hands of good, as is the case of Ravana, during one of her bedtime story sessions. Such are the common, conventional and delusional wisdoms imparted to us through the oral transmissions of our mythologically rich heritage. Did anyone tell us that the immoral son of sage Vishravas and Kaikesi was actually a learned Brahmin and a great scholar of his time? Did anyone bother to tell us that he is ascribed as the author of Ravansamhita, the most powerful treatise on astrological investigations derived from our Vedic texts? Did anyone tell us that there exist communities in unknown interiors of our country, for whom, Ravana is the only deity they’ve ever worshipped? Did anyone tell us that there is a Jain temple dedicated to the mighty king Ravana near Alwar? Perhaps no one told us because they themselves are not aware. I myself was not, till I saw and was captivated by a documentary on NDTV India this weekend, my eyes glued to the TV screen as I stared at an idol of “lord” Ravana- perhaps for the first time witnessing a serene, and ‘vinamra’ expression on his face, as against the ‘raudra’ image as is commonly perceived in our society.

So today, Ravana stands for me not as the widely professed super-villain, but as an ambivalent figure- part daitya and part Brahmin. His ten heads would not so much frighten me as they did when I was a kid, for today I know his ten heads are symbolic of profound knowledge of four Vedas, and six Upanishads. I will recall him to mind as the composer of the hypnotic Shiva Tandava Stotram, whose hubris was karmically fated to be subdued by Rama. The next time I see Ravana go up in flames on Dussehra, the biggest celebration of triumph of good over evil as witnessed in India, I will for once bow my head humbly to the great and glorious demon king, who has ‘clearly fallen victim to the distinction drawn in Ramayana by Valmiki between a good human guided by moral ethics and marital bonding, and the Rakshasa Jati- the race of demons and illusionists who practice profligate living.’ (HT, 20/06/10).

While I do read in my Indian Culture readings about Samudragupta, the scion of illustrious Gupta dynasty, famously called the ‘Indian Napolean’ by V.A. Smith, as being a prolific veena-vaadak, it has been little in my cognizance, as of most around me that Ravana himself was an unparalleled player of the Veena- the instrument most profoundly associated with the image of the goddess of learning, Saraswati, herself.

The next time I go through the much simpler and abridged version of my copy of C. Rajagopalachari’s Ramayana, I will be in a position to give much more thought to the fact that Ravana is not simply a figure who should be used as an instrument to establish the good and astute image of maryadapushottam Rama year and year again in our highly saffronized society as his effigy goes up in flames during Dussehra; he is a legend in himself, capable of imparting much wisdom to all of us. As I rue the way the good and the evil forces were balanced inside Ravana, I remember the following quote I read in HT’s Saturday Editorial, written by Gopalkrishna Gandhi, former Governor, West Bengal- “While I too believe in Gods, I don’t believe that God concerns himself with the fates and actions of individual human beings- in their daily chores, in their pettinesses and quarrels, in their moments of joy and sorrow… As a Zoroastrian, I believe that good an evil exist as separate forces and that the world we live in is a battlefield.” – Fali Nariman

With Ramayana having already attained its much exaggerated place amongst us, I am eagerly waiting to grab my copy of the ‘Ravanayana’. ‘Ravana’ definitely is the flavor of the season!

My eyes are burning; my vision fogged. My aspirations are crushed; my faith shaken. My past is acrimonious; my future uncertain. A flicker of dream remains; remains, to keep me breathing. It refuses to go away. Audacious, defiant dream. Reverberations in my mind…I hear these words-

“But I being poor have only my dreams.

I spread my dreams beneath your feet.

Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”

Poor indeed I am. Nothing save my world of dreams constitutes my wealth. My wealth- wholly intangible at present. When realized, though, my dreams are bound to make me the richest. Richest- with happiness. Richest- with contentment. Richest- ‘cuz I’ll have all with me I ever dreamt of. Dreamt of. Dreamt.

Dream. Hapless dream. It only is the culprit. My mind says so. I can’t deny it. My heart still wants to harbor the dream. I can’t deny it either. The pursuit of this dream, the attachment to it, makes me brittle. I’m shattered many a times along the road.

The path was uphill, I knew. So steep, I knew not.

Obstacles paved the way, I knew. In such abundance, I knew not.

Destination was far, I knew. Almost on unreachable horizons, I knew not.

