Diamonds are not forever

Finally I gave up my fetishism on diamonds.

It was difficult at first, what with me belonging to the culture (I am Sindhi) where diamonds play an important deciding factor for placing you at certain strata of society and earning that false respect. The bigger diamond meant a respectable position in Sindhi community, a front door entry to any important religious meetings, an admiring friend’s circle hovering around you, even though you might not part with a centimeter of your carat with them. Ah well.

But diamonds were my best friends, even though I could not compete with my rich cousins. Every time, my cousins flashed their real diamond jewelry I would secretly wish to buy me a better stuff. But my limited budget allowed me to live within my means (as my mom would often say, not to destroy my shack by building castles in air). Nevertheless, by the time, I reached middle age, I had enough of everything. Enough I say because I was satisfied with what I had, and I had everything in diamonds: ear-rings, rings, bracelets, watches, bangles, necklace, pendants, though not those big, huge carats, nah, they were not as impressive as my rich cousin’s booties, but was decent enough, some gifted by my mom, aunts, sisters, some inherited and some, I know not how they arrived at my tijori. I had planned to buy me some more really big ones, those fancy ones that you see in the shopping window, hoping some day in future (when I became truly Richie rich) I would own that too, until one day, suddenly my taste took a U-turn from gaudy to subtle, and it was thinking whether it was really so important to carry such heavy stuff on my neck and on my ear lobes that was dangling so much with its weight that I need doctor’s help to prevent it from becoming a torn chappati. I decided that I don’t really need it. Specially since it was also giving me unnecessary stress.

Now let me explain. What use is wearing all those real diamond-sets that cover your every possible skin so much, that people cannot see you beyond those glittering stones? And you are so busy flashing them, that your topic of conversation is limited to fashion and shopping, while your subconscious mind is eagerly waiting for the compliment that may not arrive from your envious friends. And then you are always living in fear of losing your possessions so much so that you become too obsessive in guarding them. You become vigilant about your cupboard keys and are always hiding the keys in such odd places that you cannot find them yourself. And when you have misplaced it somewhere, you start suspecting everybody: Your maid, your guest, your friend. Okay, you will tell me that I can keep them in bank locker. Then what the bloody hell is the use of freezing them if I cannot wear them? You advice me that it is important to save it for the bad times. So should I wait for those bad times when I can happily cash out diamonds and release them from lockers?

Instead of spending money on diamonds and freezing them in lockers, I have discovered a better value for money. Investing the money in proper way in funds and bonds and see it grow, yielding regular dividends gives special kind of pleasure. It is fun to travel with that extra cash in style. Buy some luxury items to enhance the atmosphere: nice bed spread, good curtains, jacuzzi. And sharing the excess cash with less fortunate and winning their million dollar smile is an heavenly experience.

Also, I am enjoying shopping for artificial costume jewelry, nothing flashy but classic, yes. I like that. No worries about guarding it, hiding it, storing. If it gets lost, I don’t care, I get one more reason to buy another one. I can now concentrate on reading and on other things that I can truly enjoy.

And to enjoy the company of people who can see and hear, just me.

Lunch out at 'Banana Leaf'

It is rude to look at other people’s table to see what they are eating but this is something which most diners cannot avoid, especially if you are visiting the restaurant the first time and want to know why it is so popular that you had to wait for about twenty five minutes for the table to clear for you.

‘Banana Leaf' was as curious to me as its’ name. The food was served on a banana leaf with the tastiest south Indian Cuisine. It said in the menu card that “the name conjures aroma of the yummiest mouth watering delights of southern flavors. As the meal comes to you in ‘Vazhaillai’ a freshly cut banana leaf, the traditional experience transports you to southern states of India. Eating out of Banana leaf requires combination of reflex, skill and practice and the benefits are multiple, clean and hygienic”

Some time ago, my friend had suggested this restaurant to me saying that this one was most famous for its Appam and vegetable curry. As soon as we entered the restaurant my friend warned me that the food was good but was over priced. Which I didn't think so cause that extra charge must be for the ambience and the service, and both were good. The waiters were friendly too (one even posed for my camera haha!) and he was the one who suggested the dishes that were good and popular amongst the diners and was cooked with care and interest and he was the one who suggested that I have Appam with spicy vegetable curry, although personally, I think that the next time I go, I might try Appam with veggies in coconut curry. Ahem!

