wake up! its not just the police, its us too...

"protest' they say, 'Raise your voice', 'down with government", "down with police and inefficient justice"... does anyone remember that a whole lot of bystanders, the so called "PEOPLE" stood by and stared while the rape victim and her friend were bleeding on the road and inching towards death...???? Civility, civic sense are dead.. social values are dead, what use is your 'outrage' when you still don't stop to help someone in desperate need? what price 'humanity' when you are so quick to judge a girl whose doing nothing except walking down a street, accompanied by a boy?

There's a 23 year old battling for life after having been brutalized by 6-7 men in a moving bus. Her friend, a boy who offered to drop her home as Delhi is 'too unsafe' had to stay in the hospital too because he was beaten with iron rods for trying to stop the drunken men from teasing his friend. there is 'outrage' and 'protests' and talk of death penalty for rape..
and everyone knows that this too shall die down... courts and NGOs and activists have been saying for years that we need to revise rape laws, make provisions for quicker disposal, stricter punishment... when we don't even have the legal provisions punish the sheer horror that this episode was.. it wasn't just a sexual assault, it was a concerted, sickening show of violence against the girl and the boy for standing up to the men who were 'teasing' her. 
She has been beaten, raped, given nearly irreparable internal injuries, hanging on to life by a thread and fighting to stay alive.. and the most the laws can do is book them for attempted murder.. we don't have provisions for punishing aggravated sexual assault, we have procedures that ensure that these cases drag on for years even in the 'fast track' courts which still take two years to decide 'fast track' cases.. 
and we have politicians and political wannabes and publicity hounds who do stupid things like 'visit the victim and her family' at the hospital where she is battling for her life, for the sake of a photo op..

we have 'the people' who will scream and protest and write blogs but will not bother to slow down and stop at the side of the road when there's a bleeding body slumped on the sidewalk.. who won't bother to give basic medical aid or even a cloth to cover up a semi nude, battered person lying before them.. 
we have people who are asking why they 'stepped onto a private bus?' or 'why were they out so late'? 9 pm is late??? thats when all offices start closing!! why would anyone NOT step onto a public bus that is taking passengers, with a conductor shouting out the destination and selling tickets? the problem is with the attitude of 'why bother'.. the problem is with this inertia... you shout and protest and make a big to do about it, and the next morning when some other news breaks you move on to the next topic... questions of basic safety, civic sense, morality remain unanswered... 
and a woman gets harassed or hurt every day....

here's something i saw on IHM's Blog about the attitude of people in this country towards women..

amma

to the woman who was the nest that everyone flew back to, as much as we flew away..
the fighter who embraced only the 'practical' traditions and fought against the world to study, work and live with dignity before 'feminist' became a fashionable word.
the disciplinarian who got our huge scattered family to behave themselves for years
the one who was always there.. even when you didn't particularly want anyone to be..
the reason why i, who haven't stepped foot in the puja room in years still remember her favorite bhajans and stories
the reason why i love reading mythology and even more the alternative interpretations of mythology
the one who always squabbled over everything with me, and yet took my side when i fought with anyone else

to amma..
I hope you heard the tales and the songs and the laughter that was around you.. everyone came home and sat and talked to you, just like you wanted every weekend.. it was loud and rambling and there were scattered conversations and side remarks and laughter and an argument or two... and everyone was here..
and we all hoped that you heard us in the hours before you decided to not wake up...
i love you

penrose staircases...

The bright azure of the open sky with fluffy white clouds scurrying across it make me stop and wonder at my life sometimes.. think of the things I’ve planned and dropped, of the paths that I almost took or got turned around in.. I feel like I’m at the bottom of a glass walled well and while I can see everything around me reflected in the glossy shards that enclose my existence, the only open sky that is within my reach is that little patch that is visible where that glass and stone confine ends..

I feel turned around sometimes.. not quite as if I’m directionless or not trying to get anywhere.. I feel more like sissyphus rolling the heavy rock up a hill, and then picking up a different one after it promptly rolls away from me after the halfway mark…  I’m not exactly directionless or stagnant or not doing anything… I’m just moving rather purposefully down an escalator doing up…or maybe climbing a penrose staircase whichh keeps folding back on itself... no matter how many steps tire out my feet, I haven’t moved much towards the direction I’m trying to head towards…

o nadan parinde ghar a ja...

Raghav turned 11 today.. my baby brother, the one reason i learnt to play mommy to everyone and revel in it coz his smile lit up my world.. i was too young when the brats were born to make any contribution to their younger years... but with almost 14 years between me and this little thing that my chachi brought home, i played nanny and surrogate mum whenever she had to take a break/nap/get work done.. and i would sit and rock him in my arms and sing him to sleep and tell him all my hopes and dreams and fears and thoughts, he was just a baby, but i felt like if he cooed or nodded or flailed around it was in answer to whatever it was that i was rambling at him about... Anu n the brats got rather mad at that .. to them i was the strict big sister who would play disciplinarian and shoo them around... Raghav on the other hand has perennially been the baby who must be coddled..
today is his 11th birthday.. we were all supposed to get together and have fun and have a bithhday party..
but there were no celebrations at home coz amma was hospitalised this morning... and instead of coddling the baby we've all spent his entire life coddling, we were all too busy worrying whether our grandmom would come home from the hospital... i barely even wished him.. aand now i'm wondering how he must have felt all day.. with teh entire extended family milling around teh house, but no one paying him the special attention he's come to expect.. he was so much quieter than he normally is.. even ate and bathed and helped with everything around the house without needing to be fussed at... my baby's all grown up i guess..

