An ode of love

Do you see what you do to me? Making me crumble and doubt myself every time I try to do something on my own, or all the times my feet feel asleep only to be woken by the feeling of pricks and needles jabbing into them as my hands searched for you over the books. My head feels like it's going to explode every time we meet but also longed to keep meeting again. And again. I like to hide underneath your beautiful looks and your spoken words to keep myself from drowning. Why are you so cruel and yet so strikingly radiant  that I seem to only focus when it comes to you?

People have spent their entire lives, dedicating themselves to you, and when I'm with you, I feel that I can somehow, conquer the world alone? I look into the world, trying to search for you. I spend all my time trying to figure you out. Time, a place where all broken souls come to heal, but I spend all my time looking and loving you. Why is it that I feel most comfortable under your shadow? Am I under some kind of a spell? Or a trance where I only see you? I don't even know your real name, your story, your background or even if you like me back. All I know is that you make me think in ways I never could and express myself in more ways than one. When you're not here, my head churns into a mix of all the places you could possibly be and where I could find you. The world till now, has shipped us in more way than one, but that's just what the world does, it creats an allusion of what can be falsehood. I know I am definitely not one of your first partners and won't be the last. But when I do see you with other people, it makes my heart sink. How is it you never glowed so radiantly when you were with me, or spoke such beautiful poetry when you held my hand. But at the same time, I wonder in amazement of all the people you inspire to write.

You were the reason for all my favourite people to express themselves in pages and make you their muse. Only you could help people to think and express their passions and stories in ways the rest of the world never could. You cause some of the greatest pleasures and displeasures to people who know you and have loved you. You're a walking juxtaposition, one nobody can get rid off, or not love.

I never knew you when I was born, or remotely thought of you until you creeped onto me on the pages of stories long written but never forgotten. You met me in the novels I read and in the poems you helped people write. But most importantly, we kind of fell into each other's arms the moment I couldn't speak and you needed to speak.

So my love, here's to you. A walking contradiction of the devil himself but also one of my greatest loves and faith. Thank you for existing and thank you for finding me. Thank you writing.

This one's to you

Love

Manasi

PS: If you didn't understand who's the person I'm addressing this to, read between the lines or re-read. I like to be very subtle in these things and hope you get what this is all about. 

Thank you readers, until next time! 

 

Sunny Days

Her father had a way with worlds. Even in the lowest of times, when the bombs flooded her home with blood and human parts of loved ones, he would simply just wash it off and move on. He'd always turned and look back at her, point towards the big ball of fire in the great heavens above, laugh and say, "That's where they are. Look up! It's so shiny there, look child, look!" She'd smile as his laughter melted into hers. She never quite understood why people were leaving Syria, and going to the big ball. But nevertheless she wanted to go there too, but her father didn't like it there she guessed. Maybe that's why he never took her there. Her mother and sisters had already left for the big ball, so couldn't she?

Even when they crossed the big blue ocean, he never stopped talking about the great big ball. It always hurt when she looked at it. But she never did stop dreaming about it. Even when their tiny boat was almost swallowed by the chaos of the ocean; not even then. She imaged the big ball as her fairy tales described it, with all the girls in their shimmery long gowns, all the boys in their best clad clothes, as the big ball swayed in happiness in the presence of all her loved ones. Every night, she prayed for the mornings, even though the big ball burned her skin most days.
Her father never stopped telling stories of all the pretty balls taking place up there. He never stopped. 

As they neared land, she knew her father was half the size he was back in Syria. When they hugged, her hands never felt so empty and worried her father was leaving. Leaving to get ready for the big ball. She asked him if he was going to take her there, to which, her father just smiled and said, ''No. I have to prepare the people in the big ball for you. The people of this land won't be able to withstand the shine of the big ball if you came child, for that I might leave you here, alone. I'm so sorry!''. She didn't know what her father was saying sorry for,  but felt saddened of the thought of her father leaving, but also happy he was going to her favourite place.

Her father didn't last more than 3 days at the refugee camp. But in those 3 days, he had already informed her of the colour of the ball gown he was going to prepare, her shoes, jewellery, everything. She told him all of her heart's desires and how she had pictured the ball in her head to be, as he promised he would make it all come true.