And yet, I set off. Harrying myself. Challenging myself. A glimpse of the destination- an alacrity. A change in weather, a misty ennui. So many people I meet along the way, each with his own ‘shortcut’ to the destination. Difficult to hear ‘em all. Difficult to ignore ‘em all. Difficult to hold my ground. Easy to let go.

Let go I must not. If I let go, then where do I go? Strengthen. Steel. Maneuver. Plan. (said someone- ‘planning is not success, it only makes the road to success easier’)

Fear not anyone, but yourself. Only if you decide, you stop. Else, you continue moving. Walking. With companions. Alone. In cold. In sun. In mist. In shower. Understand nature’s chicanery. (You’ll find 15 reasons why not to go after a dream, each more convincing than the one that says you should.)

Fealty. To no one, save your own self.

A problem, however, exists. My legs are chained. The chains- rusted, ancient, orthodox. My controllers, my conservative lords- not game for the unconventional route. They overtake my steps. They haul me along. They show me the way, I wish not to see. They still drag ahead. They trample my dreams. (tread softly- did I not tell them that?)

I pick the trampled disfigured ones. I cosset them. I nurture them. It’s only a matter of time. Someday, and God knows when, but someday it’ll be my day. And that day, nature will find its rhythm in my heart beats. Sun will shine within my eyes. The heavens, for once, will side with me. I’ll decide my own course. I'll be my own prophet.

“I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference." - Robert Frost

“I hate you”- Quite an unusual way for me to begin writing this post. “I hate you”- these are words I least use, and I least feel like using, and words that anyone would least expect me to be using, but today, I feel, nothing can express what lies deep inside my heart, better than these words.

I hate you,
For those million things you have,
And I don’t;
For the fact that they don’t cause envy in me,
And for the fact they won’t.
Because when I look at you,
Am filled with pleasure so pure,
How good’s this thing I feel for you,
Today, tomorrow, I won’t be sure.

I hate you.
For what you’ve made of me, my heart,
That misses you with every beat;
Under the balmy winter sun,
In Delhi’s scorching heat.
It fears, it’ll fail
If you don’t manifest,
And ‘cuz I think myself worse,
For you appear the best!

I hate you.
For the twinkle in your eyes,
For your talents, that hurt!
You’re beautiful, charming, gorgeous,
You’re an angel’s discomfort.
With each passing day,
I grow more apprehensive,
When you move to better horizons,
How the hell am I gonna live?


I hate you.
And I do nothing wrong,
It is ‘hate’ you deserve,
‘Love’ surrounds you from all sides,
With your smile, a million lips curve.
How can you transcend your boundaries?
And reach where no one does.
Reigning, ruling my life, my moods….
Do you find it just?

I hate you.
‘Cuz you’re so adorable,
Not loving you, has never been an option.
Bereft, alone, life’s a quagmire,
You brighten, you lighten, you make it fun.
You do this, only you do this,
You make me insane.
I hate to love you,
Oh! My helplessness struck me again.


(Happy birthday Kapoor…this one’s for you. I started and ended it, thinking of you. However, I do admit, there are a few more there, who make my life as splendid as you do, so this one’s for you, and for all of them too …crap..yeh bhi rhyme ho gayaa!)

Today, after a tiring, and grueling session of some serious studies, I picked up my newspapers, desperately seeking some respite from my monstrous text books. In one of the leading dailies, I came across a survey, which made me really angry, and really frustrated so much so that the frustration caused by my text books seemed paltry. It was a survey conducted in, of all the places, Canada (Toronto), which went onto proclaim that more than half of domestically abused females were positive of their male partners. The survey established that women who are physically abused by their husbands, stick by their husband, and desire to remain in that marriage, because they find their husbands protective and affectionate. Many, who live with chronic psychological abuse, still see positive traits in their abusers- such as dependability.



Personally, I have nothing to say on this. May be I have less of exposure on these matters, but I am still recuperating from the after effects of an honor killing case that took place in Naya Gaon, Haryana, about which I studied in a national level seminar, conducted by the Women Studies Development Cell, DU. Two lovers were mercilessly killed by their own family elders because of the sin of having wanted to marry in the same gotra. ( Gotra is a group that traces its descent from the same ancestor-it is forbidden to marry within the same gotra) This case is somewhat similar to the case being reported from Kurukshetra, splashed on the front pages of most of the leading newspapers of India, that of a Khap Panchayat versus the Karnal High Court; but what I remember to be distinctly prominent in the case reported from Naya Gaon was the sequence of events that took place after the killings. None of the accused was convicted in that case, and the killings were gloriously given the name of ‘moral executions’, with overwhelming support from the village community. Also, in due course of time, the family of the boy and the girl met for talks, and unanimously declared the female to be ‘characterless’ (charitraheen), because she denigrated herself by shamelessly asserting her preferences publicly, where as the male, innocent, merely “fell prey to her charms”.