and the brats will turn 17 in just a few short days.. where did all that time go???

watching a devotional movie with the eyes of an atheist

So what makes Jab Tak Hai Jaan's Meera different from the dyed in the wool devoted sati savitris of yesteryear Bollywood? the type that we saw in movies like "jai santoshi maa"..??

The intensely devoted to god with a Pooja ki thaali perennially in her hand 'good girl' of the days gone by has been replaced with a "i don't wanna marry an Indian boy" cigarette smoking, minidress wearing 'businesswoman', but she is still following the 'god will do as i ask if i pray hard enough" motto of any true blue (K)Ekta Kapoor heroine....
She makes bargains with a perpetually surrounded by candles statue of Jesus in a gorgeous London church, but ultimately decides that her love's life is at stake since she broke her promise to daddy and Jesus to marry whoever daddy had chosen for her..

I actually cringed at her dialogue when she told SRK that she had to pray to all gods for his wellbeing since he kept getting into'life threatening' accidents! (and if i start ranting about his f%^&%# accidents thats another whole blogpost)

I guess Meera personifies my own confusion about what 'feminism' and 'strong womanhood' is... and where faith and devotion fits into the convoluted lines of tradition and modernity... is a 'god will provide' attitude an outdated concept? or is making life choices with faith firmly entrenched in your conscience modernity, coz you have a moral validation for your life choices that do after all remain YOUR life choices, notwithstanding the 'god' looking over your shoulders...

She behaves as her daddy and 'society' expects her to, is devoted to god completely, even though she tends to bargain with god, saying that she'd give up chocolates, or cigarettes, or her boyfriend, if god would continue to give her daddy happiness and keep her lover alive. and yet she is strong in her convictions... she goes out whenever she wants, does charity work for the poor and underprivileged every day, falls in love and decides NOT to marry daddy's choice and wait for her love... she is a 'businesswoman', even though we don't ever see her doing anything except looking pretty in tiny dresses(in the London snow no less) and gallivanting around with SRK the 28 year old..

 Heck she's strong enough to deny herself her love, refuse to marry daddy's choice and live the life of a nun coz she choose not to be with the man she loves in order to "keep him alive" as is her last bargain with god...

Shahrukh's 'Samar' is the opposite of Meera's devotion. he constantly challanges god, dares him to do his worst.. He doesn't believe in any divine plans, he doesn't care about god but has his own moral code in which his lover's the sole deity... he only backs down from what he wants not coz its something 'god' decreed, but its what Meera wants... "do this for me" is the line that gets him everytime... even when he rushes to join the army and put himself in front of live ammunition and explosives for breakfast,lunch and dinner... i half expected him to go "aaj khush to bohot hoge tum" when he's arguing with god and the surprisingly aptly named Meera about her choices and his life...

Samar reminds me of Krishna's words in the 12th chapter of the Bhagvadgita... "he who does his duty with complete devotion and aids his fellow man is my favorite, even if he denounces me and refuses to worship me..."

and yet the image of Katrina Kaif holding an arti ka thaal while wearing a little chiffon minidress (which i would LOVE to get) is just so incongruous that i can't figure out what the hell the movie trying to show..

"its not a story of courage, its a story of undying love"... blerrggghhhhhh

...............
on a slightly different note...
I think the depiction of journalists/filmmakers and army personnel in the movie turned my head around so much that i think i'm incapable of  liking it despite the awesome music...
When i heard of an Army Bomb disposal squad with an embedded documentary filmmaker..  THAT is not how i pictured it!!!!!!!! i don't know any 21 year olds who behave the way Anushka Sharma does in the movie... i can't even IMAGINE anyone 'serious' about their work being that unprofessional during a shoot..
and SRK.. i'm officially over the adoration i had for you as a teenager.. even though you've finally given up on trying to play a college kid.
Hamare ishq k waqt nikal chuka hai...
hmph...... 

quoth the raven, nevermore

came across a reference to this poem while reading randomly.. then decided to look up the poem... its so beautifully haunting that i had to share....


 THE RAVEN

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —

Only this and nothing more."


Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;


And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore —

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Nameless here for evermore.




And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —

This it is and nothing more."




Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you" – here I opened wide the door; ——

Darkness there and nothing more.




Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —

Merely this and nothing more.




Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

'Tis the wind and nothing more!"




Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.




Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore —

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."




Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."




But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered —

Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before —

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."




Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never – nevermore'."




But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."




This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!




Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite – respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."




"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! —

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —

On this home by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore —

Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."




"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore —

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."




"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting —

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."




And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted – nevermore!


—Edgar Allan Poe






(Taken from Wikipedia)