The restaurant had great décor with graphic on the wall, (which made enjoyable time pass practicing my reading skills) but the tables were quite close to each other and it was distracting (especially if the person on the next table burbs too loud such that you almost get soffocated and choke on your meals). hahaah! just kidding! The food was spicy. We had raw mango juice that has tangy flavor, and we order khichdi and uttappa. What I liked the most was the free assortment of chutneys like garlic chutney, mint chutney, coconut chutney and rasam. The service was quick and the pan that they served after lunch melted in the mouth leaving a minty taste.

It’s a good place to take my NRI vegetarian guests for lunch. And it is not very far from my house, on the back lanes of four bangalows, in Varsova, it takes me just fifteen minutes to reach there from Bandra. I am going again, as for my guests, they will like it, I am sure.

A free Entertainment

Nothing comes free and that I am sure, time and again I have been fooled many times and each time disappointed. I have learnt this long ago but how do I explain to my friend who is always looking for freebees and tagging me along? And Me, never able to refuse, always suffer a silent death. This evening was a free pass to some musical show-cum-stage show and my friend calls me up to accompany her to this show. Now I had already reserved this evening for a book launch at Crossword. I wanted to attend this launch because I was attracted by the title and the promising story of 5 Sindhi ladies. A book called ‘Beyond Diamond rings' by Kusum Choppra. Here I was asking my friend to accompany me to this book launch and she was flashing free passes. I finally relented, just rushed to crossword, picked up the book, could not meet the author (since they are late comers and don’t start the program as schedule, supposed to start at 7pm but till 730, there was no sign of the author nor any audience, just a flute player playing music till the author arrives, I would have loved to hear her talk about what inspired her to write this book and which was her favorite passage) anyways, my friend couldn’t wait for me to enjoy such luxuries, so I rushed off with her to attend this show at Rabindra Natya Mandir at Prabhadevi

I was surprised by the loud music of drum being played at the entrance to welcome the guests. There were cameras flashing at every guest. Never before have I attended any stage show with such loud reception. I asked her whether we were attending some festival or some wedding occasion, but all she knew was that she was attending some show that was free and it had snacks and drinks on the house too. I just followed her, picked up my share of snack and drinks and entered the auditorium to wait for the program to start.

We sat near the exit and watched every guest that entered the auditorium. It seemed like a fashion parade. Most of the audience was either Sikh or Punjabi, and every body was a guest. Well, it turned out that this was just a promotion program for the upcoming TV serial to go on air on Doordarshan from 13th April onwards at 10pm, every Tuesday. The TV serial on life of 'Maharaja Ranjit Singh'. The 52 episode serial by Ral Babbar Film pvt limited, is a historical epic story of Ranjit Singh, the warrior who protected the borders from Ladakh to Punjab. A few hundred Sikhs, living on their horsebacks were ever ready to challenge the might of the invaders. The Sikhs were victims of a number of massacres both at the hands of the Mughals as well as the Afghans, which only made their resolve stronger.

So here I was, not attending any stage-play or musical show but attending a serial-promotion show. No Surprises then that drinks and snack were free and the program was fully sponsored by serial producers.

Over the next two hours, we heard different people relating the story and the behind the scene stories, Jaggit Singh who has sung for this serial gave a part of his performance, and then we were introduced to all those people who contributed to this serial and finally some film shots on the big screen.
Ah so boring…well, it was free.. so no complains.

However, I think I would have still preferred the reading at the Crossword.

Exotic Meals

When cooking is a pain, salad is the better option and happy that I like salads because it is just boil and mix.

Last night I went for marketing and brought lots of veggies. When I was back home after shopping, I organized everything immediately, boiled those small potatoes and steamed corn and fresh mung.

In the morning I was ready to make salad for me. Mixed boiled potatoes, steamed mung and steamed corn, added sprouts, tomatoes, cucumber, bell pepper and carrots, added dried herbs, lime juice and salt, mixed little mustard oil and served with millet crackers and dip.

I make small quantity of dip at a time. Normally my friends use hung yogurt. But I just take a normal yogurt, add cream cheese. Next add black pepper, salt and dried herbs and little bit of coriander leaves.

