My School

 School guides us. It lays down a path that becomes the basis of all that we learn further in life. There is always a tendency to look back at what we were taught and relate them to situations that we witness today. To quote the obvious, the next step would be questioning the authenticity and validity of all that we wrote in our examinations towards the end of every academic term. My questioning though is quite radical; while basic values remain more or less constant, were those taught in school accurate?

Let me tell you what my school taught me. My school taught me to respect the word of elders* (that also included taking shit from teachers, never asking doubts, never offering suggestions, never correcting them in case their statements are incorrect and so on). I was told to respect people around me* (that included staying 10 feet away from boys, never chattering away with them, using separate staircases to walk in and out of class, never as much accidentally touching them forget hugging or even shaking hands, never dance on filmy especially romantic numbers with them etc). There were many other clauses to follow, including ones that said drench your head in oil* (never look pretty), tie your hair up* (don’t lure anyone by exposing a segment of your beauteous locks), wear pinafores of a decent length* (that extended way below your knees, almost midway towards the ankle), never question the duties of the staff* (even if it meant cancelling picnics or repeating the venue over and over again, assigning ‘secret monitors’, technically spies to check on student behaviour during recess hours, calling parents at unruly hours to scold them regarding the values that they passed on to their children and so on) and many more. Through the many undercurrents that I witnessed then, I also picked up few other hidden lessons: It is futile to engage in staff politics to try and stir up a revolution; it won’t work. Your questioning of the operations of the staff will only make you the black sheep of the family. If you are an average or a below average student, forget the fact that the teacher will ever help you understand the concepts better and improve in academics. If the class is being segregated in terms of rankings (grade discrimination), do not be shocked. If you pay 900 bucks for computer lessons that mostly deviate to watching Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Ramayan, consider that as your syllabus. Music means droning through outdated and repeatedly sung devotional numbers; PT is a theory subject. If you want a huge ground to loosen up, you walk up the stretch that takes you to the degree college* (only during sports week, meant to be dominated by top rankers). English language is meant for the privileged few who try to be grammatically correct, never for vernaculars or students weak in the language. Top rankers occupy the middle row and stick amongst themselves; average and below average students are arranged around the periphery according to their percentages (70 and above to the right, 60 and above to the left, the weaker ones at the extremities). Textbooks are the absolute word; there is no world beyond it and there is no room for creativity. Only top rankers can draw and paint; rest of the class is filled with no brainers. Those into performing arts merely sing and/or dance; they have no academic talent whatsoever. In intra-school music competitions, those having an upper hand with the teachers bound to win hands down. Scout/Guide camp obviously means a night at Suman Nagar. Answers are to be learned word by word; never make up stuff in your paper. Maintain good relations with the staff by having your parents greet them, enquire about them and invite them to social functions etc. Never support your fellow mates when they go against the teacher for a cause; the image of an obedient student works in your favour. Lastly, never remove your blazer at the farewell; while it lasts a sinful impression on everybody, it also implies winding up for the rest of the evening!

                                             Personal becomes political?

Today I am convinced that nobody wants to be responsible- for actions and reactions not their own (may I add that it is the responsibility of one’s own actions that we first choose to ignore). Our excuses to get away with responsibilities become ‘rational’, ‘righteous’, ‘politically correct’ in other words, anything that spells out ‘safe’ in bold letters. I may have already spelled out the purpose of this outburst (which u can easily spot if you closely have a look at the title of this write up); when something similar is experienced at a personal level, you would be astonished to find that how evidently it affects the social and political framework of the society.

Before we jump to the legal system of the society (any society, none in particular; pardon my generalization and deliberate ignorance of differences etc), it is important that we question the notion of a system itself. How do we define the purpose of a system? We come somewhere close to explaining the same by stating that a system invariably chooses to be responsible for a certain set of actions for instance, the social and the political. We can then chalk out the primary function of the legal system as having to carry out certain duties and responsibilities to safeguard the social, political and if necessary, the economic well being of the citizens. Now where does the personal fit into this arena? It only takes an incident/a string of incidents to link it with the larger milieu. Let us consider for instance, a very basic incident where two young adults of the opposite sex are shunned from the premises of a police station while they are only engaged in a conversation! The reason for this is pretty obvious, more so when it comes from the horse’s mouth! ‘Kuch hua toh hume doshi mat thehrana!’

This puts a couple of things under the radar, not just the basic fact that the interaction between members of the opposite sex (forget the freedom to manifest one’s sexuality) is limiting because of a set of social, political and legal causes. This incident also puts to question the positioning of marginalized forms of sexuality, which paradoxically holds an advantageous one in this situation. Who would question or limit the interaction of gays, lesbians or even sexually sterile individuals? The rising awareness of alternate forms of sexuality has evidently not reached to the extent that such factors are also taken into consideration.