Now where does the story go from here, I have no idea. What I do know is, this is a perfect, and grotesque example of the sort of gender bias that pervades the whole of Indian society. We may very subtly shift out focus out of the rural domains to the urban areas, our habitats, and not find much difference if what we observe.

Gender bias is a story told many a times in India. Ever since we were infants, we have in some way or the other, encountered an ideology that categorizes males as the superior section of the society. Since ages, our Indian society has been plagued with practices which violate the very rights of existence of our womenfolk, be it the archaic ‘Sati’, or the present day selective sex abortions. A clear manifestation of discriminatory practices against females is seen in the rural areas of India, where, despite ages spent on women empowerment, the status of women has elevated only little to keep pace with fast progressing times. However, more curious is the fact that even the so called civilized and progressive urban areas have not yet fully adapted the concept of empowering our womenfolk with equal rights of sustenance in the society.

Based on this fact, I, the Vice President (and hopefully, soon to be President) of the Women Studies Development Cell of Jesus and Mary College, along with my team members, undertook a study to ascertain the extent of gender bias that exists in the urban areas of India. . It is very clear and evident to figure out cases in rural areas when we want to study discrimination against the fairer sex; but, it is not very easy to point out similar instances when we tilt our story towards the city life.

To collect data for our project, we prepared a questionnaire, consisting of questions looking to extract maximum honest opinions from the respondents. Though not prepared with professional expertise, this project, based on first hand data collected by us, looked, at least, to provide a glimpse into the sort of bias against women that exists in our present day urban habitats.

We began this project to delve into the details of urban gender bias, at each point, asking ourselves questions if it really existed. The dismal, but rather unambiguous answer we have arrived at is, yes, in some form or the other, the urban areas do practice discrimination against the fairer sex. Be it family or work place, a woman has to strive doubly hard if she is to establish herself as an independent entity in the society, because, given the advancement in our society, our women are still by far considered to be ‘dependent’ on their male counterparts. From a very early stage in life, a girl is made to realize she is a girl, and hence must adhere to a particular code of ethics, sans which, she is bound to be scorned at. In every other sphere of life, we have adopted the policy of ‘look west’, but, when it comes to our women; we refuse to abandon the decayed ideals on which our age old civilizations were based. Women idols are worshipped, yet women disregarded. There are exceptions to this inference at which we have arrived, and in good numbers, yet, when we interviewed the people who fall within the periphery of our immediate existence, we met with disheartening responses, with almost all the females we interviewed having faced some or the other form of prejudice against them at some point in life. Another promiscuous fact that stared us in our face while recorded responses for our project was the underlying current of hypocrisy that has always characterized our Indian society. Given anonymous conditions, a lot more of our respondents opened up a lot more to quote personal instances justifying their stance, but when recorded on paper, most people gave responses that were either very ‘forward’. ‘idealistic’, or ‘diplomatic’. Even if a family was very progressive about the status of its females, they still are expected the perfect the ‘balancing act’, where as no such thing is expected from the males belonging to the same society.

Whatever the case is, we did feel at the end of our effort that despite all efforts at sensitizing the society about gender related issues, and putting policy measures in place for greater empowerment of women, the goal of living in a social that is totally free of gender related prejudices is a far fetched dream for us. I might even say it with personal experience, being a woman, was, is, and for some time to come, will remain a tough job.

I love being lonely,
Oh! Yes I do.
I drift within my own self,
But at times I lack a cue;
I love the gentle caresses,
Alighting on my face like dew,
'Tis my fingers on my cheeks,
I so wish it were you...

I love being lonely,
The thrill to exalt, and be 'me',
Still, what 'they' think, what 'they' feel,
Creates immeasurable anxiety.
Oh forget it! All I need is a mirror,
Have me to talk and see.
Silly, confused woman, 'tis your own image,
In which you seek company.

I love being lonely,
Wrapping around myself my arms.
I close my eyes, I feel complete,
I lend myself warmth and calm.
Yet a knot and two faces in my heart,
Whose hugs took me by storm,
Foist on me the realization,
Solitude haunts; does never charm.





