Please Don’t Make Me Dress Up!!




Yesterday I had to attend a wedding…yes, since you ask, there are weddings taking place in the middle of the monsoons…the Gods have been warned not to dare rain down on the elaborately decorated tentage or woebetide to him!!!
Yay you say??? Dressing up time?? Funtime?? Maybe!!
But as usual God has other experiences for the hypothyroidal beings bravely manoeuvring their way through their lives, clambering over obstacles, tugging their perpetually tired selves around the house with a tremulous grin on their faces!!
A wedding at night for me means a day long preparation….no I am not running off to the parlour to get a head to toe!! Or that big bouquet of garish flowers in all shades of plastic in the hairdo that makes the wearer look like a cockatoo!!!
For me the day begins with hauling myself out of bed , more tired and sleepy than when I got in the night before!!! Thereafter , all my daily chores are constantly interrupted by the mingling question troubling my medulla oblangata incessantly about which saree would I wear? ….is it ironed…groan!!!…will the blouse fit me??…..are my simpler tastes going to be smothered by those of the thousand ladies present whose oh-so-shiny sequenced numbers in the brightest of hues!!!
Too many doubts dog me all day!!!
I scrutinise my face..shit man, I really shouldn’t have picked that stupid pimple which decide to appear in my 50s rather than my teens!!! Shriek!!! Is that a pigment patch on my right cheek???? Nahinnnnnnnn!!!!!
“I am going to kill that new girl at the salon the next time I see her”!!!! … Couldn’t she bloody well see that the right left eyebrow is more arched than the right????
Oh Hell my hair has grown and the white ones are cleverly sneaking out into plain view through all the rest!! “Ridiculous” , I exclaim as I tuck them back into oblivion!!! This is no age to get white hair…😜😜..!!
I tackle all these little inconveniences during a routine day full of kitchen work, gardeners, guests etc breezing in and out at will and by evening arrives I am already exhausted!!
By the time it’s time to get draping I am dragging my feet to the bathroom and a quick shower later, I attempt to wear my blouse..thank God this is a new saree so the blouse is my post-thyroid size problem there!! As I try and squeeze myself into the sleeves yanking left and yanking right and yanking up, I am sweating again. What the hell was the point of bathing I wonder!!! Miraculously the hooks also developed a mind of their own and behave anti-magnetically with my fingers as I struggle to clasp them into place!!! Breathe in, hold breath, pull and tug into position , quickly insert into eye!!! System Failure!!!! Start again!!! This goes on for a few minutes while I drop and curse until finally each hook is holding on for dear life to protect my dignity!!! I can hear each one of them sniggering at me in ridicule which makes me even madder!!
I rush out of the washroom and gasp the fresh air that hits me while I collect my wits about me!!! Why am I attending this wedding again I wonder!!!
I glare at myself in the mirror before plastering my face on, wear my heels ( the only thing that makes me feel good about myself) and begin unravelling six yards of frustration around me!!! Wrap, pleat, adjust , measure, check, tuck more, tuck less , repeat, pat down, shake out, twirl around, settle pin, holler for husband to help , stand back admire, sigh in relief!!!
I just swam the English Channel without drowning!! Hurrah for me!!!
Narcissi Rogrigues sprayed on, hair brushed out, lipstick in place I turn with a smile and say lets go!!!
Collossal task wearing sarees but oh so elegant!! Nothing like yards and yards to hide your flaws and make you feel sexy!!
I strut out confident and proud of myself but tired enough to wonder if I will make it through the evening without swooning at someone’s feet in front of the chaat stall!!!


participating in the @BlogChatter #HalfMarathon





We’re Sexy…but I wish We Knew It!!!





