So still is the night....

So still is the night and dim is the light,
I can figure out the right in the dark starry night.
I can sense no trouble, no cause to grumble,
I feel ready to travel through life's joyous miracle.
It's the joy and the cheer in my mind's rusty corner,
That makes me recall distant memories with a tear.
Oh dear, dear, dear! I had so longed for this cure,
Not criticize or compare but cherish all that's here.
The simple joys of today, I value all the way,
With so much to say, I dare simply wish and pray.
Pray for this small little world battling demons of disarray,
Pray to the stream of Poesy from meandering away,
Pray to all the twinkling stars shining above,
Pray for the sinners, to be very gently touched by Love.
                                                                                                                   

On breaking the loop of Plans...

At times I wake up with a real dead feeling inside me. I don't know exactly why do I feel so stressed and drained out early in the morning. It may be a sign of sickness or excessive work pressure. Perhaps it may be the result of nothing working according to my plan. Plans...plans are some very dangerous tools provided to children early in life. A plan gives one the fake assurance of well-being and there is always that deadly undercurrent of probability associated with it as "things may go wrong" and then, we need to save our souls by reverting to a different plan. So basically, all our lives we are drawing one plan after another. Some work, some fail, and that is how life goes on silently. Finally, before we meet our end, we measure our success by determining the success rate of our plans. We do it unconsciously, never deliberately. Doing that calculation deliberately would make us feel terrible, but once we allow our subconscious to guide the unconscious mind things run pretty smoothly...A life of no regrets, as there'll always be a plan to salvage our lost hope. (At times praying for a miracle may be a part of a large plan too. After all being the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, we are forever up to something edgy.)

Now, my point is, in my life of twenty-seven years I have devised many such plans for myself too. Since childhood, I had been encouraged to push harder in academics and secure 'good marks' in all subjects. No 'good mark' however was that good enough and I was eternally hungry for more. My family believed that I was cut out for something great, something spectacular. In the hindsight, every family has the same story to share. Everybody is unique and everybody is running off to coaching classes to get that something 'extra' that'll give them that cutting edge...that'll empower them to be triumphant against all odds. That is the common plan.  But somehow gradually, I realized that perhaps I was only an average and not a brilliant student or a prodigy. I failed to meet the high standards of expectations at times. I turned sad, depressed and soon felt dejected, thrown into the dark abyss of hopelessness. The monumental decision of choosing between Science and Arts arrived before me after ICSE exams. While it was unanimously believed by my teachers that a good student should always prefer Science, I believed in the latter. I made a choice. A difficult one indeed. My life, my future, my career stood right before my eyes. While Science could offer me temporary respect in society, Arts could offer me the peace of mind, my true calling. Without a moment's hesitation I deviated from my original plan, of entering the medical field, and embraced reality. Arts became my reality. The choice paved the way for my liberty.

 I still remember the first day in my classroom where the apparently 'dull-minded', weak students had huddled together. 'Dull-minded' because we had voluntarily chosen Arts over Science. The students in the Science stream scoffed at us, mocked our subjects and claimed that it was all too easy. We ignored their jibes believing that they were too foolish to understand anything. Those jibes were followed by more hurtful remarks by their parents who said, " So, why didn't you take up Science? Is it because you couldn't cope with Maths? How badly did you score in ICSE? ..." And the questions ran on endlessly. "Arts has no future" became the oft-repeated statement in all conversations. I still chose to ignore that. But the problem arose when our class teacher looked at me and said on the very first day, "Oh! Neelima. I'm surprised to see you here. You've taken up Arts? Why? Are you sure you don't want Science? I had always considered you intelligent." This really shook my confidence. It got me thinking over my choice again and again. But all that mattered was the voice that spoke to me from within reaffirming all that I believe in. Today eleven years later I have never ever regretted my decision. I ended up being the topper of Arts Section from my school in class 12 in ISC examination. I took up English Honours and completed my Masters from the most prestigious university in Calcutta. And now I'm in a profession that I enjoy the most. I'm a teacher.

But how would have life turned out for me if I had chosen the otherwise? If I had followed the PLAN? I don't know. I never will know. And frankly, I don't desire to know. Today whenever I wake up all stressed early in the morning, battling to discover the reason why I'm miles away from home, living in a foreign place, in a job that most consider 'boring', I tell myself that I am the reason behind this choice. And I am proud of it. I couldn't have asked for anything better. I enjoy teaching young children, being a part of their 'whacky' world, teaching and learning new things at the very same time. I have shaped my Destiny with my very own hands. I am the master of my own Fortune. No tarot card or parrots sitting by the dusty lanes have outlined my choice. All that matters is I have had the courage to make my choice and believe in it. I have dared to pursue it endlessly. All that matters is now I have the courage to live my life on my own terms, to fuel my dreams, to live my passion. After all, we have just one life, So why waste it on unnecessary plans and rue over it when its execution fails?