I just had salad and noodles soup. It’s a complete meal and I kinda enjoy it, a day without too much of masalas and no headache of cooking too.

Classic Shopping

Last week I went with my NRI guest to a private fashion designer to see her new range of private collection. She had suits, kurtis and saris, all artistically embroidered with colorful stones, crystals and gold/silver cords and lace. The workmanship was quite neat, so was her price. Each suit was not less than seven grand and some as high as twenty to thirty grand. She showed us the collection of about ten different items, of which my guest bought one sari, one suit and one embroidered blouse. She spent total of forty-five grand.

This week I went with another NRI guest for shopping. We went to Palliadium, the new mall at Pheonix mills at Parel. The mall reeks of luxury, shiny floors and sparkling windows. But where are the shoppers? This is the new mall which will house branded fashion designers. Should I quote the price? Ah! I entered one store and liked one sari but after seeing the price tag, I decided I don’t like it. I would never be able to afford two hundred grand for a sari/suit which I would not have an occasion to wear more than once. Who has spoilt our Indian market? Blame it on NRI’s. Only women with Dollars/Euros will be able to afford such luxury. But wait a minute; I did see few Indians too. They went into the stores, studied the designs and I presumed that they were the fashion designers who would clone these designs and sell it at cheaper price from their private garage.

In Mumbai, there are many such women who work from home. All they need is good tailors, good collection of fashion catalogues, a nice camera to capture the designs when the salesman is not watching and few friends who can spread the word around for them. My friend tells me that latest trends can be copied from popular TV serials. But, to my knowledge, all the clothes that are worn by actors in TV serials are freely available in those common markets at Santa Cruz, Bandra, Breach Candy and Dadar.

But real trendy and latest designs can only be found in designer studios or in private homes.

This week we went to many designer studios and my guest splurges at every store and spends ninety grand in one day! Her shopping included just one sari, few suits, footwear, and two branded purses. Wow!

I blessed my stars for not having such expensive taste. Actually, expensive stuff doesn’t suit me.

I just wear a smile.

Tofu..I seem to like it

It is soft.

Well, it depends on the type I am having right now, but it is much, much better than paneer, actually I don't like paneer and I eat it only when I have to...that is when it is too rude to refuse.

Therefore I was happy to get some great tips on getting a perfect bite

and even more happy when another friend willing shared her recipe of tofu with bell pepper with me

Ah! It is easy to go veggie when there is no competition.

When you visit me next time, remind me to cook tofu for you. Of course it will be different, and better, *wink* my estyle....Nobody can beat my cooking estyle, for that I am sure. *giving you a happy grin*

Boarders at war

Early morning while brushing my teeth, my boarder says “What time can you be free? I want to talk to you”

Now, I am at home most time of the day, from Mondays to Fridays, unless I have some important errands to do. Nobody needs any appointment to talk to me.

I tell her “Shoot, I am all ears.”

“No, first you get free then I have to tell you something.” She says and she disappears into her room.

I quickly rinse my mouth, wash my face, towel it and walk into her room.

“What is it?” I ask

“Is there no discipline in this house? Don’t you have any rules for your boarders?” she says.

I do have rules for the boarders who occupy my spare room. There are only three main rules which I expect my boarders to follow: Tidy up the kitchen after use, be back home before 12 midnight and none of their visitors are allowed inside my house.

I looked at her in askance on introducing some more rules.

“I am unhappy with my room mate” she says, “She is watching TV late nights, sometimes up to 2am, continuously shifting channels. I cannot sleep with flickering lights. Is there no discipline in this house? I think you should introduce strict hours for watching TV. I suggest that there should be no TV after 11pm.”

Just then her room mate emerges from bathroom and enters the room.

“Look, here is complain, your room mate is unhappy about your late night TV hours” I tell her

“And I am too,” she says.

“Now, what complain do you have?” I ask her

“I am uncomfortable because she is too lazy and keeps her part of the area too untidy. I don’t like clutter in this room but she won’t listen.”

I look around and I understand what she means. The bed-sheet is wrinkled; the dressing table is cluttered with books, water-bottles, combs, creams, medicines, etc.