Sexy is a very loose term used nowadays..there was a time a decent ” sanskari “person wouldn’t dream of uttering this blasphemous word along with its three lettered shorter version for fear of being condemned to hell and branded a characterless mindless disrespectful cockroach!!!
Good boys and girls were not to expect their uttered words to be heard and then beeped out..they were simply not to even think of allowing these terms to escape their lips!!
What goes on in our mind when we think of these words may be over exaggerated …the word sexy as defined in the dictionary means appealing, alluring, attractive, seductive, sexually attractive, suggestive,etc but when we hear it our mind goes into overdrive and what rings a bell is seductive, flirtatious, sexually inviting, flamboyant, sultry seducer , tempting provocative and the likes.
As long as it doesn’t have a negative backlash I don’t mind any of these terms cos when you are feeling sexy you certainly feel like all of the above too even if you not sending out such feelers or sexual signals to all and sundry.
In my mind it’s important to feel sexy….for yourself , not to attract the opposite sex unless it’s your husband and the like .
One doesn’t have to have the ideal figure, face or hotness to feel sexy. I think sexiness exudes from self confidence…this can be achieved by many a way which doesn’t involve dressing down to the bare minimum or involve unnecessary skin show.
It may be derived from dressing up to feel comfortable and bring out your best features … feeling good about yourself when you have achieved something you are proud of… This automatically brings out the swagger in your stride and confidence in your stature…..
It could be from something as simple as wearing the perfect shade of lipstick that puts that mysterious pout into play, that gloriously blownout hairdo that exudes sexiness with every bounce…
That pair of high heels that you strut in lifting your carriage and making your stance one of a person who knows how where she’s at!!!
Sexiness is you at your best…happy, carefree, self confident, self respecting and self accepting!!!!
I am sexy … Not always but definitely when I complete my new painting , get a great feedback on my new blog, when my children make me feel proud, when I have on my red tomato lipstick, my six inch heels , my layered billowy hair , the clothes that become me( that doesn’t happen too often nowadays) like that black silk saree and most importantly, MY SMILE!!!
Oh yes , I do feel sexy occasionally and that day I’m sure it shows!!

Girls , feel sexy for yourself cos we know that when we want to feel that way it’s for our eyes only not for saliva dripping nonentities with misgivings and unfounded ideas of their desirability!!! We are all great at something or the other and I guess we simply have to give ourselves a chance and time to discover US thereby ensuring that whether anyone else agrees or not, we feel good about ourselves… Sexy even!!!!
Of course a figure like Jennifer Lopez , hair like Dimple Kapadia, height like Deepika, eyes like Elizabeth Taylor would speed things up considerably along the path of self discovery!!!!
But it’s ok…I am what I am and it’s not too bad!! Could’ve been worse!!



participating in the # HalfMarathon with @BlogChatter

Save The Book!!!!….Pretty Please!!


Reading books is definitely an acquired interest… interest inspired from the will to gather more knowledge, from a lot of hype from word of mouth or  from the desire to explore the world of dreams, fantasy, horror, thrill, suspense, fairytale without moving an inch off that comfy deep couch or giving up that steaming aromatic cup of frothy cappuccino.

In my sister’s and my case, the inspiration was a whole wall of colourful volumes in hardback and paperwork…..a neatly lined and indexed meticulously arranged alphabetical array by our over efficient mother on rustic wooden shelves bracketed onto a roughly painted white brick wall in our spare room/library/tv room.

It fascinated me from a young age to see the variety of literature my parents owned….from light floozy reading  material like Mills and Boons, Victoria Holt and Georgette Heyer  to light adventure and thrills from Sidney Sheldon, Agatha Christie, Clive Cussler  and Arthur Hailey , Alostair Maclean with his sarcastic humour to name a few. John Grisham, Mario Puzo, Robert Ludlum provided more challenging reads, Emily and Charlotte Bronte, Charles Dickens, C.S,Lewis, Jane Austen and many more provided a classic angle to library…..the list was endless, the no. of volumes countless.

I never remembered ever being given toys on our birthday…our demands were met in between dates but birthdays meant a huge package that inevitably held a series of the newest books for kids in the market…..there was a time for many years that after the birthday party and games were over, we always had the few friends in a sleepover cos they would convince their parents how imperative it was for them to pour over the now anticipated  and impatiently awaited annual issue of the Beezer, Dandy, Topper and Beano  comic books all night with us.

The comic volumes sometimes also consisted of the Amar Katha Chitras which I loved, Tintin, Asterix, Marvel…you name it my parents got it for us…not because they were rich but because the best gift they felt they could ever give us was the gift of reading!!!!!! I often saw the look of disgust on some friends faces who were expecting the latest toys or games to appear from the confines of the wrapping paper as I tore them off one by one at top speed, when they saw “boring” books come out instead…however we yelped and squealed in joy and I think that made our parents happier than anything in their lives!!