On the night that he died, she remembered the next morning being the hottest and most sunniest day ever. Almost the whole of mankind on earth wailed and cried about the warmth, but she didn't. "My father's in that big ball up there and almost my whole country is up there celebrating him. He's the most beautiful man they'll ever see and that's why they are celebrating him. Isn't that just wonderful?" she'd tell everybody, as she laughed and closed her eyes to breathe in the magic of the sun and all the people in it, celebrating her father. 

And what a sunny, sunny day that was.

Side note: I'm trying my hand at short stories. Let me know if you think this is any good in the comments below.
This one's for all the refugees in the world. I'm sorry that this is happening and hope you find this in good health. I hope you find your sun in this darkness.
Sending love, hugs, warmth and sunning days to you,
Love
Keen Blogger.

With all my heart

I guess, I never really thought of the superhero she thought me to be. I was just a part of her, working non-stop, daily to keep her alive and did my best to keep her safe. She never wanted anything from me, apart from the fact that I never stopped giving her the strength and will to live. I never stopped trying to prove my worth and I guess.... she knew that too. But everyone knew, that without me? She'd never have made it this far.

I'm not saying that she didn't return the gesture. She did. She never once complained when she had to cook taste-less health meals because of my poor condition or the money she spent on my medications. I guess she blamed herself for my condition and was frightened that I would leave her. Little did she know, there is nothing in the world that'll ever make me stop loving her and caring for her. I have been through everything with her, right from an infant to the 70 year old graceful woman she is today. Although, I never stopped working, never stopped fulfilling my duties towards her, never stopped loving her, she still blamed herself. Didn’t she know? God had programmed me for her. A slightly neurotic workaholic who'd never stop beating my body for her every whim. I was the reason of her existence and she to mine. Ours was a love affair for the movies, and yet I don't think she ever knew of my love.

I still remember the days she tried to keep herself happy even though I knew she wasn't. To all the boys and friends and loved ones who broke her heart, I've never met you, but I sure know the importance of your being in her life as you left me to pick up the pieces. But I guess the heart wants what it wants. I remember the happy days when she lifted her child for the first time or the day she graduated. I even remember the sad days when her father died or when her dog Bozo passed away. I guess I remember everything as I was there in every step of the way.

But I don’t think she ever knew about our little romance because I never was one for the camera. I did what I had to, to keep ourselves afloat and never complained. But I never gave up on her. I'm glad out of everyone in the world, we chose each other. I hope she can forgive me for when I’m finally getting too tired. I know her body is failing as old age catches up to her and I may not as strong to support her, but I hope she had a nice life just as I did, beating for her.

 -Love always
Your Heart.

 

Note: Since it was World Health Day on April 7^th, here’s my twist on it and hope we can start looking after our bodies and be healthier, for as long as we live. In this case, the heart. This is how I think the heart if it could speak, would speak about the uncanny romance it has with each of us. That or I have a wild imagination.

Side note: How many of you thought this as a story of the heart and his preceding human being? Be unabashedly truthful and let me know if I can write such stories without giving away the suspense and be too mainstream, losing the plot twist.

Also if I should try to write such things more often? Let me know in the comments.

With love from the bottom of my heart. (Literally and figuratively in this case)
Thank you for reading.

Until next time.

XXXX

 

Breaking the Silence

 So recently Barhka Dutt, a journalist and author, recently opened up about being a child sexual abuse survivor in her new book 'This Unique Land- Stories from India's Fault Lines.'

 And as expected, our highly esteemed and sensitive Indian masses, especially men won standing position in their all rounded compassionate comment and behavior towards her story. One man wrote at that way a women can earn sympathy in the public eye is by making up false allegations of being a sexual abuse survivor while others told her to shut it and stop fabricating stories to get attention. Or even one very detailed comment about how the abuser must've been abused by Barkha and not the other way around as even his street dog won't look at her. I mean let’s not drag animals, who have more class, sympathy and brains than this crass young man, into the picture.

Can everyone please... just take a moment of silence and look at these internet trolls and absolute insensitive masses who live in our country?

