It’s Time You Took The Pledge To Protect Children From Sex Abuse

Honestly, the fact that child sex abuse (CSA) is spreading its fangs with alacrity was not something that I was aware of till I attended the pre-launch of Payal Shah Karwa’s book “The Bad Touch” on Saturday the 5th.  The event was real; it was disturbing; it was motivating. I walked in after the discussion had moved beyond the introductory phase and the speakers were pulling out anecdotes from their experience of dealing with the victims.

The first thing that registered in me is the simplicity with which one of the panelists explained why the victims of CSA often become the perpetrators and they are later haunted by the guilt and shame associate with the act. According to Pooja Taparia (Founder & CEO of Arpan), a child has to be sensitized enough to know whether she is receiving a playful cuddle or is it some menacing design in disguise. And that’s clearly not easy.  Kids don’t have the vocabulary to explain what he/ she experienced. ‘No’, ‘Stop’ and ‘I will tell’ are the catchphrases that could be taught to the kids as a first step towards self-defense.

Sometimes, it takes years to teach a child how to sense danger in the touch. That’s precisely what Pooja posited as I firmed up my seat for more such observations. Situational trauma at times is so overwhelming for the children that they tend to restrain themselves from letting the secret out and inform their parents. In such cases, as she pointed out, parents should look for signs. Reluctance to go out; play with other kids; erratic eating habit; and frequent urinary and stomach infections are some of the signs.”

On this note, the author Payal Shah Karwa affirmed how dreadful superstitious practices encourage people to have incest to ward off ill luck and make fortune smile on them.  Now you see, it’s not always the liftman or the watchman who are the usual suspects, but even someone from the family is a potential perpetrator.

Harish Iyer, an Equal Rights Activist,  cited some real-life cases that came as an eye-opener for the motley crowd attending the session.  For him, it’s our duty to intervene whenever we see something wrong happening with children. Being a renowned rebel in his own way, Harish urged the audience to come out of their comfort zone and protest any form of physical abuse.

As the discussion steered towards introducing sex education in schools and the detractors trying to stonewall the initiative, Pooja did some tough talking. Much to our dismay, the truth was served. Political entities and religious groups have been opposing education pertaining to CSA as immoral and against our cultural values.  Quite befuddled by the fact that their noble attempt is facing resistance from all quarters, she emphasized that parents themselves are not comfortable about explaining the issue to their children. Hence, they don’t want their kids to know anything about it.

Suggestions made a beeline before the speakers. Someone rightly pointed out that having a curriculum on child safety is not enough and the teachers have to be equipped well enough to impart the education to the children. One of them proposed to invite doctors for conducting sex education classes for the children, if teachers are not competent enough to take up the challenge.

The session did bring us face-to-face with some uncomfortable truths and I am looking forward to read “The Bad Touch”, which is a collection of true stories of CSA survivors.  I won’t hold you any longer. You can now think and motivate others to think of ways to combat this demon.

Anguish As Seen From Tagore’s Eyes

What never ceases to stimulate me is the way Tagore has always sprinkled profundity in his verses. He takes you through difficult terrains and wants you to give that effort to walk with him on the same road.

One of his songs struck me today and I thought it would be unmerited to leave my thoughts go unscripted. I would like to quote a couplet from the song that overwhelmed me at the first hearing.

“Aaro bedona, aaro bedona/ prabhu daao morey aaro chetona”  (“More anguish, more anguish / O Lord grant me more sentience”)

Tagore himself was pain’s favourite child. His frequent rendezvous with mental agony is known to the world.  In fact, most of his creations emerged out of the chasms of irreparable distress and the above couplet vindicates this truth.

He pleads before his master to test him with more pain and torment him even further. In the same breath, he prays his Lord to fill him with consciousness. With consciousness comes the maturity to create.

Isn’t this one of the most inspiring messages one can expect to receive in centuries to come? Those who are dogged by life’s prejudice and its ruthlessness, these words of Tagore come as a nor’wester that sweeps away the discomfort of a muggy summer afternoon.

This thought of his actually changes our perspective towards pain and misery. Instead of looking at them as speed-breakers in our lives, we can think of them as the necessary therapy that purges us of our frailty and makes us too strong to retreat.

Platinum Day of Love: A Chance Meeting With Desire

You don’t need the entire day to feel loved or to bask in the embrace of romantic eulogies. A well stolen evening by the seaside with the wind unsettling our frozen moments… a setting of that sort is long etched in my mind. Since there is much pleasure in randomness, my dream day of love would be an unscheduled coming together and melting of two hearts.

