Musings: Bharat Yatra in Hyderabad

Musings: Bharat Yatra in Hyderabad

Bharat Yatra in Hyderabad

The Bharat Yatra a campaign initiated by the Nobel Laureate Shri Kailash Satyarthi against child sexual abuse and trafficking. This nationwide march has begun on 11th September 2017 from Kanyakumari and will conclude on 16th October in New Delhi with the sole aim to make India safe for children. The Bharat Yatra has now marched its way to the Pear city – Hyderabad on 21st September and I have been part of this Yatra today morning when the rally began from Mozamjahi Market.
 At Mozamjahi market children from several NGOs, activists and other dignitaries had gathered and the rally flagged off with the Hon’ble State Home Minister Shri Nayani Narsimha Murthy addressing the gathering and Ms. Amala Akenini the Telugu movie actress sharing her views on child sexual abuse and trafficking. Shouting slogans to condemn abuse against children we reached the exhibition grounds, Nampally where a huge dais was all set with seating arrangements; the large tent decorated with chandeliers and green carpets on the ground. The huge dais was filled with all the NGO partners; religious leaders from the interfaith forum; local politicians and Members of Parliament. Well....the politicians came later after the NGO heads had finished talking which was one minute per person. They all spoke about what their respective organization is doing for children and what they aim to do now after being part of the campaign. There were a few talks that struck a chord with me – one that of a NGO head – don’t remember the content but he spoke Hyderabadi Urdu while all others spoke the proper Hindi dialect despite being Hyderabadis ( as happens in most cases because most of us feel embarrassed talking the Hyderabadi dialect). Not this person though…he confidently spoke in Deccani Urdu/ Hindi and I was like, “yes man, way to go”. Apni zuban is apni zuban why bother about impressing others??? 

 The other speech was by the chairperson of MV Foundation – she said things that will definitely force us to pause and think about the underprivileged children.
 Roti; Kapda and Makan – these 3 basic essentials and child labour is involved in all of these 3. Shame on us, adults who cant and don’t do anything to put an end to child labour. A member of Parliament started off confidently but faltered when it came to using the word sexual abuse; he frankly told the audience that he wants to use the word harassment instead. Seriously!!! If it is so hard to just use the word then think of the lakhs of children who are sexually abused. Another MP spoke about people chanting every day for deliverance from evil from hundreds of years but still have not been delivered from evil simply because evil exists within our own selves and manifests in several forms one of which is child abuse. True indeed. Finally the Nobel Peace laureate spoke and addressed the gathering saying that as a Nobel Laureate it is his moral obligation to contribute to the betterment of children which through his foundation he is doing and has rescued many children from trafficking and sexual abuse. He spoke of some incidents he experienced in his work. The rapist in our country roams freely while the victim is confined to the house and forced to hide in guilt. Such is the mindset which must change, he said. There are several laws to protect children against all forms of abuse but implementation is poor and the conviction rate is low of abusers. 2 outstanding incidents he mentioned were of a girl who turned hysterical on hearing the word ‘school’ because she was abused while on her way to school; and another wherin a couple of children rescued from trafficking were discussing the amount they were sold for till finally one boy told them that the price of a buffalo in their state is much more than the price these children (girls and boys) were sold for. Meanwhile the Bill on anti trafficking is waiting to be passed, to see the light of the day, to bring to book the predators that crush innocent children and it may take years before it is passed. And while the bill waits and the parliamentarians debate, governments change, several children will be sexually abused; trafficked and silenced. This reminds me of what Gabriela Mistral, a Chilean poet, educator, and diplomat, also a Nobel Prize Laureate said about children, “Many things we need can wait. The child cannot. Now is the time his bones are being formed, her blood is being constituted, his brain is being developed. To her we cannot say tomorrow. His name is today.”

And I also mused...here is a Nobel laureate who has taken his moral duty so seriously and there is another one in Myanmar.......

Musings: School Reunion – Season 2/ part 2 (?)

Musings: School Reunion – Season 2/ part 2 (?)

School Reunion – Season 2/ part 2 (?)