One usually lives under the assumption that plans determine true happiness in life. Negative.

I believe that being able to make mistakes and learning from the same is blissful.
I believe that being able to choose our paths in life on our own is blissful.
All that matters is what makes us happy.
If we're happy, how long will the world outside remain unhappy?

And if everyone's happy then nothing really matters actually...

This post is written as a part of 'All that Matters' contest at BlogAdda.com in association with INK Talks 2013.

East or West: My daddy's the best!!

‘I am writing ‘10 life lessons I learnt from my father’ at Parentous.com'

From the very first moment that we learn to steady ourselves and learn to grab the first object that comes our way to the moment when we are hungry in our pursuit for success, grabbing every bit of opportunity determining a professional high, we are always supported, guided and counseled by our parents. The mothers are forever more vocal about the things they like and dislike, more expressive by way of emotions whereas the fathers are the quintessential symbol of Man and how all men should behave in society. We look up to our fathers and marvel at their ability to calmly sit through the mother's barrage of rebuke while they gently take us in their arms to render life's important lessons quietly, without any fuss. Personally, I am indebted to my parents for teaching me everything about life and it would be really unfair to single out the lessons taught by one parent alone. But as we celebrate Father's Day on June 16, I also do realize that I get an opportunity to express my gratitude for all that my Baba has done for me throughout, expecting nothing in return. 

Here follows the 10 life lessons I learnt from my Baba :


1. As a child I hated being bullied by the elder bullies, who seemed to scold me for apparently no reason. At times I would return home crying, not knowing what to do. I didn't want to answer them back fearing that it would be rude. But the insults were too much to take. That is when my father used to tell: Treat people the way they treat you. If people misbehave with you, don't go soft but oppose the wrong. As Bhagawad Gita says," It is wrong to commit injustice, but is a greater wrong to suffer injustice in silence."

2. In one's childhood one faces innumerable disappointments. And every next setback seems bigger and more frightening, even insurmountable. But my father always believed that when Life punches you straight into your face, one should not be rattled. 'Bad days' is just a phase which will soon drift away. So, fight back and never lose hope.

3. Friends are always an integral part of life. Being a social person by nature, I always ended up being friends with almost everyone in the class. But I always had a hard time understanding why my friend never called to speak to me when I fell ill, or later failed to secure good marks in a subject.That is when my father imparted me life's most crucial lesson: There will be many friends surrounding us, offering us advice, promising us that they'll be with us till the very end when one is a comfortable space of life. The number grows thinner in the bad days. The ones who don't leave our side in the foul weather are our true friends. Treasure them.

4. A young girl wants to be the best at all she does. She wants to be popular and known by name amongst all her juniors and teachers. At times this leads to foul plays and unhealthy competition that distracts us from the most iportant thing, i.e the task. So, Baba always told me : Do not long for popularity. It is transient. Pay greater attention to the quality of work you do, every day, each moment for these moments'll pass by quickly, never to return again.

5. I remember the day when I wasn't awarded the prize for scoring the highest in Hindi in class 7 due to a technical glitch. I had cried buckets that night. I thought that I had failed everybody in the house as I was so sure of winning that prize. That is when my father comforted me by saying: It doesn't matter if you win or lose. All that matters is you've given the task your cent per cent effort. All that matters is you believe that you're the best. 

6. How often do we get impatient when things don't run according to our plan? I used to lose my temper every time when my 'perfect plan' got delayed or stuck indefinitely owing to some problems. Baba however made me see the brighter side of things always. He said: Patience is the key to success. When coupled with hard work it will tantamount to life long prosperity.

7. As I grew up I learnt to be vocal about my feelings, especially the bad ones. At times I used to end up in terrible fights with my best friends and would return home annoyed, irritated and disturbed, My father would always readily lend a patient ear to my problems and then say: Nothing can be won by violence. If one resorts to aggression and abuse, one will end up only harming himself. It will not pave way for peace and resolution of the conflict. Be reasonable and logical even when you're angry. Do not keep your mind aside while you unleash the animal in you. And
today I spread the same message to my students as a teacher.