Finally, it is the fear of sexuality itself that is reflected in such issues; playing the devil’s advocate I would also defend the system by considering the importance of filtration for the sake of the younger generation (children etc). Censorship however, does not mean concealing and thereby substituting facts with euphemistic notions (playing safe, anyone?). It means I remind, to take responsibility for actions of the society that are natural, accepting them (which is so far the toughest task in the current scenario) and proper education by disclosing delicate and crucial knowledge at the right time. This could possibly lead to a society that is sensible in its functions, a world that is a better place to live!

The truth behind endurance

I saw it amongst the glossy that day; embedded within the glamour of spot lights,

Of jittery jewels and glittering props, there it stood within their circumvention

Perceiving it as beauty unmatched, I marched towards to get a better view

To clip it and frame it in the RAM of my mind

Only aspiring to stand on my feet to deserve that dress, evoking vulnerability with every glance

Its attractiveness justifying every bit of its class and polish

I am compelled but to walk away stealing glances, here and there.

The other day I went to this shop

Across the street, right next to my class

Hopping along to swoop down and choose

from mounds of restless clothes

I choose one anyway, a bright cheerful outfit

Knowing well that it should suit me

It was only then I realized

The truth behind endurance

The power of infatuation, oh how blind it makes one!

When the thirst for something narrows down your vision

And skims your enthusiasm for a broader view

And blinds you from getting what you actually deserve.

The one that fits you to comfort

with the surety that you are conserved in the best possible ways

As compared to that, which no matter how tempting it seems to be,

guarantees no convenience.

I looked at my choice and smiled;

To the past that taught me to live through few moments of fantasy and romanticism

And to the present that taught me to value things that deserve more than mere noble appreciation.

The bird song

The main door was left open, the one made of wood

The netted one that opened to the outside remained closed.

There she stood, blocking ones way

waiting one way or the other

And here I was, hoping

that she stays, but not too long.

She stood there all day

her body as if nearly paralyzed

I would steal a glance once in a while

But with the hope

that i show no compassion.

I left as per my usual routine

Still not bothering myself with her thoughts

And I came back

to find her still

sitting at the doorstep!

I stared at her for a long time

persuading her to make way

so that i could get in

She seemed adamant

She budged no muscle,

made no movement.

Until a friend arrived

and took her in his arms

The miracle that followed was hard to believe.

She responded to his tender affection

and moved every way to portray the same

It was then that i took notice

of her and her miseries.

Her eyes were hidden

by puffs of white puss

Her head was shaved off her fur,

exposed in the worst possible manner.

I felt no pity but love

and hope for a speedy recovery.

And that she did exhibit

when she gulped in sparse food and water

And jump she did, on the stairs

To partake the joy of convalescence

with a stranger, unseen and unheard...

The unstoppable journey

Disclaimer: The content is as insignificant as its structure, so please do not read with the hope of finding any unique element in this piece of writing. You can call it a prose or a poetry as per your convenience, but read through for the sake of joy, if you find any!

Two legs

Walking towards a destination

It is a twenty minute journey.

These limbs are affected

by the cold

and weakness the rest of the body has to bear

or has been bearing for that matter

The soles are covered by fragile slippers

new and already repaired ones

The slippers have already accommodated tiny pebbles

somewhere beneath the cloth covering them

It hurts

but the legs have to keep up with the rhythm anyway

The pain is bearable

but evident

Especially when the rhythmic march takes place

The time period between each cycle is too much this time

It is not the pain

but the numbness that is spreading across each limb that has reduced the speed to half

The legs have to continue to keep up with the rhythm anyway

Five minutes seem like fifteen

every minute passing by... with only half the distance covered of the usual

Calves contract...to sustain the strength

There is another five minute journey to cover

But the legs are now getting used to the cycle

and five minutes don't seem to be that long

Until the white building appears...marking the end of the journey

And the arrival of the destination.

A hand that speaks...

A hand must never be compelled to work for the heck of it; hollowness is all you will find. It must be allowed to explore, experience and embrace that which is in avail around. A hand must love what it feels and must therefore continue, if and only if it loves to do the same. Let it not be imposed or enforced upon an object, an instrument or a person it is not inclined toward. If it chooses to remain silent, then silence it is that permits the best out of it. If it shivers in vigour, give it time to get back to what it is meant to be; self will always welcome it with open arms. Never push it to a path that leads to an aspired destination, so much that it should lose its sense of direction. Let it flow like blood in your veins, perpetual and uninterrupted. Make it your companion, not your enemy. Encourage its talent but never detest the impulsiveness that it reveals at times. Listen to what it says when it does, hear it out and respond to it as a friend for all that you wish for is happiness and contentment that you would get through your faithful mediator-your hand.