Here is a woman journalist, who personally speaking, I too am not a fan of her but sympathy is what makes us humans, and a little sympathy can go a long way. She's got her fair share of mistakes and black clouds that have marred her for some, but does that give the right to anyone, and I mean anyone, to laugh and joke about a weighty issue as her being sexually abused as a little girl? THIS. This is exactly why we as an India society are still backwards when it comes to talking about issues of mental health and child abuse as we have been taught from the start to respect elders and how elder can never do wrong, be wrong and are our superheroes.

Imagine an uncle or an aunt, who you know is immediate family and see her/him on a regular bases when it comes to a family event, as you are almost forced to greet them with a smile and touch their feet, worshipping them, and always giving them their due respect as expected from societal norms.

Even though, the last time you met, you hated the way they touched your tender body but you kept quiet as you being a child thought it was your cousin Riya or Rahul also went through. This is normal. Maybe I am a little abnormal as he's/she's family. We're bounded by blood, and this person cannot and will not hurt me. I mean, blood is thicker than water, right?

But maybe, over a game of hide-n-seek you chat and realize that your cousins don't go through what you went through. You think to yourself, maybe I'm his/her favorite and should feel special. You try and you try, but you just can't let go that vile feeling and you hide the disgust of being touched. You will try to tell your mother or father, who will shun you for even thinking that your uncle-ji/ aunty-ji would even do such a thing. I mean which human is ready to accept that they are related to a monster?

Years and years pass by, your brain must've crammed this to the back and you move on in life but suddenly you read something, see something or let a boy/ girl touch you and you feel like you're chest is a coil which suddenly breaks and all you're left with is anxiety and flashbacks of the past you never truly escaped.

When you finally have the courage to share it as an adult, people hate on you and ask questions as to why you never spoke up before. Just like we're taught, we can't speak when not asked. But when we finally are asked, it's too late? There must be some loophole you could use to voice your opinions without getting hate, but there never is.

Here's some statistics for you:

Of the children interviewed by a 2007 survey conducted by Humans Rights Watch, more than half (53 percent) said that they had been subjected to one or more forms of sexual abuse. Over 20 percent of those interviewed said they were subjected to severe forms of abuse, defined in the report as “sexual assault, making the child fondle private parts, making the child exhibit private body parts and being photographed in the nude.” Of those who said they were sexually abused, 57 percent were boys.

The survey also found that very few cases are ever reported. The vast majority of victims (72 percent) said that they did not report the matter to anyone and only 3 percent of them or their families told the police. In most cases the perpetrator was known to the child. The 2007 government survey found that among abused children, only 25 percent had told anyone, and only in 3 percent of the cases had the police been informed. As in many other countries, deep-rooted cultural norms discouraged open discussion of sex and make it hard for a child to complain about older relative or a person in authority.

Now, do you understand how vital this topic is? By making jokes and trolls on the internet on a woman who finally got the courage to speak out, you are actively propagating in shaming victims of child abuse and bullying them to keep their silence. It's time we talked about the big suffocating and disturbing elephant in the room. It's time we broke the silence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

India Untouched

So as most of you know, the Indian Constitution has abolished laws regarding untouchability to keep in terms with the constitution which states equal opportunities to be given to all irrespective of creed, cast, religion, sex, etc.
But sadly, in reality, the pictures isn't black and white.
Just as my exams were approaching, I was asked to watch a documentary for the Dalit Movement in India. The documentary's name is "India Untouched" and can be seen on YouTube.

First things first, I would like to implore everyone reading this to take out some time and watch his documentary. Let's get out of our urbanised shells and realise, India is a country based, formed, enshrined and ingrained about the caste system.
Now you and I living in our apartment in cities and town, reading this on our phones and tablets may not feel that our country, our very dear motherland and its citizens do not practise ''untouchability".
Oh come on, that is an archaic vile concept which nobody practices in society, but my dear fellow urban Indian, drive a 100 kilo-meters away from your homes and you'll realise that India is just the way it was when the British left. There is no change.

As I sat watching this documentary, I was beyond ashamed and helpless of belonging to this nation, of calling its citizens fellow humans with the aim to develop our country. But sadly, this bubble was popped. I was stripped off my rainbow and urban developed glasses and handled out a vision I couldn't wrap my head around.