8. Since childhood I was never interested in dressing up. I was forever comfortable in casuals and hated when my mother dabbed powder on my face saying that it would make me look pretty. Thankfully, Baba always supported my protests in this case and didn't put any pressure on me to dress up like a doll for occasions. In fact there were times I refused to buy new frocks for Pujas and purchased books instead to read! The words of my father has stuck with me till this very day: Don't be ashamed of being yourself. After all, that is who you are. You don't need to be someone better as you're already the best being you. 

9. There were times when on the day of exam our driver would absent himself from work owing to sickness. I would stare teary-eyed at my father saying that without a car I would never be able to reach school and appear from my exam. But my father would rubbish it and say  that if I needed to get my work done, I must be independent. I couldn't always depend on cars to offer me a ride wherever I wanted. He would take me to the nearest bus stop and would let me pay the fare to the conductor under his watch. Thanks to him, today I understand that one needs to be independent in life. Nothing should chain her down to a hole. The solution is always right there before our eyes. We only need to see it. 

10. Finally, my father believed that the blessings we receive from our elders is invaluable. It helps us in becoming better human beings. So, we should always respect our elders and obey their wishes under all circumstances. After all a family is all about love, faith and respect, none of which ought to be compromised ever. 

With all things said and done, I would wish to say that I am imbibing  lessons of life from Baba still today. The list can go on and on, and I don't intend it to draw to a close. I am my Baba's pet and I am proud to state that. And nothing that I do will ever be enough to show how much I love him. East or West, My Baba's the best. 

The Demon

"I have something to tell you...!"

The little girl shifted her gaze to the window. It was raining heavily by the normal standards. Rittika detested rains unlike young girls of her age. She detested the rumbling cry of thunder, the howls of the wind. She said that it made her feel that God was angry, really angry with somebody. It reminded her of the smacks that she received when she failed to answer the sum correctly at her tuition. It always scared her, left her feeling mortified. Yet as she was looking at her mother through the eyes of a six-year old, she knew that she wouldn't be really happy to receive the news she was about to break in. After all, her mother was a single parent. Her father had died a long time back in a car accident. No, he wasn't driving the car, but the large vehicle had vroomed over his body of flesh and blood, smashing his intestines, crushing his bones. The onlookers had said that that he had tried to seek help till his last breath. But the public was too scared to help him. They were mortified too. The killer car was after all driven by a minister's son and his drunken pals. Nobody wished to get into trouble for some dead body, whom they didn't even know in person. The man's time had come. He was safer in heaven..probably would be even happier.

But Rittika's mother was a strong woman. She knew that the world wouldn't stop for her loss. She needed to pick herself up again and continue to live for her only child. She needed to give her a good life, good education. She needed to be both her father ad mother. Rittika was too young to realize what she had lost or who she had lost forever. It really perplexed her to see her mother crying her to sleep at night. She didn't understand when relatives flooded her house to offer condolence. Rittika was too young to understand anything. And that turned into a problem. You see, Rittika's mother wanted to give her the best education possible. After all, the least she wanted was people reminding her that her husband was no more to support her. She did not wish Rittika's grades to get affected in any way. But with one loss weighing down her thin frame of shoulders, she had to brace up for the office job that she had taken up lately. She needed to earn. She needed to earn enough to keep the fuels burning. But with all the wolves pouncing on her in the world outside, she was too tired to help Rittika understand that 5X5= 25 and not 26. So, like all busy people, she took up the next best possible alternative. She hired a tutor. This man had been highly recommended for his efficiency by the neighbours. In fact it was said that under his tutelage even a dumb student could crack the IITs! Well, all was well with the hyperbole and Rittika's mother was nevertheless assured that he could teach her dear daughter the tables to pass her examination. However, there was one problem. The tutor had to step inside her house in her absence as she usually worked late at nights in her office to fetch the overtime money. The willing neighbour, one Mrs. Singh, gladly came to her rescue and offered to babysit Rittika at those times. Nobody knew one thing. Mrs. Singh had the reputation of dozing off for hours at the slightest given chance.She could well put  a certain Kumbhakarna to shame.For the same reason her own husband never trusted her alone with the house. But Rittika's mom didn't know this. And how could she?