Today I shall write...

Today I shall write, with no definitive affirmation that I should ever write again although I look forward to doing the same with every minuscule attempt. I am probably not making sense at present but I am sure I will as and when this narration unfolds. While I am doing this, I shall focus my energy toward the personal self, what the self within me truly feels, only hoping that this attempt does not go unnoticed and futile. It must not be necessarily taken as an inspiration (the attempt to which, to my opinion must be avoided) but simply as an easy read, for I shall bear in mind that this piece of work must contain fewer complications. Therefore, I promise you a simple read but that it should be straightforward cannot be guaranteed. Today’s narration is an attempt to achieve something hazy and indefinite, yet a goal that ought to be accomplished to clear my conscience. Call it an idle mind or liberal uninterrupted thoughts; I can only hope that this one grabs your eye till the end.

Human mind is webbed amidst a closely entwined network of thoughts and feelings. There is no beginning or end to that, but there is definitely some substance that explains the purpose of its existence, in other words, the ‘how’ and ‘why’ behind such a traffic. To follow a structured pattern throughout to organize such a haphazard network is next to impossible for there are external factors that are in constant attempt to choke the uniformity, some of them including time, situation and reasoning. One cannot exactly slot such influences into one single category because these influences may or may not be related to one another. Talking about influences, there is another inevitable factor that enhances further entangling of thoughts: Relationships.

I don’t remember mother swaying me in her arms and telling me that she loves me; I always felt I was the neglected one, being the second child of the family. But I do remember her staying up for nights to ensure that I slept well, adding onions to potatoes just because I hated them plain, buying my favourite brand of edibles and clothing and at times, watching movies and sitcoms that I truly like. She has always been lenient and calm, yet her cool and reproachful attitude towards things she detests is a sight one would regret having witnessed. She worries, not to the extent of expressing them; she hates it when I spend more time with my friends and less with family members. She complains of my ill health and lack of immunity but keeps it to cribs and murmurs. Like every worried Indian mother, she fears that I may trip off the track and lose my sense of direction if I involve too much in peer activities and relations. But there are too many things that resist her fears and stand as a hindering obstacle between us: the generation gap and our obligations toward the roles that we play in our respective lives. As helpless as it leaves us, there is nothing that can be done to ease out things between the schematic mother-daughter relationships.

This is as much I care for maternal relations, as also other relations that I consider important. The word ‘maternal’ itself implies to very touching emotional aspects of nurture, love and care. Imagine when you have lived to this day where every moment of your life apart from your responsibilities and obligations, has been spent in nurturing a relation as tenderly as that of a mother and her child, the latter who grows to be an individual from a delicate infant. To this aspect of motherhood I empathize, but I must also point out aspects of it that often reflect in non-maternal relations for instance, friendship. For people who have witnessed profound emotions while sustaining a relationship as close friends, it is a fact that must not be overlooked. Relation is like a seed, it has to be nurtured; its sustenance has to be taken care of in order that it grows into a closely knitted one. This sprouts to what we term ‘unconditional affection’ between the people involved. However, such relations have weaknesses embedded within the strength and its essence. A delicate cord that it is, once snapped into exact half, takes greater time in either healing, or burying the past. The trouble hovering is the aftermath of such phases, a searing pain that resides in memories painful and even otherwise happy ones. So, no matter how hard you try to move on, one leg is stuck in the quicksand of past and the other dangling, struggling to live up to the future. You may either accept it or you may not; you are the mother and your once best friend, a child who either cares little or is not aware of the fact that you still care. Such is the tragedy behind your benevolence and your futile affection that is unseen, unheard and perhaps, even uncared for…

Good deed

Something stimulated my humble mind to do a good deed today. The usual college crowd encompassed the tiny juice stall to imbibe refreshments. Adjacent to the stall, the bakers’ corner peered at us while I along with few other friends chatted over cold coffee and fresh lime. The street seemed to be partly occupied by two huge vans surrounded by few dozen, probably preparing for an endorsement shoot (from what we could see, there were young boys in ‘undies’ walking across the street). There was nothing much that we could truly admire about the shoot set up and therefore we switched topics. On their usual time, the begging toddlers came around to grab a couple of coins for some food. One of them jumped and fell at our feet, danced till we got irritated and handed over a penny to him. But he wouldn’t stop! He evidently wanted more. He danced and jumped till he tripped only to injure himself. There was slight irritation in his tone when he groaned. He sat next to the bakers’ to gulp air through his mouth. His body had finally succumbed to fatigue and exhaustion. One of my friends offered him a glass of lime juice. He drank, took tiny sips; but something about his face told me that wasn’t what he wanted at that moment. He was hungry, to be precise, famished with hunger.
The wound on his leg caught my eye. There was an awful mixture of semi-solid pus and blood oozing down his leg. His face grew frail with pain and he could no longer bear it.
“Is it paining bad?” I asked
“Yes”
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“Five days back” he moaned.
I poured water over his wound and asked him to wipe it with the cloth he was holding. But that wasn’t enough. He was badly bruised at several other areas on his leg, previously acquired on bumping into a bike. I rushed to the medical stores to purchase an antiseptic cream and handed it over to the boy.
“Keep it, don’t throw it away” I said. He nodded.
“You seem to be hungry”
“Since morning”
Without giving it much of a thought I brought a packet of biscuits for him. Some of the other girls seemed to have sympathized with him too, because when I returned, he had a small pack of cake in his hand.
“You turned lucky today” I said, giving him the packet.
“Thank you” he said, in the best possible way that he could.
“Anytime” I said with a smile.