Slowly our books started enjoying their own space on the wall of joy as the comics were replaced by Enid Blytons….comic characters replaced by the Brownies, Elves, Fairies and Goblins  that I was quite convinced, lived at the bottom of our huge Baobab tree at the end of the garden . The Famous Five, Secret Seven, Saucepan Man and Moonface, the Wishing Chair and others who seemed so brave and mature and adventurous walked into our study a couple of years later at a pace that even my parents found difficult to keep up with as we devoured each story greedily, sponge-like in our absorption of fantasy.

The line of books grew in leaps and bounds, shelves falling short of space and slowly piling up on tables and in cupboards.That was the level of voracity we displayed. Readers Digest Volumes, Brittanica Encyclopaedias, Books of Knowledge, Nancy Drew, Arthur Hitchcock, Willard Price, were slowly replaced by P. G. Wodehouse and the antics of the trusty Jeeves… Sherlock Holmes and his presumed Watson as our interests merged with those of our parents with the passing years, however we never got rid of our Enids… our first love,our lifelines.

I don’t ever remember the lights being switched off before the mandatory half an hour of bedtime reading with all four of us pouring silently over our chosen storybook , respectfully acknowledging the other’s need for quiet and peace in order to transport themselves into the written plots as if they were bodily living and experiencing them themselves .

And thus was born the desire to repeat history when I had my own kids…I behaved in a similar manner with my first born, my daughter and watched in delight as she also guzzled up all that I presented to her , reminiscent of my own joy as she partook of my darling Enid’s illustrated stories with equal gusto as she did others in the following years. Today she has surpassed my own reading capacity and is the source of my knowledge of fiction/non-fiction that I am propelled to read. Similarly my boys, the elder one especially added non fiction to my table with a steady inflow of horror stories soon replaced by Ruskin Bond and his idol Khushwant Singh.

What more can a mother ask for than her children giving the written word so much importance and respect in an age when a person can no longer be identified by his handwriting, the flow of cursive writing replaced being by the cold typed word that is neither personal nor unique to anyone.Vocabularly as we knew it has disappeared , expression consisting of emoticons and initials that require guesswork to decipher.

In my mind nothing , absolutely nothing, can take the place of the smell of new paper and fresh ink and the comforting feel of a hardbound book surpasses the coldness of metallic kindles and Ipads any day.

My greatest achievement I feel has been the ability today, to stand back and watch my kids, clamber out of the car braving the rain to charge into a bookstore and gleefully emerge armed with a brown bag containing a new fragrant and much coveted piece of literature.

I wish everyone would pass on this passion to their next Gens and keep the art of readingbooks alive.

How the Mind Wanders at 35000 ft

imageI have travelled in aircrafts for as long as I can remember since my Dad’s job and his postings around the world allowed us the luxury , years before most of us made it a routine….
There are still things about air travel that never cease to amaze…
Firstly, the trivial detail of how tonnes of steel and its occupants of no mean weight can defy the very norms of gravity and lift itself off the ground finding a place in those out of reach clouds!!! It’s still mind boggling to me!!
Flying out of Bombay in particular is quite a story…the airport is busier than a railway station and just as comfortable as the snooty lady wheeling her LV cabin bag and throwing her iPhone into a Dior before security , is the quintessential dhoti-chappal clad, “thaila” carrying, (hopefully not-yet paan spitting) passenger yelling out to other similar citizens across the boarding halls in ear shattering decibels, more in tandem with catching a train from Agra to Patna .

(NB…I sincerely feel that there should be a set of rules about airport etiquette laid out in order to protect the sanctity of air travel’s reputation. On the lines of uniforms in schools and workplaces, maybe we could lay down a benchmark for airport dressing…not necessarily coats and ties since most people not on a business trip would balk at the very idea of travellung in such stiffness when they have Goan beaches and monitors on their minds…however at least a pair of pants or formal cropped pants …not those “bermudde” worn by a yuppie from Delhi heading for a proudly announced destination wedding in the beach starts at the immigration counter itself… A nicely ironed shirt and a pair of shoes..formal or moccasins for comfort..definitely not those abhorring chap pals that everyone seems to wearing outside their bathrooms with the pure intention of showing off their grossly unmanicured nails and chapped feet!!! Puke!!!)

