India's daughter - A film well made, a title badly chosen

It was a day long tussle between uploading and taking down. A bold documentary, which has now caught the 'living room syndrome' of a nation, just as the event, which led up to the making of this documentary in the the first place. There had been something cataclysmic about the horrific, brutal rape and subsequent death of a para medical student on 16th December 2012. An event which had shaken us from within. It is not that it was the first time, not that it happens only in India, not that it was the only paradox that Indian women or women in general have to go through everyday, but what shuddered us up was the extent of brutality it involved. The extent of inhumanity involved. Not only her modesty was violated, but also her organs which would have still functioned and made her live was torn and pulled out brutally from her body, wrapped in a piece of cloth, and thrown out. As if it didn't matter, her modesty, her views, her right to life, it just did not matter. What mattered was the perpetrators right to violate her modesty in the name of culture, violate her body in the name of teaching her a lesson on how to be a woman, violate her right to life. The documentary was well made till it was given its title. Is rape an 'Indian' event? No it is not. Rape is a worldwide phenomenon just like global warming. It is not restricted to a specific country, or religion, or race. 

However, even though atrocities towards women isn’t country centric or religion centric, yet when a documentary made by BBC on the mentioned crime that caught the imagination of not only the people in India but also of the world, brought out the hypocrisy of the self-proclaimed ‘superior class’. Patriarchal values and mentality is so deep rooted in our society that whenever anyone tries to hold up a mirror to show the patriarch the real image, what he rightly does is close his eyes pretending if he doesn’t see it no one does. If we want westerners to know about our ‘Indian culture’ let them know it the way it is. Why do we want to customise the way they see us. When we agree to give a visa to them to come and visit us, then why take away the right of analysis. These people come from countries where they are allowed to hold opinions, come here, see things, and make judgements. And if they see rape and religious intolerance then so be it. May be you are in a denial mode but he isn’t. What are you ashamed of? Are you ashamed of your culture where if a woman is raped then she has invited it? Are you ashamed because you think that she was raped because she chose to dress differently from your mother? She was raped because she chose to live her life independently? Or you are ashamed because you think that by redressing that rape by marriage to the culprit is what your so called culture is. You are ashamed because you are scared that the world chooses to differ. You are ashamed because you do not hear an echo of your school of thought with the world. You are ashamed that the sick mentality of your sons will come threadbare. A perception which sees women as only sex objects. Objects who do not have any voice of their own. Objects who should act and dress in a certain way that you want them to. Where in the name of celebration and right you choose to violate her body and her emotions and she does not even have a right to protest. Where in the name of being a husband marital rapes take place. Where in the name of being a teacher a student’s trust is broken. What culture are you talking of where the ‘moral guardians’ of our society preach that a certain section of the society in the name of religion should go and rape women of other religion even if it means raping dead ones. What cultures are you talking of where you regard a bovine as your mother and rape an actual one? What culture are you talking of which is so bigoted in its thought procedure? What culture are you talking of where we defend ‘our sons’ saying that boys will be boys and they will make mistakes. Mistakes which cost a human not only her honour but also her life sometimes; when if spared mistakes which will traumatise her all her life. Mistakes which allow the perpetrators take away her right to her own body. Yes, it is a mistake; an unforgivable mistake, an unpardonable mistake. A mistake which is the result of your underlying sick mentality. And when the ‘westerner’ rubs it on your face you shout ‘BAN IT’!!

Whether we choose not to see our ‘culture’ so blatantly doesn’t change anything. India or elsewhere, every society needs a sea change. A change in the way men look at women. Change in the way husbands treat their wives. Change in the attitude where we not only tell our daughters to behave like a woman, but also where we tell our sons how to treat a woman. The only valid and prime objection to this two days old drama is that the case is under subjugation. Hence, it is important for restricting it from main stream media lest it might influence the logical end. But banning it is unacceptable. Reasons like it was shoddily researched, or it has a potential of unleashing nationwide misogyny and misandry, or it demeans national honour or will incite mobs is not only uncalled for but also atrocious. Legal objections to the interview might seem reasonable when it stretches on having an impact on impressionable minds. The unremorseful accused who instead accuses the victim for his demeaning attitudes and actions. The blatant sick nauseated mind-set of the lawyers who are representing the accused. The parents who weren’t even sure of whether their child was alive or not defend him by refusing to be accountable for his actions. But are we Indians a bunch of thumb sucking imbeciles whose way of thinking can be indoctrinated by a documentary? Why do we say it is voyeurism whenever a rape victim or her family comes forward to take it further? These films might not bring in a change but certainly these films, documentaries, and articles push forward to bring in some change on a war footing. They are crucial contributors in bringing in this change. They are like catalysts which will help in bringing in the change. Change against sexual assault. Change in the mindset. We seem to assume that the fight ends when we bring in the laws; often the FIRs are the first steps to the long walk towards freedom and justice for the victim who is besieged by character assassination to oblivion.  