Too 'weak' to give it a title....

I kept changing sides, eyes spitting fire each time I opened them. The pepper patch on my right hand was receiving continual shooting throbs, amplifying with every passing hour. The sensation glorified irritation in extreme levels and sleep became my biggest enemy. There was no chance that it could even intend to conquer my consciousness. The vicinity was dozing in ease and here I was, struggling to persuade sleep to walk into my arms…
As much as I have virtually experienced the painful journey of a rock climber in accomplishing his dreams, I have in reality an equally painful experience with health. My quest for attaining a healthy lifestyle seems to be an impossible dream (optimism at its best LOL). Imagine warming up for elementary preparations to invade the highest possible peak of the nation! Exactly the feeling I get when I am asked to drink loads of water to flush out the toxins touring my body. It is envious to see my brother effortlessly gulping down thrice the same quantity. It is almost like yearning to play yanni's 'nostalgia' symphony without notes!

There can never be a proper inference to something as gibberish as this. Consider it a haphazard termination or the limited capability of an ailing personality to write better..

The unsaid goodbye

It feels so good to be back on the writing desk with a major writers block, knowing not what to write on the first place. Let me commence with a tiny yet a remarkable event that happened a little less than two weeks time. It was a proper summer evening and I was returning home from a five day camp, one of the best things ever to happen in seventeen years of my life. The eight wheeler made its first ‘see-off’ halt at CBD where a dear friend got down with a parting speech. Being her usual self, she passed some cheerful comments but also attached a note of apology if she had ever been mean to anyone. Like most of us, even she believed that this camp framed major ‘Kodak’ moments of her life. We roared the best possible farewell, thoroughly in favour of her thanksgiving. The best possible memories of the camp were right there in that bus with twenty nine other people parting in unison.
It was my turn to say goodbye, but before I could prepare myself for a parting speech, the bus halted at my destination. Home was yet miles away for others and they were busy laughing over queer confessions. It dawned upon me that there was hardly any time to thank, not just everyone, but even those with whom I had bonded oh so well! The bus gave a big jerk with which I was left with just once choice, convey all that I had to in just one single word ‘GOODBYE’, and I did just that. Despite the greatest possible strain on my voice-box, it was a silent farewell, an unsaid goodbye. However, I was granted the same warmth and joy that my friend had previously taken home. Nothing could stop me from smiling that entire night. With numerous smiles and songs that aided us through struggle and sorrow, I now have with me an integrated cry of farewell that stands above all those happy moments I shared with everyone. Above all stands the power of words, no matter how meagre or few, they have a generous impact if spoken straight from the heart.

Frustration at its peak

One of the things I am sure people would love to abolish forever from their lives; an irrevocable phase of prolonged frustration doing the rounds till it naturally wears off. But the tale doesn’t end there. The core of frustration could be anything, lack of jobs, excessive workload, study pressure, family problems, and social conflicts to name a few. One of the most severely doped cases of frustration is the torrential threat of unemployment, basically referring to no proper commitment to external work. A recessional phase as such where people are being royally kicked out of jobs is a sad sight in this era. Possible reasons could be boredom, an ingenious seductress tempting multitudes of unemployed candidates with inundated time and leisure. The most unfortunate consequence of boredom is that it sticks to us, initially as an unwanted guest and later, becomes an addiction. People smitten by lack of work find it extremely tedious to come out of it, partly finding safety in its shell. The secondary symptom of frustration is desperation which is purely psychological, reason being a frustrated soul is bereft of taking proper actions to eradicate his problems, let alone finding alternatives to keep the mind occupied. Free hours often stimulates the ‘devil’s workshop’ to rotate the wheels of pessimism at full force. This is what makes us think that nothing can be done in life; at least till we find something that captivates our interests.