“Cluttered room is cluttered mind’” I tell her, “Lets make a deal. You keep your room clean and she will put off TV by 11p.m”

Then follows the argument for next ten minutes: insensitivity towards each other’s comfort (you don’t understand my problems), lack of communication (why didn’t you tell me first?), compromise (I will do it your way only if you do it mine)

Today, their room was clean and tidy, the lights have gone off at 11pm.

Silence!

She is a graceful lady

“Can you give me a print-out of that photograph that you just click of me?” said Mrs Tara peeping into my digital camera.

I looked closely at the picture. I was complimenting myself for my photography skills. The deep lines on her face were clearly etched, the silver of her hair and her smile matched ditto to her real self. She looked very beautiful and her smile was an added attraction

“Sure! How many copies do you want?” I asked

“Just give me only one, if you can enlarge it for me, I would be very grateful to you.” She said

“You see,” she continued, “I want to frame it and keep it with other things. When I die I don’t want people to keep ugly pictures of me. I know lots of people and they all might come for my funeral, it will look good if I have this picture smiling at my friends. I have kept aside all the things that will be required to dress me up: one sari, one slipper, one hair buckle and the money required for my cremation, only I didn’t have a good snap of me. If I die suddenly, then I don’t want to trouble my people looking for things for me therefore I have made all the arrangements”

I was impressed by her independence and her self reliant attitude. Mrs Tara has glow on her face. She is fair, short, wrinkled and must be about 75 years (my wild guess) but she is very talented. She is an artist.

Some months ago, I have visited her home and her house was filled up with oil paintings, every area of her small room was clustered with paintings. Proudly, she showed me each and every painting in her room, relating a story behind each one. She lives alone in her small apartment and tutors young people during her free time, conducting painting classes.

Every Wednesday and Thursday, she comes to school to teach mentally challenged children to draw and paint, (free of charge), travelling in public bus and walking the rest of the distance.

Always ready to help, she is very patient with children. I have known many other women of her age, but they have retired years ago, visiting temples instead. Many women, half her age complain of aches and pains and their inability to perform any task gracefully, but this is one lady who never complains. I admire her strength.

I strive to be as active as she is when I reach her age. She is my unsung hero.

Travel bug beckons

I have never been to Canada although I have admired Niagara falls for umpteenth time. I have envied the people who have worn those fancy transparent raincoats and sailed through the stream, wiping of the droplets of water sprays from their face. I wonder if I will ever see it or experience it in this life time.


Until I saw this

Now I am glad that there is similar experience can be witness in India as well.
I would love to see this

And this

I don't even have to sail in any boat, I can just watch it from a distance...lovely!!

Yeah…This breath taking natural picturesque splendor located at a road distance of 65 Kms from Trichur (Kerala) & 60 Kms from Cochin International airport! Must, must go and see it...

I have asked my family to plan a trip to south India..we could go down right up to the tip at Kanyakumari. India is so beautiful, there is really no need to travel abroad.

Survival

Some weeks ago, I decided to take a boat from Mora Village to Mazgoan docks. This is the shortest route to come to South Mumbai, which would otherwise take more than two hours, While I waited for the boat to arrive, I was watching the fisher-women at the docks and was amazed with the hard work that they put in. Mumbai, being a coastal region, fishermen go to the seas for fishing (sometimes for days) while women help in selling the fish. The work is shared equally by them and they are quite cheerful and happy to help each other.

My friend, who was with me, was attracted by the freshness of the fish (some of fishes were still wriggling in her basket) and prawns. She wanted to buy the fresh prawns but the women quoted very high rates (Rs300 for half kg of king size prawns). She refused to bring down her prices claiming that if she went back the next day to south Mumbai, she would get good price. While she sorted her catch, her man went and brought large chunk of ice, broke it into smaller pieces and helped her pack the fish so that it would remain fresh the next day. She told us that she would wake up early morning at 5am and make her journey towards town to sell her fish.

Some of them go to the market to sell the fish while others go from door to door. Women who come from far off suburbs use local train (luggage compartment) for commuting. Some of them have formed their own society and rent a transport (a tempo or a truck) to reach their market.

It was evening time and the man looked quite tired but he continued to help her.

“Your man works quite hard, I must say” I said, impressed by the efficiency of his work.