The film, with all its flaws speaks truth so blatantly that the ‘Indian Patriarchal Society’ feels threatened, that no wonder the most offended are the Indian men. Delhi is the living room of the ‘elite’. It articulates the thoughts and the aspirations of the rest of the country. They are the ones who own the decision making syndrome of the country’s population. That way no one can question their superiority in governing the masses. And if that means curbing the truth, because it is unacceptable in general, then it is the ownership of the ‘Elite’ to make sure. But however unacceptable the truth is, closing your eyes and thinking that no one is watching is not helping. Everyone is watching. The country is watching. The world is watching. And if the government is determined to develop India, then it must start empowering its women and empowerment will come in when it makes sure each and every woman feels safe in her own motherland. Everytime she leaves her home, she should not be looking constantly over her shoulders. She should walk the road without a care for the world. The documentary is a very well made one. The only flaw is the title. Rape in not ‘Indian’. Rape is an international crime. ‘Nirbhaya: The story of a daughter’ is what I think it should be named or renamed. 

Secret Words

They said I was too young, I said experience is the best judge not age. I carried on with what I thought was right. Life was so beautiful. The grass was green, the roses were red, the sky was blue. Oh! Life is so beautiful!!

They called me back, but I moved on. They told me I would sink, but I didn't care. They said it wasn't worth it, but I cared. Helping one to cross the river with the feet in two different boats is what I chose. Was I lame? Was I ignorant? Was I an imbecile? No I was in 'Love'!! Who cared about what's in the future when I can make future myself. Future with two of us. Future unseen. Future which was shrouded in the safe blanket of love. Love that will make us go through. Life with Love was worth living.

They said you will get hurt. I said Love is blind and lovers can't see. Life was a valley, in the ridges of the high mountains covered with green grass and endless swarm of colourful flowers around and surrounded by tall trees of love. I won't get hurt. All I will get is love and all that I have to do is love back. And so I did...

"What are you? why should I love you? What is there in you that I should love you back?"

Alas! The bubble of love was popped. Life had been brutal. It had shattered the fragile love into pieces. Trust broken. Damage beyond repair. A knot of infinity. Ad nauseum ad infinitum.

They said it's better to love and lost than to have never loved at all. I say if you fall in love with the wrong person you are good if you have not loved at all.

Travel and Living-Chapter 2-Darjeeling

My passion for travel was not an overnight transition especially when it wasn't a genetic disposition in my case. My parents weren't very enthusiastic travelers. For me travelling in my growing up days was travelling to my ancestral places for the vacations carefully divided between halves between the maternal and the paternal sides. One off vacations would be ones which weren't traveled to the seemingly familiar places. One such place I remember from my school days was our travel to Darjeeling. Adventure travelling had always intrigued me. Especially the ones in the hills. The deep valleys plunging down the hills, the view of the mighty Kanchenjunga, the view of the sunrise from Tiger Hill, Darjeeling is a place with which you call fall in love with almost instantly. It was a town of British colonialism with extensive tea plantations. The love for the black tea that can be dated back to the colonial rule and which is still prevalent not only in Great Britain, but also in this small town. Black tea with renewed fermentation techniques gives way to the the famous 'Darjeeling Tea'.

I remember for our journey to Darjeeling we had taken a overnight bus journey to Siliguri from Durgapur. I wouldn't say it was the most comfortable bus journeys I ever had, in fact not even close, given the state of the roads. However, I did not mind it much because it was a journey that I was making to unfamiliar surroundings and also because it was to a place which I found the most fascinating, a hill station. I still remember the hair pin turns from Siliguri to Darjeeling which made me puke several times during the journey. Yet I was enjoying the journey. The endless tea estates, the mountains, the small streams here and there, the sound of laughter from the back of the car. It was a journey of a lifetime for me. An entirely different experience.

Spread in ribbons of the Mahabharat Range or the lesser Himalayas, surrounded by stretches of emerald green tea-estates with a white jaded Kanchenjunga in the backdrop, there is more to Darjeeling than only the tea. It still has a train service which runs on steam. The remnants of the once popular mode of transport is not only enchanting but also very exciting, especially because it runs through the most picturesque landscape of the state. The famous Batasia Loop can be done on this Toy train. Posing infront of one of this famous 'Engine' was like witnessing history. Exploring the Buddhist Monastries, or sipping 'black tea' from the tea stalls when your energy starts to flag, Darjeeling is a traveler's paradise. And it certainly was no less for me too.