The din across the waiting lounges seriously makes me stop in my tracks in incredulance and gape long enough for a nice lady to come along and shut my dropped jaw for me!!! She obviously is more used to this than me and carries on with her journey after a smug smile and did I detect a slight nod and look of resigned reassurance??? Ahh…obviously I am not the first to have these reactions and reservations !!
What happened to flying being a luxury only for the privileged few!!! Phew!!! At the risk of appearing snobbish, I beg to protest!!
Queues in front of ration depots and government offices are shorter than those in front of boarding gates now and once you actually get into the flight and belt up , you almost expect vendors selling yellow car cloths, strawberries and cheap plastic toys to tap on your window as ,again ,we join another queue of crafts waiting on the runway!!!
Oh Lord, will we ever take off??
Finally that accomplished, I can now forget all else and wonder at the Bombay coastline weaving it way along the ocean…water still does something exciting to me , scary though it can simultaneously be !! Deep, dark, mysterious and all-encapsulating!!
It’s like a game to me…watching the buildings and cars drop away into the distance until they resemble little else than a live Monopoly board with activities left behind also reminiscent of the ‘ houses and hotels ‘ acquiring days of our youth!!!
I try and spot familiar landmarks , ,which is impossible considering the size of the place, read hoardings before they become

I interestedly watch trains plying along railway tracks now looking as insipid as the toy ones our brothers played with back in the day!!! I wait till all the details become a blur, the night lights allowing me to imagine that I had just left the streets and lights of Paris rather than Mumbai cos The city, from a distance or in the dark ,is a misleading looks neater, emptier, more disciplined and definitely cleaner!!!
Meandering streams and miles of natural emptiness from up here remind me of my sexy American Geography teacher in Kenya who was alway too busy drawing on the blackboard to notice that the boys in class had no interest in the illustrations she was attempting!!
Oh is that what she was trying to show us…streams, craggy mountains, oxbow lakes, basins, valleys, deltas , topographical contour lines and what not..!!
All we noticed was her extremely voluptuous and somehow vocal toosh that seems like it had a mind of its own….!!!! 😝😝😇😇

The mind is a wonderful thing! Never stop it from wandering cos some of the journies it takes you on you can never ever hope to go on in your actual life …mine works overtime all the time!!!

participating in the #HalfMarathon #DailyChatter with@BlogChatter

The Perilous Journey 😜😜😇😇!!





The Perilous Journey 😜😜😇😇!!!!!!