I would like to formally apologise  to ever complain about the reservation system and how it effects the general masses, if the Dalits or the supposed lower casts have to live a life of slavery under the pretence of religion based on the caste system. I'm sorry for ever thinking the Dalits had it easy in case of never studying as much as me and getting seats in educational institutes. I'm sorry I ever though Indians could see past caste and religion. I'm sorry for thinking we have traits of being decent human beings.
I'm sorry for ever thinking casteism had been curbed and things were finally looking better. I'm sorry I never understood the reasons behind the Dalit movement and the Naxalite movement. For straight away figuring the Naxals were just bullying the government more to give them more reservation. (No, I don't in any way support or propagate naxalism, but more like understand where all this hate against the state is coming from) . I'm sorry I've been blinded by the urban media and the society and its propaganda, to think everything was okay and India was getting better. That India was actually developing socially and the stigma against caste was slowing rising.

Little kids from the age of 4 being taught that if they touched a Harijan they would be polluted. Their innocent smiles speaks of a gentle touch but their vile words coming from their mouths strained of the archaic caste system is a sight to see. The feelings that arise can't be described as reality that suddenly tastes bitter in my mouth.

 Dalits in parts of Bihar, Andhra Pradesh, Kerala, Punjab and a few more, cannot walk on the grounds of the upper caste with slippers, they cannot enter houses, they can't take milk or water without touching the vessel to avoid "polluting" the upper caste. The list is never ending and it just gets worse. To top it off- when asked why they practise Untouchability? -one unanimous answer. We don't know why, but our elders have taught us so, so we listen.

Even the way the scholarly pandits of Varanasi speak about how the caste system came into existence. God created the world and the people who live in it by first and the top- making the Brahmin's (priest) from his body, his head. The Kshatriyas (rulers and warriors) from the arms, the Vaishyas (artist and merchants) from the thighs of God's body and the lowest Shudras (labour  class) from his feet.
As biologically speaking, the feet is the lowest part of the body, hence the Shudras or the Dalits are considered the lowest caste and so are untouchables for the upper castes.
Hence it is written in the Vedas and so every Hindus' must follow it. God is the supreme and what he says is written in the books and so we must follow the books said one religious head.
Even Muslim and Christian converts are not spare. Religion may change, but caste is almost engraved in the soul and Dalits are time and again reminded of their place, on the ground. Literally and figuratively.

The sheer ignorance on part of us and the silent acceptance of the Dalits into a more than a decade long history of slavery is something that sends chills down my spine.

The horrific stories of employment given to the Dalits is spell bounding.  From doing the dirtiest jobs of cleaning bathrooms, to picking up death bodies from train accidents, to cleaning up after a delivery of a child from throwing away the placenta to cleaning up the residue blood on the child, everything is done by them. The lowest of the lowest or the dirtiest jobs which nobody wants to do, is ruled by the Dalits.
Isn't it funny how we call the garbage cleaning woman as "kachrawali" meaning (waste producer) when in actuality she cleans up your crap and you're the one that creates it. Maybe its time we call ourselves kachrawalas, since we even treat our fellow humans as crap. We're the ones that produce all that waste and dirt, but they are the ones who clean it, feel the brunt of cleaning it while facing systematic oppression  from the upper caste.

Dalit in literal translation means broken people. It is heartbreaking to see that your own countrymen follow the absurdities of caste and treat their fellow beings worse than dogs. Even dogs are allowed to eat, drink, enter the houses of the upper caste, but god forbid a Dalit touches you.

Dalits aren't broken by choice, but broken by us. The supposed upper caste who run over them blindly, just because of a few words attached to our name, which is of more importance than the self respect and dignity of another human being.

If this is the world we continue to live in, I refuse to sometimes to associate myself as a human anymore. Even the jungle has more class than us. 

It's a horrible world we live in friends, a truly misguided by religion, absurd from the start of it, which I am to now almost forced to call as home.

Dear India, is this really the 21st century you want to live? 

Until next time readers.

Here is the link on YouTube. The documentary is divided in 10 parts. 

 https://m.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL42E6CDA90AC45951

Maybe

Maybe its just not meant to be.

Maybe it was just a bad day.

Maybe its not you.

Maybe its god finally having enough of your tantrums.

Maybe this world is a conspiracy.

Maybe you're not enough.

Maybe you're thin.

Maybe you're ugly 

Maybe its meant to be

Maybe it is a good day.

Maybe it is you.