The power of sacrifice

Some of the greatest classics ever to be portrayed on the silver screen moved me to tears yesterday. I do believe that words have a penetrating impact on people who are vulnerable to sentiments but, to get carried away by something you have known for years is a rare sight. Passion of the Christ had a language of its own, the language of sacrifice. Although major portions of the movie highlighted blazing torture and blind faith, there were soft, reverberating words filled with love and selflessness toward mankind. Jesus of Nazareth was tarnished with guile accusations of breaking temple laws for which he was expected to pay the price of mortality. Therefore Jesus, ‘The lamb of God’ wholeheartedly accepted His commands and embraced death as a gift of Paradise. He was no philosopher or priest of a higher order, but the benevolent son of God who resisted every element of sabotage to spread His loving message. Every bit of bread served at the last supper was a part of his preaching to his followers, the humble yet scintillating power of sacrifice. Every ounce of blood squeezed out of his battered flesh integrated to form a river of forfeit and tolerance. He was crucified in incarcerating darkness, only to be resurrected in enlightenment.
The milking tenderness of self sacrifice indeed breaks worldly barriers and limitations, opening several windows to a season of pure heartedness and peace. It is one of those qualities that tangibly defines humaneness in itself or, the epitome of humanity that rules all other qualities that escort us to Him. It is believed that a person, who procures the quality of being selfless throughout his life, finally finds his place in serenity intervened by fleeting activities of mankind.

The Jewel of faith and hope

Wish I could call this a fictitious miracle, until it chose to show up in real life, that too in front of my eyes!

Having retrieved my knowledge of Christ’s resurrection at Mt Mary’s church, I walked past the pathway leading to the main entrance of the Holy abode to get to the other side. I climbed the spiral stairs of an open church that escorted me to a bigger version of the Crucified saint. A wave of remorse swept through my mind when I realized that I had offered all my candles to the main cathedral where one is bereaved of lighting any within the church premises. I quietly put forth silent prayers and rushed downstairs to join my friends at the end of the lane. A partly molten candle grabbed my attention for few peaceful moments, the meager time period that allowed me to take up a very sincere yet precious decision. I finally had a chance to light a candle as per my wishes.
I lit the candle at one end of the open church. I was tad unsure of its consistency for the wind blowing northwards had a violent rush that could easily defeat the tiny source of light. I cupped the flame with my palms to ensure that it keeps burning. The candle constantly kept me on my toes with its flickering and fluctuating flame. The wind grew strong all of a sudden, blinding my vision completely with cluster of dust particles encircling, rising above the ground. I was amazed at my own determination of protecting the candle from the powerful gush of air; this was one of the moments when I could feel the presence of continual faith and hope. I found myself profoundly concentrating on two things that mattered to me the most at the moment; the flame and the crucifix that I felt deserved such humble offering. To my own surprise, the candle continued to burn with brief periods of weakness and alternate spurting of tall thick aglow. I stayed there for what seemed to be really long in accordance to my watch; all focus diverted from the flame to reality. At the spur of moment, I was barely aware of the fact that all this time I was guarding the candle from the destructive winds. Eventually, one hasty move from the candle diminished all the faith and hope embedded within the flame. Ultimately, the gleaming epicenter of light lost power to natures roar.

Freshmen foes

At one corner of a family restaurant, my dear friend was shredding the eatery bill; not wholly, just the edges.
‘This damn thing should be in pieces by this time!’ her frustration was clearly evident on her face when she said that. I told her to proceed with her current activity without spoiling her surroundings but she wouldn’t listen. In a way, it was tough for her to imbibe anything because she was tormented by the kind of work she is now forced to do, for the next two months. I can hardly forget her excitement when she told me about the workplace.
‘It’s a huge posh glass building with a sophisticatedly dressed watchman at its guard. Plush furniture, classy sofas and peaceful work atmosphere; everything adds to that place! I am in love with my work already!’ she said.
‘But you haven’t even started with your job. Looks like that place has boosted your confidence to accept your work as they give you’ I added. It was good to see her in such cheerful spirits after several days of undue pressure due to a mandatory job quest. Little did I know that I would receive a call from her on the very first day saying ‘My job stinks’!
A freshman’s life takes you to the peak of rippling anguish at the time when gathering work experience is extremely crucial. For somebody who hits the bulls-eye on the first few attempts is considered the luckiest in contrary to those yet struggling in the quest. An employed fresher has a typical outcome toward his job. To begin with, if anything touches the delicate chords of self-esteem and ego, it stimulates the lava of frustration to spurt in disdain. We youngsters are so accustomed to being pampered back home that any kind of authoritative imposition bereaves us of a positive outlook or optimism of any sort. Boredom royally seeps in, uninvited and finds company in an already demotivated soul, one of the predictable symptoms of a fresher surrounded with nothing but work and little or no friends at the workplace. Ultimately, with all the loneliness and annoyance creeping in, the fresher is left with no choice but to accept that life is not all kudos as it seems from the surface.
I don’t know what is in store for me in the near future but I can already see myself slogging like a pig in the next few months. It is then you will find me at the corner of a family restaurant shredding paper...