After many days she ventured out!!!
Truly brave of her, she thought since the terrible weather that had kept her and many others confined indoors for many days, had not really relented yet. However knowing that the season had not yet run its life and had much energy left in it, she decided to go about her daily chores as usual…after all how many days more could she ignore her commitments and let the rain Gods govern her decisions.
The monsoons , as every year, lashed and raged, pausing at the wrong time and whipping up a force at unforeseen moments often catching everyone off guard and sending them scrambling for cover. It wasn’t as if we don’t know they are around the corner but are still never mentally or infrastructurally fully ready for them.
“Hell, life goes on “, she said to herself and gathering her rain cape in a brilliant and cheerful floral hue, her umbrella and hand bag, she made a dash for her car as the drizzle began to come down again.
Her workplace was an hour away .. The traffic making the distance more exaggerated.
As she revved up her engine, she mentally patted herself on her back for her bravado and her brilliant choice of a smaller car for today’s journey guessing that it would probably zip more easily in and out of the traffic while the other poor Beamer and Audi owner twiddled their thumbs in the queues!!!
She accelerated out of her society gate, which had a little dip in the tarmac at its base…she could hear Aunty Feroze yelling expletives at her as she splashed collected water from the under the tyres onto aunty’s garishly blue geometrical print dress that she reserved only for a special occasion!! Shit she thought, I am going to have to make sure I don’t bump into her in the next few days or I will have to listen to a long lecture about how negligent and morally disrespectful I had been!!! “Tamme joyu nathi “???? …shriek shriek!!!
The next kilometer was a sinch ….she stepped in it hoping to beat the red light and hence save on a few precious minutes but suddenly her heart felt like it had left its secure space in her chest and jumped up to her mouth…she felt herself sailing through the air, hurtling down into an endless abyss, blackness all around her as she was tossed up and down . The seatbelt was relentless in restraining her , thankfully,or she was convinced she could have given superman a ride for his money!!! Her head bobbed up and down much like that stupid little dog that her irritating neighbour had perched on the rear screen of his car… She felt as if her neck was about to separate from her body and be dunked through the bars by a rugby player!!!
She held on for dear life as the car played out a scenario reminiscent of the boat in the Perfect Storm that she watched a couple of days back as she waited for the rain to abate.
Soon the vehicle landed with a thud as it finally reached the bottom of this seemingly bottomless pit and again she was yanked rudely backwards by the seat belt as she fought with it in an attempt to sail through the windscreen . Alas her flying aspirations were thwarted by that stubborn strappy thingy and she had to be satisfied with a rocky landing , stuck to her seat, that caused her car bumper to call out and grown in protest!!
Almost as soon as she gathered her wits and took firmer control of the steering wheel in order to restore balance to the car and herself, she felt herself rocking from side to side as she involuntarily stepped onto the gas and felt herself rise from the deepest realms into space again, lifting and sailing upwards, as her boat pitched from side to side.. Violently, continually!!!
“Oh lord!!!…. I feel sick…what is happening “???? There wasn’t supposed to be any sort of crater or chasm on this route..where had she wandered??? Did she take a wrong turning as she dwelled on the pile of work which was probably on her desk by now? How did she manage to fall into this endless pit…would she make it out safely??
Her questions were soon answered cos she could feel her car stabilizing as all four wheels finally stood on terra firma and stopped trying to get away from the axle in an attempt to gain independence from all nuts and bolts . The end of years of slavery to metallic masters!!
Heaving a sigh of relief at being alive she quickly patted herself down to make sure there were no broken bones or rivulets of red colored tell tale signs through her newly starched white blouse. Satisfied that all 108 bones were intact and her shirt was still a brilliantly bleached piece of art , she hurriedly clasped her seat belt and tore out of her seat as soon as the door opened like the demons were after her !! She had to make sure the vehicle was stable and safe , not on the edge of a cliff or something into which it must suddenly decide to take a nose dive with her in it!!!
She clambered out and on her feet, surveying her surroundings with terror in her eyes!!! As she looked around, senses restored and eyes adjusted, she could hear loud raucous sounds emanating all around her.. Consistent in a pattern… Unrelenting and angry!!! Sounded like a thousand horns honking all at once!!!
Oh God, have others suffered a greater plight than I have ?? Are they injured and crying for help??? Why the ruckus???
She quickly collected her wits and surveyed the scenario around her . Unlike in her imagination , she was merely standing in the middle of the road , not at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, with several lines of cars behind her and beside her their furious occupants all gesturing wildly and shouting non- hearables at her because apparently she was holding up half of the city’s traffic and they were not amused!!!
Why you ask???
Well unjustifiably of course!!! She could not fathom why everyone seemed so mad at her. Can’t one get any kind of sympathy from fellow citizens anymore?? After all rather than appreciating that she had just been through a trauma, defied death and come out triumphant, they were livid!! Where is the empathy in today’s society??
For God sake, bear with me , she thought to herself …
” I have just survived a POTHOLE “, she cried , with her eyes to the heavens!! “Celebrate with me “!!!


Paraticipating in Half Marathon Blogging Challenge with Blogchatter

Am I Ordinary???