Maybe its god having a ball with you're life choices.

Maybe this world is a decent place.

Maybe you're enough.

Maybe you're fat

Maybe you're beautiful. 

Maybe you respect traditions.

Maybe you just don't give a shit.

Maybe you believe in a God.

Maybe you don't.

Maybe you believe in religion.

Maybe you believe in science. 

Maybe you have future plans.

Maybe you can't plan at all.

Maybe you talk back to elders.

Maybe you are just plain rude.

Maybe you are nice.

Maybe you like a boy.

Maybe you like a girl.

Maybe you like both.

Maybe you need love.

Maybe you want love.

Maybe, your maybe is not enough.

Maybe, your maybe is good enough.

Maybe, your maybe is a guarantee.

Maybe, your maybe is a lie.

Maybe, your maybe is a turning point.

Maybe, your maybe is a steep fall.

Maybe, I really should stop caring about the world's maybe's.

Maybe, just maybe, it is what it is.

A loophole. A maybe 

An Unlikely Diwali

I noticed him, sitting on his bed, lazing around while my mother ran around the house, yelling at the maid to dust properly as she herself cleaned and washed out the curtains and bedsheets. November had begun and so did the cold, but with Diwali just around the corner and the yearly house cleaning had begun. I could see him clearly annoyed at the fact like his house was being topped over and being scubbed nice and shiny. Just like me, he didn't like change. Maybe he'll miss the smell of the old house, as mother saw to it that house smelled of new paint and turpentine. A makeover to wash over the old. He stuck his little nose out in annoyance as I laughed in amusement.

Even though he didn't fit under the normal companions-to-have in society, little did he know that he meant the world to me. He didn't talk much and couldn't understand my language, but our eyes did all the talking. His brain might have lacked the normal intelligence of a normal human, but he was in every way smarter than any other person I'd ever known. His beady little eyes looked up as he caught starring at me as I quickly looked away and pretending like he wasn't there. He and I were on a time out. He had, after all, spilt a whole carton of milk on my favourite sweatshirt that very morning. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I was staring at him, let alone thinking of him. He always got out of tricky situations but this time I didn't want to give in. I couldn't almost feel his mischievous eyes on me, as I imagined him laughing his heart out.  I couldn't stay mad at him for long, even if I tried and he knew that; so before he could approach me, I quickly walked out and locked myself in my bedroom as he yelled my name. I'm sorry, but you mess with my favourite sweatshirt, you get the silent treatment.

Somehow I managed to nod off to sleep.

Not knowing how, or for how long, I found myself waking up to the noise of firecrackers and rockets as people all around me we're celebrating the festival of Diwali. I sat quietly and stared out of my window to the multicoloured and glittery skyline as the smog got heavier and the burnt smell hung in the air. I knew mom would soon come up demanding I dress up and come to the pooja so I decided to get ready. 

When I suddenly heard him scream in pain. I ran downstairs and took him in my arms as I hugged him and whispered soothing words in his ears. Nothing seemed to work. My mom then quickly shut all the windows and doors in hopes of making our house a little more soundproof but alas, nothing worked. I brushed his soft brown hair as I tried to put on the TV to his favourite channel but he just yelled lounder and hid under the bed. Little did I know that my little furry friend was going to be this scared of crackers. The sound of his cries made my heart bleed as I sat helplessly trying to soothe things for my little furry companion as the sounds of the firecrackers just got louder as his cries got softer and he whimpered in pain. Maybe the festival of light isn't really a festival for him at all. "Hey there buddy, I'm right here. Right here with you." I whispered as his terrified eyes looked at me in question,"But my ears hurt. Do something." 

Atleast I can lessen the sounds for my dog, but what about his other furry friends on the street? Who will look after them I wondered.  

PS- so as you know Diwali is just around the corner and you may be tempted to go and spend thousands of rupees on buying firecrackers. Not only is it harmful for the air, but it's physically and emotionally painful for all animals. Not only dogs, but birds, cats etc. So it's my humble request that you have an eco friendly Diwali and say no to crackers. I don't have a dog, but I wish I could have. This little short story could not cover even half of what dogs go through, but please I urge you to think about them and hope you have a safe and happy Diwali & a happy new year. 

Hope you enjoyed this. 

Until next time readers 

xxxx