Evil Influences-Part II

You and I are witnesses to the dark pits swallowing humaneness from our souls. Most of us are even deliberate victims of intoxicating drugs and booze, leading showmen of black markets and masterminds in milking money out of illegal businesses. If none of the above has managed to influence you, then a part of your past life is certainly playing the cards of mounting frustration, anger or disdain. People who don’t belong to the categories mentioned above are passive scapegoats of untimely displaced aggression. What stimulates evil minds at work is yet a mystery left unsolved. Several homes are mutilated of their bearers and strangled to death without a trace of their reminiscent. Cases of rape, robbery and ransom are amplifying at an alarming rate. Ordinary working class men are left shattered with dispair, wallowed in the darkest possible feelings of inutility and distress . The world is no longer a safe place to live now. ‘Revenge’ has finally seeped through intellectual thinkers to make way for uncanny greed, fleeting desires and sadism. Such is the expansive nature of evil whose vicious elements have poisoned every aspect of nobility in men.
I have a tale to share with you. A newly wedded girl comes home to a skillful doll maker, a dutiful and ambitious mother-in-law. The daughter-in-law is caressed and tended like a blooming delicate flower, providing her with abundant leisure and comfort. She becomes an obsession for the doll maker and a subject to the old woman’s only passion in life-carving dolls out of wood. The girl fails to understand the reason behind her eerie possessiveness and suffers in silence for doing all that is not expected out of her- cooking, cleaning or working at home. She is a living doll with no expectations or life of her own. She tries to discuss it out with her husband but he turns a deaf ear to them. One fine day, she decides to put an end to all her issues and weeps for vengeance. The girl from hell arrives at her doorstep and invokes vengeful motives wrapped in a red string. The string of vengeance, once untied brings about fateful consequences for the person you choose to punish in return to your sufferance. The girl is left with no choice but to get into a contract with the hell girl which says, if you pull the string you will have to give your soul in return. After your death, your soul shall be taken to hell…
The girl seeks her revenge and the old woman is escorted to hell. What turns out in the end is even worse than expected. The girl’s husband turns out to be an exact replica of his mother, clearly intending to make a perfect doll out of the young lady who has suffered so far and is destined to suffer still. And after all this, the young bride is yet to pay her debts off to the hell girl by delivering her soul to the demons below…

"When a person is cursed, two graves are dug..."

(courtesy: Jigoku Shoujo-Animax)

Evil influences-Part I

Disclaimer: The inputs of the content given below is inspired from the book 'The unseen world of angels and demons.' May I add that the content means no offence on religious basis and contributes little for its implementation of any kind. The subject is purely a reading matter and should be considered nothing else but the same.

For many long years, our ancestors struggled to unveil the mystery of life put forth by the Supreme power. It called for a surpassed era of profound research on religious grounds and evoked religious beliefs encoded within the history of mankind. It was only in the recent years that Basilea Schlink, one of the ancient philosophers of the kind, inferred upon the very purpose of human existence and the cause of perpetuating battles of morality. ‘The unseen world of angels and demons’ grabbed my gaze for its fortifying concept and the enraged letters that threw fire in every sentence against the evil. It rightfully justifies the genuineness behind the good against the deceitful intentions of the treacherous. With the growing devilish influence in many million minds, we can now believe that the world thrives in semi darkness.
It is believed that the court of God makes way for thorough goodness and purity. Angels who serve God serve humanity for human beings are considered to be a superior creation of the Revered one and an immediate imitation of God himself. One of the first angels to be created in his court was Lucifer, a bright, angelic prince, also known as the ‘light-bearer’ in paradise. He was the epitome of might, honourably bejeweled with every precious stone that one can manage to retrieve. He had only one flaw that shattered all expectations of divinity and glory, the hunger to rule over heaven. Albeit being aptly punished for his wrongdoings, Lucifer roasted through negative emotions and spewed his anguish upon the inhabitants of planet Earth. The fallen angels who fell for his tyrannical motives were from that day onwards named ‘demons’ and the ruler ‘Satan’.
The book further plunges through the redness of guile and sinful practices that are making us hollow and bereft of true humaneness. The author claims that the blanket of crime surrounding us is nothing but scheming motives of the devil. It dives through the concept with varying instances of the present day world. How far you can go on to believe this is only a matter of choice, although it makes us think and rethink about the mysteries of life and the many victims of cruelty and deceit.