I picture my day of love beginning after a chance meeting with someone who is ceaselessly charismatic and takes up quite a huge space of my sophomore heart.  The very sight of her and her very presence create certain inexplicable longing. It is one such moment when I fumble to move beyond the regular weather talks and the pauses come loaded with meanings. In between the short pauses, Abida Parveen plays the perfect sorceress and deep inside I listen to her magical rendition, “Tere Ishq Nachaya, Karke Thaiya Thaiya.”

Sitting next to each other and watching the sun go orange to scarlet, we exchange glances and giggles. Her poise and poetry come back to me as gift not unwrapped for long. I wish the evening can prolong its stay and allow us the privilege of unpretentious outpouring. Walking along the boulevards of memories, we pick up anecdotes. Her platinum ring touches me as our hands get locked like the daffodils’ embrace. It was like taking the known route, which was less travelled.

As the twilight arrives, her elegance became even more striking. The white metal on her slender ears and the touch of platinum leaves on her finger make her even more irresistible. Don Williams and his words crowd my mind, “She was the most beautiful thing that cowboy had ever seen; sent down straight from heaven.”

It was me who gives her a glance now and then and the twilight makes way for the ebony moments. We find ourselves well-guarded by togetherness. Few light years pass in a jiffy as I sit observing my girl with her ‘sentimental ornament’ on. While I silently admire the white tint of her graceful countenance and the spotless purity of her platinum accessories, the waves in front of us roar on by breaking on to the shore in an endless exercise.

 I look forward to such a Platinum Day of Love.

The Lunchbox: Bollywood Movie Leaves A Lasting Impression

A woman and a man. They both want to take leave from loneliness. While the woman wants to retire from the role of an unloved wife, the widower plans an early retirement from his professional responsibilities. In the midst of all these, the aroma of love promises a change in the course of life.

Lunchbox is the journey of two individuals on the same track of consciousness. The contentment of being heard, anticipation of getting an answer, and the hope of being understood is what propels them to carry on with their communications. As letter-exchanging exercise turned into a habit, the sense of belonging started to surface.

The screenwriter needs a pat at the back for a wonderfully touching narrative. The chiseled words of Sajan (Irfan Khan) seemed so unlike, yet familiar with the vernacular of vacuity found in Ila’s (Nimrat Kaur) notes. Their exchanges were interplay of recollections, regrets, and moment of revelries. Every time Sajan opens the lunchbox, the fragrance of affection and bonding between the two comes alive. Although the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but in this case, it’s the mutual desire to row over to the other side of boredom that gave this story a stimulating facet.

Nawazuddin Siddiqui, an erring apprentice under Sajan is another delicious item on the menu. He cajoles, he pleads, demands forgiveness, and encroaches privacy – all with an artistic ease. Nirmat Kaur nailed it with her unpretentious portrayal of a character trying to wade through stifling domesticity. Watching her stand by the French window and contemplate what future has in store is like reliving the metropolitan dilemma of where are we heading? Lilette Dubey’s cameo seemed to say, “I have not lost my mojo.”

Mumbaikars would find this journey even more real as the city is not just a backdrop of the movie – it’s a strong character that binds its inhabitants to rigmarole and restlessness. And yes, this epistolary masterpiece creates a strong case for the hand-written letters to be back in vogue.

Thinking of Pocket-Size Freedom on Indian Independence Day

A nation gets freedom from foreign yoke. That’s understandably a huge feat. Lot of resilience, persistence, and sacrifice go into making this happen. That’s commendable. Now what does a country do when it is left on its own? Find plenty of other reasons to stay enslaved.

Celebrations at the going away of whites didn’t turn our judgment fair. I wonder whether three centuries of subservience had rendered our minds so servile that we cannot think beyond the 2 km radius encircling us. Limiting outlook is completely of our making, I am sorry to say. After eons of taking orders and bowing down before the loftier lot, we suddenly somersaulted into individuals who cared only for their private victories.

We are so beguiled by the idea of happy hours that even the slightest inconvenience shakes us up. The speed at which our nation is churning out ever-whining individuals, it puts seconds into shame.

Placing freedom in the larger context of things is asking for too much. I am not a white-robed seer who is indifferent to little tragedies. Even I would have enjoyed freedom from garrulous neighbor, suffocating local trains, breath-taking (pun intended) dump yards, so on and so forth. I would have slurped every bit of it. But why would our craving for these pocket-size freedoms forbid us to aim for a larger playing field, a wider canvas perhaps?

Unlike Kahlil Gibran, who had “learnt silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind”, our populace hasn’t learnt to learn from the reproachful and the regressive. On this solemn day of Indian Independence, I have a request. Please enlarge the idea of Freedom, trust me it won’t pixelate.

Sometimes, An Umbrella Is All You Need

People on the road stare at me when I do a Raj Kapoor with my new found umbrella. My brolly is solemn black with a passion red strip bordering its circumference. As an onlooker you see me treating it offhandedly, but what I do is I just keep my umbrella up and awake by putting its feet on the ground with a plod sound and shaking its entire body up so that it remains service-ready. You never know when the sky can turn grey and ungracious.