First of all the title of this blog – should I call it part 2 or season 2? I prefer season 2 with the hope that there will be many more seasons just like our daily soaps and reality shows that always keep coming back with different twists. The part 2 of school reunion took some time to happen but it did happen. Some of us just dint want to bid farewell to 2016 without the second reunion. So after much planning and speculating and collapsing of the plans nothing seemed to be happening. Something or the other cropped forcing us to shelve our plans. When we reached the fag end of the year and had given up hopes of a reunion in 2016 after the successful first reunion in 2015 we were all invited to the marriage of one of our friend’s daughter. So this became the reason for us to meet again. The wedding was again in the same town where we had all grown together studying in the same alma mater. But again like the previous year not all of us could make it but those who could did it. Even if we were a handful it still meant a reunion of old friends or old memories of old days but of young hearts. We have to thank this modern technology which keeps us in touch on day to day basis through whatsapp. If not for this we would never have met, never have known the joy of meeting childhood friends again. I recall the story by Ruskin Bond ‘The meeting Pool’ in which three friends decide to meet at their favourite haunt – the pool after 10 years. They fix a date ten years on but except for Ruskin none of his other friends turn up. Apparently they have forgotten or something else happened. But those days they did not have any means of communication except snail mail (letters) and that too was not a regular feature which is why old friends never met up much after their paths had parted. And those who promised to meet like Bond and his friends never turned up and there were no reunions of friends. I remember vividly how sad I felt when I read that story for Bond who came to their fixed spot on the fixed date and waited in vain for his friends and went away sadly recalling those bygone days. In fact I still feel bad whenever I recall that story. But our story did not shape up that way, thanks to providence. (And to modern technology, again lol). However the 2nd reunion was different. Dressed in finery we gathered to bless the bride and groom whose pair was the cutest ever. While all the invitees were busy watching the wedding process we friends were busy catching up with each other and bursting into laughter now and then while people around perhaps wondered, what’s with these women? Dressed as ladies but behaving as ‘kool kids’. Still crazy after all those years!!! There was an orchestra playing at the wedding and on our request the orchestra played a song of eternal friendship of school buddies. After the wedding we gathered at the place where we were put up for more chatting, jokes and more catching up. We counted the friends who had missed this reunion and hoped they were in our midst now. And some of them parted as they could spare only a day. The rest of us few in number but great in spirit gathered for supper. And later in the warmth of our lodging rooms where the numbers had dwindled again leaving only 5 of us sharing a 5 bedded room. And since the number was less the proximity was more and through the night we talked sharing our painful experiences from the past after passing out of school and graduating to a new life. Stories of pain caused by prolonged illness were shared through tears and the hugs that were due from old friends as only these hugs could reassure and heal even after the years. Someone has rightly said, a hug by old friend is all we need when we are down and broken. Or just to feel alright. Sharing your pain with a friend is definitely a healing process. Long through the night we talked sharing our experiences and wisdom garnered over the years. These midnight conversations drew us more close which I do not think is really possible through the whatsapp. In the morning we parted after breakfast back to our routine life with its responsibilities kissing sad goodbyes. Time spent with old friends – is precious. Nothing can beat it. ‘Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven’ – Tryon Edwards Till we meet again to experience another type of heaven for the Reunion – season 3 or is it part 3? What do you say girls??

I Cross the road to get to the other side

Growing up in a small town with few choices for higher education and career opportunities is not all that bad when today having moved to a city I see myself tied up in work from dawn to dusk; no friends; no neighborly chats and the ever busy streets that stretch on and on with vehicles in all colours and sizes screaming for space streaming in endlessly. And the result is that pedestrians are left behind. Crossing the road is an adventure. Every single day. Even after 20 years in the city for me crossing the roads is still an adventure. The traffic is not only congested but in total chaos because people in this city don’t care about the traffic rules. Traffic rules are not for us, Hyderabadis.. I remember those days clearly when I had moved to the city in the hopes of having a bright career. I did not own a vehicle and had to depend on public transport mostly the overcrowded buses or at times the auto rickshaws that refuse to run on meters. (I missed the small town with its tidy roads and organized traffic. No rush. No hurry. Everything moving at its own pace.) Well that was somehow the part I could manage – get myself to a bus bay and get into a bus (the right number after seeking help from others at the bay). The next was the part I feared most – crossing the road. I would wait and wait hoping for the vehicles to slow down and finally when they did; cross the road in a sprint. But often the waiting period cost me dear. I would be late for my workplace and cut a sorry figure. So the next option was requesting people who were crossing road to allow me to walk with them. Some people were really helpful they used to hold my hand and help me cross the road. But soon I realized they were not really ‘helpful’ they were just enjoying holding hands with a young woman while crossing the road. Ugh. I dint want that. I would cross the roads by myself I decided. No matter how much I steeled myself, I would get all jittery when I was on the road. Cars would screech to a halt or the bus driver would honk madly at me and those on the two wheelers were even more rude, they would shout, “ Aunty, marne ka irada hai kya?” I did not give hope. I observed people who crossed the roads. There were two groups. One that comprised of the brave confident people who crossed the road and the other comprised of senior citizens, the blind, small children and me – the not so confident group of people who also crossed the same road. After watching the group one for some days my confidence grew slowly and I learnt the knack of crossing the road at the right moment when the vehicles were thinner and correctly gauging the gap between the cars and my own speed of motion; to wait when there were heavy motors that could crush you; the safe moments to cross. It was all about timing. And after nearly 6 months (which I know is very long) I overcame the fear of crossing roads. And many times I recall the old joke: why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side, of course. It has now become one among the fears I no longer fear. Whilst there are still some fears I need to overcome. ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ http://forum.blogadda.com/images/wowbadge.png This entry got me a WOW badge!