One life to love...

Disclaimer: Teen pregnancy is a highly sensitive issue hoarding a major bulk of social issues within. The content bears no intention of offence or of spreading obscene snippets through worldwide web; hope I have done justice, enough to prove my point.

While medieval issues of mankind, particularly the stringent superstitious practices of our ancestors have long gone occupied dog eared books, some of the real life events can be correlated with those terrifying episodes. Most of these occurrences can be termed as mere alterations of the past while some of them are tragedies straight out of historical references. Amongst the poignant practices of sati and child marriages (still evident in rural and urban India), the civilized society makes way for intricate problems such as premarital intercourse and teen pregnancy. Unfortunately, even the power-driven forces within the globally recognized NGOs are having a tough fight in this struggle.
Two years back, the reel world projected one of the most controversial movies which was, I must say a bold initiative towards highlighting such crucial affairs. Sixteen year old Juno becomes the spice of school gossips owing to her pregnancy. When abortion becomes a discarded option, she chooses to give the unborn for an adoption. What really amazes me is not the attitudes of people towards her pregnancy, but the calm ambiance that circumvents the motion picture throughout. The atmosphere at the girl’s house is not very tense and the girl’s parents are in for all her decisions. The entire issue fades away like a whiff of unwanted odour in the end, leaving behind a slightly tranquil impression on the concept.
This is how people are abroad, we are taught back home. In India, such issues are analyzed on the basis of the society we live in. Such concern on a broader basis in order to preserve respectability and self-esteem often makes way for insecurities and undue fears. Albeit only off-late, the modern sections of the society are well tutored about such problems, there is always a difference in opinion. For instance, teenage pregnancy, although disapproved of, can gather social support as well as disdainful comments from the same section of the society. On the other hand, a huge chunk of rural India still remains under the shadow of sheer ignorance and illiteracy. The stigma of blind faith that holds this section of the society is a backlash to the overall progress of our nation.
In the North Western regions, young teenagers are forced into relationships that they are not ready to handle. Practices of child marriage are very common and rampant as it calls for festive occasions and blessings. As a result, many young brides are subjected to early pregnancy consequently inviting a series of health hazards. Girls are barely exposed to youthfulness when they are bounded by responsibilities of the household and coping with pregnancy, not to forget the fateful events that follow the untimely death of a husband leaving her no room in the society. The economic and social desperation harnessed by the supposedly inferior members of the society, costs teeming young lives and mortality of the unborn.
The ironical background of this issue ultimately calls for one thing- no matter how you take it, exposure to such delicate matters need to be emphasized on the basis of the right time, maturity and the individuals will of acceptance. To conclude with, we do not need another thirteen year old with his arms filled with a diminishing future and an added responsibility to live with the rest of his life.

Yet another thought...

It hardly matters on which day of the week you choose to walk down the moderately filthy streets of Pink Corner to eavesdrop in budding gossips or informative conversations. Every evening you will find chain smokers and occasional drinkers coining their grief and happiness in effervescence. These are undeniably top notch executives or well-to do undergrads grinding cashew nuts and work pressure with utmost pleasure. While most of us tend to become passive smokers thanks to the continual transmission of soot, it helps us to get acquainted with first hand information (not the front page headlines of a major newspaper) of any workplace in particular. Most of the time, their topics are confined to jobs and job-related issues, otherwise, discussing gizmo's and entertainment and back to business. This is because working class heroes have hardly any space left for other thoughts; they can hardly afford to live multiple lives. Competition is sucking out soulful lives yearning for a slice of success, intoxicating many ambitious minds. As a result, money and money alone invades and rules the thinking factory, closing all doors of peace and happiness.
Look down from your window and you are sure to find the youth dominating your streets, either rushing for classes or suffering under the hammering heat on a quest for jobs. From a distance, they all look like ants marching to and fro your locality. Walk down the stairs and try being a part of them; their eyes reflect events waiting to confide themselves, elevating spirits swaying in merriment contradicting famished hopes withering in unpleasant memories. Each of them is taught to think big, materialize their visions and slog to procure a PhD in survival tactics. Naturally the youth is fenced with added responsibilities blinded by the colours of educational perks and prosperity. The aftermath of seeping through premature exposure to the world of diverse work culture and milking money is irreparable. The undying thirst of earning easy money fades away with time when consequently boredom creeps through hollowness and monotony. The lucky ones who employ themselves at the right time barely have a choice but to thoroughly imbibe their jobs and inject the resourceful nuances of work through their veins.
The very concept functions like a melting ice-cream; lick it before meltdown, eat it before the flavor fades and devour it whilst it bears unique essence and mellow. The world thrives on changing spheres and trends, gradually increasing rapidity and pace, making survival an uphill mission to accomplish. Echoing the words of an underground musician, that day is not very far when fellow humans will be left quarantined of all providence's of Mother nature, only to die in nestling hunger for more…

Realm of terror...