Well, everything was fine initially. Rittika was frightened of her tutor due to some reason but she managed to score decent marks at Maths every time. But gradually, Rittika had been subject to illusions, it may seem. She complained of a demon living inside her room, who visited her in the dark, and caused her a lot of pain. Now,Rittika's mother was fighting demons of her own back in office where vultures in suits and ties were swooping down on her from every corner to ask if she was 'available'. So much for all talks on gender equality. However, Rittika's mother left no stone unturned to coax her little child believe that demons don't exist. Demons existed only in our mind, in the bad people we might come across. But her room was  the sanctum of the divine which would never allow her any harm. Yet all her attempts seemed fruitless. Rittika looked scared every time. Scared of anyone touching her. She had never been so quiet. Her eyes were always on the look out of the demon. And she still hated her tutor. Rittika's mother would often enquire Mrs. Singh about the tutor's behaviour with her daughter. The seventy-year old woman would comfort her by saying that he was always polite and cordial, trying to be friendly with the girl..but the girl never strangely reciprocated the politeness."It's so typical of children to hate their tutors at times. After all, they give them additional homework and make them do stuff that they don't like...i.e studying."

Days crawled by. And then came today. Rittika's mother had come home early. After all it is not everyday that it pours cats and dogs in a manner of drowning the city. She feared that if she wouldn't hurry, she would be left stranded in the lonely cubicle of her office.She took the bus home and reached her apartment in about 20 minutes. It was 7pm. The rain was devouring the roads,hindering clear vision. She could see from  the distance the lights in her house. Rittika  was in there with her tutor. She could never really understand why Rittika disliked that middle-aged man. He was not handsome by way of appearance but he had a charming smile. And then he was really dutiful and helped Rittika do well in her tests. "Kids are confusing", she thought to herself. She took the elevator and in no time she was standing outside her door.  She rang the door bell once. No answer.She rang the door bell again. No answer. "Strange" . Se called out for Mrs. Singh, tapped the door and rang the door bell again, and again and again..till finally there was that familiar sound of unlocking....

"What is wrong with you? Why didn't you...What's all this red on your dress..is it bloo..." She couldn't wait to finish her sentence. Her little darling daughter was standing right before her eyes, covered in someone's blood. She could see the figure of a large woman slumped into her armchair, facing television on full volume.She could see a few books lying on the table across. She could feel her room circling all around her. She was sure that she was dreaming. She sank to her knees. She did not know what to say.

It was still raining hard. Rittika detested rains. She gazed at the window. "I have something to tell you...! Ma..." She put her hands behind her back as if she were to recite a poem. She was looking down at her pink shoes, spotted with drops of red. "I have killed the demon." A lifeless body of the middle-aged man was lying in a pool of blood with a knife plunged deep in his heart. And then it dawned upon the child's mother.."Make them do stuff that they didn't like..."

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

And this post was adjudged a WOW post ......

I have something to tell you

I have something to tell you...!

You have been living a web of lies.

Lost in the castle of deception.

Yes, you're trapped, disillusioned.

And there is perhaps no escape possible.

Wait..did I just say 'perhaps'?

Stain my lips with the word of probability?

Ah! I see...hope never dies...

They say hope lives on deep inside us.

This hope carries us forward.

But where are you going?

There's nothing in there...nothing that you'll hope to see.

In the barren deserts of Time skeletons fill the space.

Skeletons who spoke once,

Thought once, reasoned once...loved once..

But love's labour's lost.

No love to water those dark pupils of yours.

The water has dried up..the sun is dead.

It's dark here, dark there..dark everywhere.

A pain..an excruciating pain beyond tolerance is filling up my head.

I can take this no more..no more live this lie..be a part of it...

Hostile faces surround us.

Colours,green and red, merge into one..anarchy..sheer anarchy!

As I make an attempt to feel the feeling

I perceive the castle collapsing and burying you, me and everyone

Under its debris.

Time has run out.

The show is over...awake now...

But wait, do I see a waking dream?

Indeed do we wake... or sleep?

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

(Drum roll)....And this post was adjudged a WOW post...on cloud nine.....

What'll make Susan happy?

Will a box full of chocolates covered in thick caramel?

Or a truck full of dreams of a life free of hassle?

Or a pair of new shoes with a matching pretty frock?

Or a pen and a bag or an expensive rock?

Or an opportunity to travel lands afar?

Or a video game where characters crush monsters bizarre?

Or a promise of  a wedding with the grandest banquet you've ever seen?

Or a walk on the beach on a breezy summer evening?

Or the bite of a mouth-watering pastry?

Or a piece of spectacular jewellery?

Tell me Susan, do you want a car or a plane?

What'll make you happy?... I ask again.

Neither jewellery nor luxury,

Neither life free of cares,

Neither a box full of candy

Nor a game with thrilling adventures.

Neither the astounding sight of the countries afar 

Nor the jarring sound of machines pumping at par.

I care very little for a bejeweled attire,

It cannot give me the peace I so now desire.