The other day I was standing in front of McDonald’s. Its giant glass door caught my attention and the next second I was staring at my partly drenched figure and the slightly overworked umbrella clinging on to my side pocket. In the middle of the rigmarole, I was staring at a scene taken straight from the Bollywood script (Hollywood would have been far-fetched) – a guy waiting earnestly for his partner on a rainy day to take her around. Imagination, you see. It can attack you even in the least convenient time.

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I carry this portable roof with me not because it triggers my imagination, but it also gives me silent company when I walk alone. You know how it feels to have someone by your side, and especially when that someone reminds a bereaved son of his father and his animated walk holding it as a prop.

At the end of the day, I hang it on the top edge of the shoe rack. Safely.

When Tata Safari Storme took Mumbai Bloggers for the XtremeDrive

On an unassuming Saturday, something happened out of the script. After sundown, I somehow managed to drag myself to Chitrakoot Grounds, a place that did n’t seem any interesting to me. As someone who is not much into cars (more so when it comes to speeding cars), the prospect of Tata Safari Storme taking Mumbai on #XtremeDrive wasn’t much savory, to begin with.

What happened next is a delicious piece of history. My thirst and destiny took me the way Red Bull drink was served. As a snobbish self-proclaimed intellectual, I parked myself on one of the chairs trying to figure out how on earth driving a car can be such a grandiose event.  I got my answer.

It’s hard to emote how overwhelming it was to find hundreds of bloggers – cute and solemn, young and grown (like me) gearing up for the extreme drive. The intense curiosity on their faces, the tapping of their feet in impatience, and their elation at the sight of those cars spinning like acrobats made me alive and kicking.

Poor me! How I felt deprived by choice. The tipping point of the evening arrived (for me) when a black Safari Storme found my attention. It was racing through the turf and bellowing a smoke of sand behind it. That handsome car went on to achieve a rare feat. Luckily for me, I am always game for rarity. After having donned the role of a spectator, it was time to push myself to the extremes of tumults and take the ride.

But before that, I had my share of Blogger Biryani and Speed Sweet. If not for anything else, the elaborate dinner made the evening even more worthy.  And yes the cool black T-shirt from @indiblogger fitted me well enough to flaunt it anywhere I go.

An Ailing Country Needs To Be Mothered

 I wouldn’t have written this if it were not for those newspaper ads on the Mother’s Day. From apparel manufacturer to jewelry designers, everyone is keen on ‘celebrating motherhood’, or so their words suggested. Don’t shoot me for being a cynic, but the hullabaloo doesn’t fit into the present social fabric. It seemed that mothers have got only one day in a year to themselves. They have just a single date to lead life their way, have their say on literally anything and get everything they couldn’t get the other 364 days. 

In a country such as India, which happens to be the ‘Motherland’ of some 1.2 billion folks, women have been covering much space in social discourse since forever.  Every god fearing Indian dreads the awe of Feminine power as mentioned in our ancient texts and religious parchments.  Every marital joke is centered on dictatorial wives seeking only the best in their husbands.  Indian film industry has penchant for portraying viragoes and quarrelsome monster-in-laws.

But, real women in ‘hard times’ are light years away from myth and reel.  They don’t really find themselves on the altar of power and dominance. Forget dominance, which is hateful hegemony in the eyes of some, basic rights of Indian women are being minced into crumbs and distributed among the lusty landlords of Indian law and order.  For every Mary Kom you see in India, there are hundreds of Irom Sharmilas. India may be quick to recognize women’s triumphs but proves to be a laggard when it comes to empowering them with ideas and initiatives.

Indian media turns euphoric at every title Saina/ Sania wins, when girls surpass boys in competitive exams, and when Indian origin American woman is called good looking by Obama himself.  This ‘attempt’ at showing women on the same pedestal as men actually betrays a sense that perhaps it is still a falsity.  There’s always this sense of being ‘other’ in the way their milestones are morphed into articles, stories and interviews. The questions asked to the women achievers reflect the “how-did-you-dare-to-do” curiosity.  

And then there is selective empathy. The same doctor who refuses to operate an ailing woman for few pennies less gets into ‘concerned’ mode when her mother complains of heavy breathing. How did India master this art of being selectively concerned? You may buy apparels for your mom on that dedicated day but don’t think of offering your seat to a woman who desperately needs it.  The latter costs nothing.  My armchair ire is not directed against any particular section of people, because hot-headed arrogance is all-pervading.  Like Derozio, I just narrated to my fellow countrymen, “the sad story of thy misery!”