Might be a bit messed up, but it is to assert that I love the presence of every single person in my life...and i CANNOT survive with even one of you turning away from me....Love you all...love you for giving me so much of love... forever indebted...

Sooti chhaan, rang mahal maa,
sooti na aayo re janjaad,
sapna re bairi, jhootho hi aayo re.
Dag dag mehlaan ootri,
gayi gayi samad-tadaav,
Kurzaan e mhaaro, bhanwar mila de re.

You see her in fields, you see her in mountains. You see her laboriously working her way through a soop to free grains from impurities, you see her pumping air out of her lungs into choolha so her her family is fed. You see her sowing the fields, you see her weaving cloth. You see her all around you- yet, the presence you don't appreciate!

The above quoted lines are from a folk rajasthani song, which i have been singing since perhaps i was eleven. The beauty of this song would fill me, the melody of it would escape my lips even before i knew it. In my head for the past many years, it took a long, long time when the actual beauty and worth of its lyrics dawned on me. Now this song wasn't confined to regional music competitions; now it had acquired a meaning- and a beautiful one that is. Now i had started comprehending a life which i knew would never touch me; but wouldn't stop fascinating me either.


Rajasthan has always been a place that has enamoured me- beckoning me with all its varied hues and vibrant cultures. More intriguing for me have been the native women of this land, and the lores and traditions skirting them. I associate them with a typical kind of appearance- long, bright, flowing ghagras; intricately woven cholis, with sunlight reflecting off the embedded mirrors; odhnis in variegated colors, swaying to the command of the flowing breeze; and heavy, (coveted) silver jewellery.

Spotting any of them on my way to Jaipur transports me into the world of my imaginations, centred around them and their lives. Most of these women are married at the age when we, the proud urban class, have still not got a hold of what it means to be a women. My aim here is not to express dissent to the phenomenon of child marriages- yes, they are rampant in Rajasthan- but in this article, I am trying to reflect on the bountiful feminism, leaving aside all rage and frustration for having been treated as inferiors. These womenfolk are very muh snug in the lives they lead, and have carved around themselves, with discontent not getting any place in their busy schedules.

It is apt to relate an anecdote here, that was told to us by Dr. Suman Sharma (Dept. of Pol. Sc. Moti Lal Nehru College). In an interior village, somewhere in India, a counselling group intiated a programme on family planning, that they intended to air through a locally operating channel, and were looking for a suitable time slot for the same. When they went out to survey, the menfolk were convenient with almost any slot. The problem occured when women were approached. Assumed to be easily bought, it is the women who were tough customers. Morning time- "No, no! we've to send our kids to school. Too much work." Later- "Husbands leave for work, have to lay their breakfast." Afternoon- "No! Have to clean house, make lunch, wash clothes, and carry lunch for our husbands in fields." The other hours during the day weren't much different. After much discussion and persuasions, only a half hour slot could be identified.....Oh! Our benevolent mothers and wives....

Anyway, so the song quoted at the beginning voices the sentiments of a married woman, who has been pining and praying for the return of her beloved for many years now. Nothing, absolutely nothing has lessened her love, devotion, and commitment towards her husband. Sitting in fields, lost in thought, she reflects on what it would be like when 'he' returns. She envies the other females on the common village well when she goes to fetch water, because they all chatter away about their husbands- the gifts and care and attention they recieve. When she cooks, she worries if her husband has eaten. At night she can't sleep. She tosses and turns at misses him, and wonders when will he be back.

What a contrast it is to our new age woman, for whom, sustaining a long distance relationship is like an unconquerable feet. Here we are talking of a woman, who is not even keeping in touch with her beloved, her only communication being an occassional letter, nothing more, that comes and makes her heart dance. When she gets frustrated, she turns to all elements of nature, searching for omens that night predict 'his' return. The innocent women in her is even prepared to bribe the Almighty with all she has, only to get her beloved back.

Sitting in the snug zones of our cozy, comfortable living rooms, we look at these women with contempt. We pity their lifestyles, we call them 'not-ambitious', we distance ourselves and our innate feminine nature from them. We think ourselves superior. We think we are sensible, for we make wiser choices in life. This, however, is not the case. These village women have sensibilities of their own, ambitions of their own. Being a good homemaker, a good wife, a good mother is what their ambitions and aspirations comprise of. We call their vistas constrained. If their sensibilities do not conform to ours, we have NO right to scorn at them. These are women, grounded, simple, and living lives much more virtuously than we ourselves ever can. Their biggest asset, in my view, is their 'simplicity'- their loving, caring, and giving nature. They don't demand for themselves. The just know how to make someone else's life better, even if it is by killing their own desires.