My Confidant

I took to writing diary from age 16 when I was in college and away from home. I was lonesome in a new place amongst new people and one fine day took up a note book and writing my thoughts. And soon it became a habit because every day after college I wrote down the date and shared with my new found confidant every little detail. It was like I was sharing everything with my folks the way I used to after coming home from school. And I finished notebook after note book. All these books were neatly piled in a corner of the shelf. And when I returned home for good a box full of notebooks were amongst my luggage. In fact the box was my most precious luggage. And my habit of writing diary continued and I never missed a single detail..not even when I was bad. I wrote down that as well. And when I fell in love and out of love it was my confidante that got to know every little detail in detail. I described every feeling, every emotion to my confidant which I would not do with any human being. My anger, my depression, my fear and sorrows, my dreams and nightmares..I left out nothing. Soon as my age advanced the number of diaries kept increasing year after year and there were two boxes full of diaries. And I kept them away in the attic. One in a blue moon I took out any of the note book and read a random page and it was like living that day of that year all over again because of the minute details I had captured in it. I was addicted to writing diary. A note book accompanied me everywhere I traveled. It was an extension of me. And I could not do without it. IF for a day I was not able to write I felt restless. One fine day it just occurred to me that I am way too much addicted to writing a diary. Anyone who read it would know me inside out. But then I thought after I am no more someone who read it would know me better after I was no more. But did I want people to know me in such details..some were just too bold. I thought I should de addict myself. Stop writing these diaries. Say farewell to my confidant of over 25 years. One night when it was quiet all around and I was alone at home I removed all my diaries doused kerosene oil and set fire to them. I watched in stoic silence as the flames engulfed the books…and as the fire raged…something inside me began to crumble. I thought I would break down and cry but I kept watching the fire. I could not turn my eyes away from the sight of the burning books. I kept watching although I was deeply hurt within. Finally when the heap of ash lay at my feet I sat down in a heap myself. And it dawned on me that I had lost my confidant of my adolescence and my youth. And now I was alone. Because I would no longer write a diary now. My relationship with my diary was over.

Another item added in my league of lost things. I finally let go of the tears that were struggling to come out. I don’t know why I did it. I only knew that it was time for this habit to go. But now I still think if I did the right thing. When I told my friend about it after a few months she told me that would have made a good data for your to write stories and maybe even a novel. What a foolish thing to have done! Well..well.. ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

The Rebel

We loved visiting our grandparents during our summer vacations as they pampered us to the core. During story time there was only one story we loved hearing again and again.

And this was grandma’s favourite story too. But wait it was not a story, it was something that happened to her during his childhood.

In the village where they resided grandma and grandpa were both lived in the same village in their childhood and were  buddies. But the older children in the village were bullies and used to wait near the big banyan tree for little children to come to the swings so they could bully them and extort goodies if they had any.

Little grandma was a rebel even then while grandpa was a timid boy. That afternoon Grandma had  sweetmeats made by her mom which she was carrying for her best friend – our grandpa. But she was bullied into giving it to the older boy who was waiting near the corner. 

She was livid with rage and flung a stone at the boys from afar. But the stone found its mark and hit the same bully on the head and he began to bleed. All the children panicked and so did little grandma.

Afraid she ran and ran away from their village and soon was lost. It was evening and it was growing dark. She was afraid and began crying but soon great grandpa along with the others found her.

No one scolded her instead they all pampered her and this made grandma happy.

And after that no one bullied grand ma and whoever happened to be with her as they were afraid of her.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.  

This blog got me the WOW badge. My 2nd one.
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