Neither a wedding nor the fanfare,

All these are fruitless, means nothing I swear

I want you Papa to love me like your own,

I want you to be by my side from night to noon.

I want you to be less busy,

Less angry,more calm,

I want you to smile a little more till you can

Not buy me with pleasures: dull and transient,

I want us to be happy, being alive to each moment.

Be Bold Stay Real

We are human beings. We live in a politically driven universe founded on and nurtured by history. All our actions, all our emotional responses are moulded by external surroundings which we reckon as society. As a student of literature, my professors introduced me to the complex concept of' modernism' and 'post-modernism' stating that the former is replete with signs of decay, where we struggle through a thriving civilization turning into a wasteland and the latter being an embodiment of chaos and anarchy at times, where there are many questions, but very few answers. The fragmented souls, the failure of language, the structures and the shattering of the same made me ask one question over and over again: Are human beings stupid? With all the education we have acquired since childhood, with all the cramming up of do's and dont's of a good and stable life, with able bodied, smart  people forming governments, deciding our present and future, why do we still make mistakes? Why are we still stuck in the rut? Why are we still the blood-stained victims of mis-governance? After all, each one of us is literate in our culture's history, either orally or through school's textbooks. We now know that the geographical divides, class and caste mean nothing as we all strive towards a common goal- the goal of bettering the human race and incidentally ourselves too in the same process. We have been made to stare into the abyss of wrong doings through various myths and folklore, told and re-told in a languorous tone over many generations. Yet we revel in the path of deceit and greed. Ignorance is still bliss where independence is mutilated in the hands of the powerful. And all that we do is sit and silently suffer while the world collapses right before our eyes.

All throughout our lives we are urged by our teachers and our well wishers to be honest and truthful, to be real, and not hide behind a mask of pretence, concealing a grotesque and ugly heart.However in the complexity of the multi-layered society, where people cannot be polarized into black and white, bitterness seeps in. This bitterness results from the quest of Truth which itself is delusional. The consequent rage questions the reality of the situations we live in. For centuries, we have known that women should be treated with respect. But what is happening in India today?India which is also addressed as Bharat Mata, which glorifies womanhood, is the cemetery for the same.The carcass of women lies buried in a nondescript corner of the universe. Women all over the country hang their heads in shame as the intelligent, educated people counsel 'the second sex' to dress less provocatively. Is this the reality that we should be tutored to accept? The country which boasts of secularism and democracy is now driven by the reigns of communalism and sectarianism. Is this the reality that the forefathers of the Indian Constitution wanted to demonstrate? Was it for this the freedom fighters of varied class and caste sacrificed their lives? Freedom of expression lies either muted or strangled. We cower under the shadows of fear. It is the century of the puppets- the playthings of mighty.And all we can do is look for some sympathy and rue over our Fate, which some still believe to be monitored by an unworldly power.How sad!

However,a change is indeed taking place. Today slowly and steadily people are taking risks, listening to their inner voice and doing the unthinkable. We have examples of the likes Mr. Dhirubhai Ambani, raising their fortunes through sheer hard work and experimenting with the fundamentals of business. We have Indian cinema evolving its technique, merging glamour with interesting content,  thanks to directors like Dibakar Banerjee, Anurag Kashyap and Vikramaditya Motwane. We have witnessed the global call for the acceptance of queer , where an individual gets the right to choose his gender without succumbing to shame and taunts. We are the children of the Brave New World, where slowly and steadily we are taking strides into the unexplored and the hitherto unknown.

We are human beings. We are the masters of our own destiny. We make our choices and choose our paths. The power to make this choice lies in our very own hands. We only need to realize and acknowledge this power bestowed upon us. It is we who have the power to right the wrong, do away with the old, bring in the new. All we need to do is find a voice. Perhaps in the likeliness of Mahatma Gandhi or Subhash Chandra Bose. Or perhaps in the likeliness of Rabindranath Tagore or Kazi Nazrul Islam, wielding their pens, arousing the weak-willed. It is time to say 'no' to what we dislike and be fearless in attitude. It is time to be bold and stay real; not to the reality of the deteriorating circumstances but to discover the source of the real from our hearts and express our true selves without resorting to hypocrisy. If we stay put, if we are united, nothing is impossible. After all, history bears witness to humankind's eternal struggle, to change and evolve, to prosper. After all, we are the rational, the superior race who has explored the world that lies beyond. All we need  is to be assertive,be aware, be bold, be the change that we wish to see in the world. Be real.

I am writing on Be Bold Stay Real at BlogAdda