Am I ordinary?????
Before I got married I certainly wasn’t.
I was a cheerful, happy-go-lucky stubborn child who was the apple of my parents eye. I was talented, I think, cos I captained at least three school teams in the field of sports… the hockey team, the netball (girls basketball) and the rounders ( girls softball) teams beside swimming and playing tennis at school and district levels.
That I assure you was no mean feat that too In a country like Kenya where sports was fortunately a compulsory part of the school curriculum… {a part so inexclusive that you only got out of it if the doctor declared that you were dying tomorrow….I think I should dedicate an entire blog to this concept and just keep it long enough to drive the point home in this one}….. and therefore so competitive due to the talent every school nurtured. That too when I was five foot nothing Indian girl surrounded by tall strapping hefty white and African girls whose bloodlines overrun with sporting genes!!!!
I sang…ok croaked…….knew every English song old and new, Punjabi song, hindi song, Swahili song, you-name-it song there was to know…..I drummed on buckets, sketched, danced….I was the youngest prefect and then Headgirl of my school…tiny but powerful!!!…Oh I did it all and was fairly proud of myself. At least I wasn’t an insipid wallflower satisfied with being a follower cos inspite of my dimunitive physicality, I was a leader and a powerhouse!!
Enough said cos soon my bubble was to be burst!!! Why you ask? Well duh!! I got married!!! No more questions please!!
Theres something about India and Indian mother-in-laws that somehow bring you back to Mother Earth with a colossal bang!!!! I think they are bigger than Gravity…obviously Newton didn’t sit under a mother-in-law tree or he would have had realization a lot sooner than he did!!
Its amazing how all the talents your prided in actually become a bone of contention when it come to MIL…….how anything enterprisingly attempted by you after matrimony becomes a vice only shared by those witchlike creatures who come from abroad ( read “Baaron aayi hei”…..which translates loosely to don’t trust anything she says or does cos she is from foreign lands and hence grossly tainted and totally characterless ).
If you cooked, that new dish made with perfection is apparently an attempt to show off and downgrade MIL’s supreme culinary skills that her children have sworn by for 30yrs…..
If you dressed well ,that new suit you wore to a friends party was suddenly so revealing that MIL had to dig a hole in the ground and hide herself in order to redeem her lost honour….
If you attended those God Forsaken Diwali cards parties once a year as a newly wed with your amateur flash playing husband, you have miraculously managed to undo all the moral teachings the poor 30 yr old had abided to while in the divine hands of the mother , and managed to turn him into some great gambler overnight!
If you read a book during the daytime ,you were wasting time cos more important deeds awaited you in the kitchen(long after the kitchen work was thoroughly over and done with)…if you talked about sports, you were cut off with the question “has your mother taught you how to make sarson ka saag”?
You get my gist?
Its so easy to get bogged down by all this type of burden or discouragement…something that you allow yourself to get dragged into for the sole purpose of fitting in and calming the MiL down…hoping to be a chapter in her good books….alas it doesn’t happen and you manage to lose yourself somewhere along the way.The real you disappears only to be replaced by a lesser being, a chameleon of sorts changing colors to blend and protect herself from hurt…an ordinay person in an ordinary place.
But it took me many years to realize I am not ordinary… many years to break from the new mould I had caste myself into….. many years after….!!!!
N.B. Please do realize, however, that this price is a small one to pay, for ultimately you undergo these changes for the man you love, the children you are so blessed with…..they become your priority and no sacrifice seems too large when weighed against their importance in your life. Something , unfortunately , the newer gen doesn’t seem to relate to……putting family before self. However pls allow me to add that MILs of that time…were of very conservative thought processes probably stemming from being misunderstood or oppressed by the Gen before theirs but that didn’t make them bad people…they had their fun side too and there was a lot of traditional values and tips you could learn from them which are slowly a dying art nowadays
To go on…..
My children have been the harbringer of change in my life, thankfully, supported by my husband! God Bless them!
They grew old enough to realize what was happening around them…old enough to recognise, retaliate, to speak up, to encourage, to force ,to propel into action. They pushed me, shoved, bullied me into picking myself up again, taking pride in myself, bringing about change. They protected fiercely, fought unhesitatingly and scolded mercilessly.
Where I hesitated, they insisted.
When I levitated, they firmly grounded me.
When I saw fear they reassured me…gave me confidence.
Where I scrounged, they gifted ….made sure I had the raw material to begin again.
When I faultered they picked me up.
I am not ordinary…I fought the odds with bravado…even if I lost myself for a while it was so my love would not face embarrassment or humiliation by my “unIndian “ behavior (knowing that I was more Indian in my principles than most of my Indian counterparts)…I came out victorious, having won the heart of my husband and friends…I lost myself for a while but did not lose ME….I was there all along, suppressed but not beaten, just like a bear in hibernation waiting for the right season.
My season has come….hibernation timeover and as long as I have my husband reluctantly edging me on, my kids fiercely shoving me in new directions and my beloved friends, dancing crazily by my side , being as silly as I am , matching stupidity with stupidity, love with love, I can go back to being me….dress like me, talk like me, paint like me, sing like me, dance like me, write like me , be like me.
Because I am NOT ORDINARY!!!!!!