Five Years and Counting

‘Motherhood is a blessing for a woman. Motherhood completes a woman.’

Well there’s no denying with what has been said and being said justifying the arguments about motherhood. Motherhood is indeed a blessing for a woman. But one has to live it to believe it. And I know it though I cannot back it up with substantial proof that most of the arguments about motherhood have been said by ‘Men’ and not ‘Women’! Such is the irony…

Anyway, I was granted this blessing five years ago and indeed I consider myself lucky. It was a cold January morning when it came into my life. I became a ‘Mommy’ on this day, 6^th January 2010. Okay, now I have to be honest. Though I knew that I was a mommy, but the truth is stranger than fiction. It took me considerable amount of time to let the truth sink in. That my life is no more the way it was had a reality check when I was jerked out of my ‘deep sleep’ the moment the little hands moved. No matter how hard I tried to just ignore the little snores beside me and go back to my ‘deep sleep’, my mind was like giving testimony to the real world. And then there were the numerous expressions on the little innocent face which I kept looking at for hours like a bovine.

Time was an illusion for me in the initial days. The days turned into nights and nights into sleepless nights. My thoughts and life were encircled around a little life that I held. Every day was an enriching new experience to endure. The vomits, the allergies, the smiles, the cries, the dadas, the nanas, the crawls, the scared to walk. Everything which is a fond memory now unlike the time I had to undergo the reality check. And there you were a fine one year old. A cry baby to a happy toddler. Your smiles made our days. Just to see you walk all over the house with my slippers on was a moment to die for. The way your eyes lighted up when I entered the room and your hands slowly rising up for an act of endurance from the only person you knew even before you came to this world is a feeling beyond words. I guess this is what was meant when it was said that ‘motherhood is a blessing for a woman’ and I was lucky to have it. 

As the days passed and you started speaking, life suddenly had a new dictionary of baby language. The endless ‘Mama’ was just a common word in that dictionary! Milk became Mimi, Helicopter became Helicapit and so on and so forth. Though my first instinct was to correct you but then I had to let it go because the sheer joy these little mis-spelt words brought into my life were worth cherishing a lifetime. And then there were the endless flying kisses blown my way that took my breath away. Every day I watched you and thanked God for this priceless gift he had granted me. Though sometimes you were difficult and I lacked the patience which I regretted later, yet, I knew life wouldn’t have been more meaningfully augmenting without you in it. The playful and unending bath times, your fascination for mud and water growing overtime puts a smile on my face even today. And my little sweetheart turned two.

The deadly two’s as they say did not seem deadly at all. Though your tantrums increased but so did your endless smiles too. And then my little baby starts school on 3^rd September 2012. Big day for my little girl. I was more scared than you were. Random thoughts about how will you stay without me for ‘THREE HOURS’ made me feel weak in the knees. I knew I had to do it. So I left you in the school with a high five without you realising that you were all alone without mama and papa by your side. I know I prepared you mentally before it started. Infact, more than you, I was preparing myself and my mind to be ready for it. And my brave little sweetheart made it through the test. And I can’t say how proud I was. You said bye to mama without a tear in your eyes. And then when you saw me after those THREE HOURS’ with tears in your eyes I knew both of us have passed the test; both of us had emerged as winners. Without words our souls could touch and say everything that words coudn't. Those happy tears in our eyes bear testimony to the neo natal bond that a mother shares with her child the moment she conceives. The look that goes beyond words. The feeling and emotion that is attached is a bond which stays till the end no matter what. My little baby is grown up now and she turns three.

School to home and home to school becomes a ritual now. Soon we return to India in July 2013 and my baby joins a new school. The anxiety, the fear of a new environment, new teacher, new place and new people seemed too much for the little soul to take in. First day in a new school proved a challenge for Saanvi. She held on to my hand like she always had and refused to let it go. I could feel her inability to acquaint herself to the changed environment but I knew she is a fast learner and an even faster adapter. And there she was free to go on her own on the third day. Confident and smart. She knew she is having a language issue because of her inability to converse in Oriya yet she took it as a challenge again and emerged victorious. She amazed me with her quick learning skills of a language she knew very little about. Though we used to speak in Oriya in the house, English was something she was well versed and well equipped with. Though the school in India was an English medium, seldom children speak a language they are not familiar with. Saanvi initially conversed in English but saw that she couldn’t make friends if she continued to converse in the language she is familiar with instead she had to converse in a language they were familiar with. She knew she had to transform and adapt herself with the language others were familiar with. And Voila!! One month and Saanvi was fluent in Oriya and she had made friends. She adapted to the changed environment and merged herself in and emerged as the winner. Though others couldn’t speak English so well, here she was who not only spoke fluent English but also fluent Oriya. Such is her adaptability and learning skills. I cannot say how proud I am of you my darling. I know no challenge is challenge enough to dampen you firefighting skills. Guess that comes from your dad!! With facing challenges and being a winner my brave, confident, happy baby turns four.