The recent rulers of the Swat valley unleashed yet another one of their visual recordings, disclosing their latest radio announcement. ‘India is next on the hit list’ said Maulana Fazalullah, leader of the Islamist militant who runs an infamous group under the ‘Shariat’ banner. The Talibs whose regime dates back to December 2008 have a steady control over the Swat operations in the valley, the supposedly ‘Switzerland of Pakistan’. The inhabitants of the admirable former princely state are now mere guinea pigs wriggling for a democratic life amidst continual attempts of the Pakistani Government to strike peaceful negotiations with the Talibs. The imposition of Islamic rule on the valley calls for a new set of implicated norms and stringent rules. People residing in the north- west region, especially women are already suffering from the undue restrictions imposed by the Sharia law. Thousands of girls have lost their right to educate themselves, let alone a better future for the desolated counterpart. This alone implies to forlorn right to liberty and fraternity. The Islamic law has constricted the economic progress to traditional Islamic activities on the other hand, precariously put a stop to DVD/VCD sales, usage of mobile phones, listening to music and public executions.
Many months of bloodshed and warfare have compelled one-third of the valley population to flee for their lives. Taliban and Al-Qaeda stand out to be clear winners in this lopsided battle where the Pakistani Government is making desperate measures to shun terrorism. If not for the formers abolishment, let us pray for all those innocent civilians suffering in the dark over the years.

The Grimm tales-king of fantasies!

With the Potter mania racing up the entertainment bulletins, fantasies have once again surfaced brilliantly raking oodles of fame and credit. The glamorous film world, as big as it gets has umpteen laurels attached to it thanks to the parallel universe of miracles studded with magnificent castles and majestic beasts. For this, we must offer a vote of thanks to the Grimm Brothers who created a whole new world of queer magical events, a base for the glorifying progress in every possible field of entertainment that would have been least possible without such marveling thoughts.

Ever thought of getting nostalgic with bedtime stories? How about walking through the miraculous woods where trees glide along your path, giant geese swoop down to drink water possessing magical powers to turn them back to four legged creatures of our creation, ancient rock designed to form enormous castles gravely embedded with creepy greens…? If that is what you grab for light reading, then brace yourself with many more Grimm’s tales of the fairyland, this time, stories that you have only heard of. Don’t be surprised if you are slightly gripped with curiosity and hunger to know more about the tale even after it ends, that is how Grimm brothers chose to curtain the climax. After having journeyed through the paradisaical territories of Royal Kings and gorgeous looking Queens, charming princes and distressed yet breathtakingly beautiful princesses, there is more to it before you can call it ‘stupidity’ and shut the book with that statement. The Grimm brothers depict the good taking over evil with god-like fairies battling with ugly looking witches. In the end, after a horrifying phase in the lives of good men, every living being is destined to live happily ever after…

If you are too tired to churn the wheels of your imagination, then the Brothers Grimm is an easy access to their stupendous ideas. The movie has a unique way of depicting miracles, clubbing tragedy and comedy with ‘Grimm’ plots. It is an interesting summation of almost all the fairy tales with every possible element of evil associated with it. The theme revolves around the Grimm brothers, fooling people with their tricks, little aware of the fact that they were only inviting social and political complications. The fictional fantasizing world of Jacob Grimm comes true and the siblings find themselves being carried past a jungle of haunting episodes, all the way to the sky scraping tower in which an arrogant princess sleeps her way through beauty and obsession of power. She uses fleeting strategies of the swallowing horse, the gingerbread man and the forest dwellers (i.e. birds and animals) to ransom a pretty looking girl in red, Gretha –a sister to Hansel; eleven such girls for a seasoning of their youth to nourish her parched physique with warm blood and glowing skin. The princess with her seductive instincts captivates men who come along her path to make them her slaves. Her pride that lied in the reflection of her own image (i.e. the mirror) is ruthlessly shattered to bring to an end her tyrannical motives. The movie of course ends on a happy note, the usual one of the Grimm’s with an ironical uncertainty: and they all lived happily ever after…maybe not!

I don’t mind people calling them children’s bedtime stories; they have deeper messages in between the lines. For example, the ravenous beasts serving the devilish enchantresses and witches depicts their evil mindedness and no matter how beautiful she is, her attire always reflects her wrongdoings, that every tale ends on a happy note is an assurance that it is good that prevails in the end etc. To me it is all of this that yet captivates my interests in fantasies. Now I would like you to tell me what interests you in fantasies and if it does, why and how…It’s high time I put my readers to work!