Participating in Half Marathon Blogging Challenge with Blogchatter


Dual Standards I declare!!

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Everytime there is an attack in some corner of the world ..a deplorable and heart wrenching act of terror.. a show of extremism and cowardice from factions reeling under themisconceptions that they are following a God, a religion , a duty my heart feels like it’s a sponge being wringed by an unseen hand…every drop of blood and juice being cruelly squeezed out until what is left is just a big lifeless mass of muscle wrenched out from the chest!!!
I thankfully have not known these people these innocent bystanders who had the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time but still my heart goes out to them a and their families. Did they know that this would be the last time they dragged themselves out of bed, brushed their teeth or bathed when they got up this morning!! Did they have an inkling that the celebrations they dressed up to be a part of would be the the exact spot for grieving a few hours later. Did they realise as they kissed their wives goodbye or promised their son to get him a brand new bike in the afternoon that it was the last time they would ever be able to do that?? Did they know that when they yelled at their daughter as they stomped out the door to put the phone down and wear something decent that it was the last time they would play moral police in their home??
No one one can know.. The time , the place, the moment when their lives are meant to be snuffed out!!! Religion , race , color, geographical placement nothing.. Nothing can tell us when , how , why!!!! Then who made these terrorists God??? Who gave them the right to play take away lives???
When there is a calamity of this nature , caste and creed doesn’t matter only the fact that they were innocent!!
And then , as you pour over the Internet and social sites looking for a rhyme or a reason, staring at pictures of devastation and tears, reading about how they were gunned, ploughs, bombed down … Scores of them.. from diverse nationalities… that one frustrating piece of news jumps out at you and makes you grimace at the pettiness and unjustified fakeness!!!

In a country where every minute there is a death by unfair means, a murder, a rape, a mob thrashing, a police lathi charge, a Bhai-type encounter, a brutal domestic incident, a dowry death, an honor killing, an acid attack by a shunned lover, a gangrape by a brother and his friends, a selling of a wife’s body to the highest bidder, a young girl sold to be shared by seven brothers in a female deprived state , sexual harassment in offices, buses, trains, malls, taxis… a country when everyone turns a deaf ear when a citizen cries foul including the police and judiciary… In a country where calls of patriotism have been reduced to a whimper as a call of duty on republic day not stemming from the heart and soul… In such a country suddenly patriotism rears it sleeping head when it comes to Indians in foreign lands being dealt an injustice!!!
When an Indian maid in New Zealand is beaten, Indians become all patriotic and protest, when an Indian in Canada is attacked racially we suddenly feel very angered!!! When a plane is brought down we headline “two Indians amongst the dead ” like the others had no nationality. When a terror attack takes place the headline says some Indians were there just minutes before the attack!!!
Fine, I agree that we are all outraged when ours are stomped upon and equally relieved when ours are safe but my question is Why not react this way on home ground too.. Why not feel so outraged when things happen to Indians on Indian soul too.

Why is a rape forgotten the next day, why is the mafia allowed to get away with plundering, why is a dowry death still prevalent, why girls still being sold, raped, killed with no one being brought to justice??? Where does the patriotism disappear to at that time??? Where are the news people, the police, the judiciary then??? Why not protest about that????
Double standards????                                                                                                             Pretentious???
Self obsessed????
What are we as a society I wonder!!! It’s not like a large part of the janta doesn’t feel and bleed with every act of depravity and takes to the street to show their unhappiness but that is just a tiny fraction of us without the backing of the people that really can make a difference….the politicians , the police , the justice system , the media need to have the citizens back and feel equally offended when their people are dealt an injustice at home as much as when an Indian is mistreated abroad!!!
Come on media… Focus as much indoors as outdoors when it comes to protesting against misdemeanors and injustices served to not only Indians but also those of other nationalities especially on our Bharat Maa ki Dharti!!!! #NiceAttack

Participating in Half Marathon Blogging Challenge with Blogchatter