Wassup Andheri 2013: My Days of Amusing Musings

Crossing an elegant white portico, I stepped inside a hall and grabbed a place at the corner. My stint with Wassup Andheri 2013 has already started. To begin with, I was served ‘Hot Tea Across India’ – a travel book that was passionately brought to life by its author Rishad Saam Mehta. He talked about the adventurous miles he sauntered and we smiled. He wowed us with the moments he had captured in his lens.

Next hour, I was taken to the world of Chanakya, Pataliputra and script writing. Dr. Chandraprakash Dwivedi sounded the clarion bell, requesting artists and audience not to blindly emulate history as it is being presented on screen. He rued the fact that anachronisms in TV serials on mythology and historical figures are because of our habit of typecasting every era. Being a script writer and a director himself he adroitly took us through the transformations that words go through when an actor takes over. You must mark his words: “Shabdon ko sambhalke istemaal karo kyunki unh mein jaan hoti hai” (Spend words judiciously because they have a life)

What came to my plate next was equally stimulating. It was a mere stroke of luck to catch Sukant Panigrahy live. Although world calls him an Art Director, he is into almost all forms of art and more importantly, he excels in all of them. From art direction in movies to making sculptures with a message of ecological and social wellbeing, Sukant is doing it all. And Gladly. With an unassuming tone and humility he presented a wide spectrum of work that keeps him joyfully busy. I retreated for the day with his last words running through my mind, “Art Direction is all about detailing no matter how unorganized people around you are”. I could sniff the relevance.

Next day was sunny Sunday, and what could have been a better way to start it than Rajat Kapoor (dapper he looked) talking to you. What was meant to be a workshop on acting, turned into a lesson on looking at life and deriving joy out of its uncertainties. He affirmed, “If you know where you are going, there’s no joy at all.” A 20-minute video on his making of King Lear (drama) looked such a heart-felt effort. Vinay Pathak’s masterly act as a clown who speaks gibberish language and Rajat Kapoor’s faith in experiments were most pleasing to audience’s palate.

What followed this hearty session is a poignant panel discussion on LGBT community. Gay Rights activist Ashok Row Kavi set the tone with a hard-hitting comment, “In India, you are always assumed what you are not.” A touch of optimism was sensed in Shobhna S. Kumar (publisher of Queer Ink) as she delivered on a prophetic note: “Books with gay and transgender protagonists are going to find more publishers in the coming days.” However, the session betrayed a pessimistic mood with the final touch by one of the panelists: “India is a closely monitored police society. One can’t choose one’s sexuality unless the individual becomes financially independent.

The day came to a wholesome end as filmmaker Sudhir Mishra opened his bag of wisecracks making the entire hall go berserk. As audience and the moderator questioned the stature of contemporary movies, he forthrightly posited, “We are not ready to take risks needed to make a great film. Our superstructure doesn’t allow us to take risks.” However, he didn’t forget to mention: “As a filmmaker, my job is to confront times”.  The discussion that bordered on the limitations of Bollywood filmmakers, ended on a promising note as the director made a candid confession: “I’m not sure of my intelligence but I know that I am most alive when I am making a film.” That perhaps said it all.

Till We Meet Again!

At Jaipur Literature Festival 2013

Joined the Jaipur Literature Festival when it was half way through. These are some witticisms and criticisms I gathered:

 

“You are a terrorist and I am a freedom fighter. You are a fundamentalist and I am a believer” : Timothy Garton Ash

“We only have two parties in the US because we can only have two opinions” : Reza Aslan

“Let’s not behave like Mamata Banerjee who has problem for every solution”: Suhel Seth on need for robust food & energy security policy

“China, being a clever country, sources iron ore from India and preserves its own resources”: Shoma Chaudhury

“British have particular talent of not learning lessons from war”: William Dalrymple

“Essence of Tantra is that it happens in present. You can’t dry today’s clothes in yesterday’s sun.”

“It takes higher level of courage not to resist at all” : Sohrabjee on Gandhi

“Gandhi draws his lesson of Ahimsa and nonviolence from Bhagwad Gita, which is a text about necessity to go into war” : Ananya Vajpeyi

A writer translates silence, the silence that is not to be put across; the silence that’s hidden: Tahar Ben Jelloun

A writer lives in exile everywhere: Tahar Ben Jelloun

Kamasutra is not about impossible postures. It is about building up the mood and not friction” : Pavan Verma

“I have forgotten more than I have seen, but I haven’t forgotten enough”:  Jeet Thayal

“Raag Durbari was created by Tansen. Please save its sanctity”: Ustad Amjad Ali Khan’s father had ardently requested Dr Rajendra Prasad

“Gujarat is India’s answer to China in both good and bad ways” : Ruchir Sharma

“India has hard infrastructure deficit and China has soft infrastructure deficit. It’s hard to overcome the latter”: Ruchir Sharma

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