Another year, another round of challenges. Schooling in India comes to an end for the time being and we again move out of the country to another new country with another new language, Denmark. Another new environment, with another new set of friends, a different school this time and needless to say a different language, again. But I knew as always you will take the challenge head on and emerge as the winner. I know sometimes you have felt out of place when people around you speak a language you don’t understand yet I was always confident that you will make your place. And you have. You have inspired other kids to speak better English. A language which you have always been familiar with since you started understanding languages. And yet again you have surprised me with you command and fluency with which you have been conversing in school in English although you were forced to precinct the fluency in India. The mastery that you have achieved in adapting to the changing environment makes me feel so proud. I am the ‘Mommy’ of a smart, confident, go-getter who does not shy away from accepting challenges and test her limits just to unleash her potential to the fullest. And I am so proud of you my little five year old…

When I look back to see the last five years of my life I see only you…because it is only you that my life has been all about…The endless fears that I have each night when I go to bed thinking: Am I doing it right? Have I messed up? Am I being patient enough? There are endless questions that swish past as I pull you closer to me and put a hand on your little heart and hear you breathe. You won't remember the way my heart broke and grew a little bigger everytime I saw you pass through each milestone. It was as if I was watching the sand falling in an hourglass which gave me a feeling of content and joy because I could see you grow and expand. You won't remember the endless times I held your tiny feet in my hands and watched them grow little by little. You won't remember but I will...I will hold these memories tight and close to my heart for both of us....

A place called home

Home and Durgapur has long been synonymous. A small industrial town in the heart of Bengal which has grown from a small to not so small town. For me every street, every stone, every tree has a story to tell. A place where an imbecile me grew up to be a more explicate individual. A place where memories galore have been formed. Memories that will be cherished a lifetime.

I was born in this small town in the 80's. An era which saw a sea change from manual to computers, from tape recorders to CD players, from renting of a VCR/VCP's to watch a movie to the cable connection, from playing physical games to playing online or video games. A change which changed the lives of people henceforth. Durgapur in my growing up years was a place where hanging out with your friends either meant going to Durgapur Club or going to Paramount Confectionaries in Steel Market. Being seen in these two places was always considered hep n cool. But in today's modern Durgapur, these places have ceased to be places of cool or hep value. You rather go and hang out in the chic, glassy malls in City Centre. Small things which add up to greater pleasures and building up of memories that you cherish a lifetime are seldom made in a mall. Its always gaping and drooling over a nice piece of dress on the mannequin rather than sitting down with your friends in a small place and do things you love to do or discuss things which matter as being friends. Malls don't and can't give you the pleasures and the memories that we made during those years. Running to the local 'chop thela' in the evenings with just a rupee in your pocket and getting a paper packet full of delicious mouth watering hot chops was happiness worth dying for. The taste which I cherish even though so many years have passed by. Or for that matter an egg chicken roll or a plate of chilli chicken from a restaurant called 'La Cafe' or the steamed momos and noodles from a Chinese restaurant called 'Hongkong' or the prawn chops, again from a roadside thela in Steel Market. The tastes which can't be replicated by any 5 star restaurant anywhere in the world. Can these tastes and these memories be made in a mall!!? I wonder!! Sitting on the gate in front of  Amrita's house and relishing these delicacies, finger licking potato fries with 'luchi' that Ritu's mom made and we hogging them even before its the tiffin time in school, going to the school sister's den just beside our school on Christmas and enjoying the Christmas goodies, checking out the Xaverians' while parking our bike in school, the eagerness for the most awaited festival of the year, 'The Pujas', cycling to school in the foggy winter mornings, the computer classes with the boys, the first moped rides with Ritu and she telling me to increase the speed seeing a man on the cycle overtaking me, the fun and carefree school life, the making of new friends in NIT, the pandal hopping during the pujas, etc etc etc. The list goes on but the memories don't fade neither they will during this lifetime.

Durgapur, is no more a home for me now. Life has moved on and I have moved on with it leaving Durgapur far behind. But even now when I hear the word 'HOME', all that I can think of is 'DURGAPUR'.