My song, that has sort of stringed this articles together, concludes with a couplet, which suffices to throw enough light on the love these women hold for their husbands deep within their hearts. Love, which is so giving that it doesn't for once consider that their husbands might be so lost in the better lives they lead in cities and towns where they work, that they might not even be thinking of the wives they've left back home....

"Kaaga sab tan khaaiyo, chun chun khaiyo maas,
Do naina mat khaaiyo, mohe piya milan ki aas."

(She pleads to the scavengers, that should she die waiting for him, feed on all except her eyes....her eyes still, just once want to behold his form in them)

I had been browsing through random images on google, when i stumbled upon this one. I dunno what is it in this pic that made me stop, and keep looking at it. It was just a matter of seconds before I realized that my eyes are moist. Guess I have been a bit senti for the past two days; this pic was a mere vent....

When I started this blog, i had started it, may be because i wanted to opulently display my writing skills....today I realize- I suck at writing! I don't say this because i am this overtly, irritatingly modest female, who is looking to devour more compliments by degrading her own self. NO! I have been through a number of blogs, written by my friends, who seriously intimidate me by the way they write- what they write, and how they write. I am nowhere close to justifying the tag 'blogger' which many of my friends have enforced on me.

Also, this blog was started with a different idea behind it. What it was, i don't exactly remember. However, today, i feel this blog is my platform for writing things, that most touch my heart, the moment i experience them (the 'perception' of my blog in my own mind is due to change a million more times before i die). In fact, what most touches my heart are people around me. Any, and everything they do, or say, makes me what i am at that moment.

This picture for me is what determines the ideal relationship between two friends- silhouetted against an overcast sky, sit two friends, laughing and enjoying the moment. For them, the fact that an imminent downpour is on its way is no cause of worry. In fact, they revel in planning an adventure against what could potentially be a torrential rain. This is exactly how i view my relationship with my friends. Happens, and happens again that my life is overcast, and an ominous grey sky portends a devastating storm. It is then that i visualize me and my friends, sitting down, and devising plans to counter the storm better. We don't confuse each other with hollow claims about the storm being avoidable, or the sky clearing in a matter of seconds. We know it by the decree of Providence- there are such troubles in life which are inevitable, they key lies in standing up bravely to them. And, of course, emerging as a stronger and better person when the worst is over.

Blessed am I, for i can claim i have such friends by my side, who help to accept my realities with a grace which i would otherwise not have managed for my self.

This picture...hmm....how do i express why it makes me cry. It makes me cry because it makes me aware of the presence of this really special friend in my life, who for the time being, has averted her gaze from my face. I know its temporary. I know she'll be back with the same smile, which quite literally is the sunshine in my life. At times i am made sad with the thought that i can never uniquely own her, because of the ultimate heart-throb of a million that she is, but then i console myself with the thought that none, not even her, can stop me from basking in the brightness that she spreads around herself. Its kind of silly, and kind of weird, and i am well aware of it. Still, i have no clue how to battle myself in moments like this, when i am virtually left alone, because the relationship between us is such that i can't approach anyone else to console me. I know, at times i am a horrible friend, but i am also aware of times when i am selflessly there for my friends- a thing on which i pride myself.

I know not in what words, or what gestures i explain the value she holds in my life. I know that even without saying, she knows exactly what is there on my mind, and in my heart. Yet, I can't blame her for giving me these few moments of pain. I love her irrevocably, and she is one of the four people around me, whom I consider my bulwark. Her absence leaves not just a crevice or a crack in that wall; it creates a void. A void which I have no idea how to fill.

Am sorry, i know not for what. Ridden with anxiety, am not good for anything. I dunno whom to talk to, so i resorted to this medium. I dunno when will she see it, but i hope she comes back soon enough. It's not a situation so grave as i have made it sound. In fact, people might murder me for my silliness, for the way i am taking the whole incident on my heart. But oblivion has never been a place where i could find my foothold, and as of now, i am totally unaware of what is happening.

I guess I am a hopeless case of dementia, and i know far too many people will agree to this.

I know you didn't want me to cry...but do you really think i can help it?