“He is not my man” she said, “We work as a community, we normally live as mixed groups where there is team work involved. The work is divided equally but it is never reversed. We don’t go for fishing at the seas nor do the men look after the house and babies”.

Although fisherwomen traditionally do not go out to sea, ancillary activities as critical as fishing itself - fish processing, vending, marketing, net-making, and so on - are primarily in women's hands.

“Don’t you think that your prawns are overpriced? Why are you selling it so expensive?” I asked her

She was quite annoyed with my queries and complained that there were no more fishes in the sea.

I did not believe when she said that there were no more fishes in the sea. How could that be?

But on googling I understood what she meant.

The current market-friendly reforms aimed at opening up India's coasts to large-scale commercial exploitation have posed a grave danger to the survival of these communities.

The fall in fish stocks as a result of indiscriminate mechanized trawling is the single-most worrying factor for the fishing community, and its impact on women is direct and brutal. The government has opened the coast to foreign trawlers that harvest all the fish. Private companies have taken over their traditional occupations, like net-making and fish processing. As a result they are sometimes left without fish and without work. Fisherwomen - who earlier sold the catch that the community's men brought in from the sea - are now forced to buy fish from large contractors.

With fish disappearing from the seas, fishermen face a loss of productive activity. In frustration, they turn to alcoholism. They borrow money for gambling. Their bitterness is an additional burden for fisherwomen, who struggle to hold their families together and cope with increased wife-beating and desertion.

So, what does the woman do? She was here now, almost 7pm in the evening, packing her basket for the next day. She would go home, cook dinner for her family, clean her house, put her family to sleep and would wake up 4am in the morning to go to town to sell to fish and bring some cash.

And here I was cribbing about the price of prawns not understanding the problems of a common fisherwoman, who though not educated, knew how to survive, balancing the home life and her working hours and wanting to handle the likes of me with grace.

Here we were, my friend and I, haggling about the price when we would buy the same without any fuss at the market place.

Devotion

Hindu festivals often see large number of devotees throng towards religious places and there are many such place in India.

picture source

But have you ever seen three million women celebrating a festival together with a small plane hovering above the crowd showering flowers over them?? This is the Kerala Festival for women

picture source

I am thinking whether the God attending to their prayers is male or female?

Tolerance

When a woman stretches to straighten her spine, to break off the chains from her body and mind, she is no longer an admirable bride.

The need to be accepted by the society is so strong, that she sells off her self respect and her genuine smile in the market of false pretentions.

And this is true in some influential families too. Dhristi was one such woman.

Dhristi laughed heartily at every joke that her husband made, showing her pleasure, or rather faking it. She catered to his every need. Her world revolved around him. She was a good wife. She was timid, patient and ever-ready to his demands.

“He is a dog” she once told me “a lusty dog, he has sucked the life out of me, if you have a choice don’t ever enter into a loveless marriage. I hate him.”

“If it is so bad then why don’t you just walk out?” I said

“I cannot. I won’t bring shame to my family”.

And she stuck on. There would be bruises on her body. Sometimes she would lift her dress to show me the dark brown circles on her thighs, on her tummy, on her back and sometimes on her breast

“These are not love bites, mind you, when he is drunk and I resist, he punishes me” she said “it hurts too much, especially when it bleeds.”

“Maybe, things will change after you have a child” I said, consoling her

“I wish I could, but my hubby hates kids.” She said

Thus, lonely she was, caged in the glittering world.

If she wasn’t a close friend I would never have known her sadness and her pain. But help, I could not. How do you preach freedom to a person who is deaf to the reasons?

She wore a mask.

At every party, women admired her jewels, her branded clothes and her impeccable etiquettes. They wished they could trade places with her, until the day, when I saw the shocked expressions on their face. I heard one of them call her ‘ungrateful’

‘Ungrateful’ for what?

At last, the peace envelops her as she lies in her coffin, dressed as a bride.

Perhaps, the world will never know.

Justice

Where is the justice for 'Thangjam Manorama'?

Six years ago, on July 15,2004 Manorama mothers surprised and shocked the world.
Sapan Aruna writes:

In the morning at around 10:15 am, Twelve women out of nowhere, stormed at the western gate of the 17th Assam Rifles Kangla and in an unprecedented act, of protest shed their clothes and challenged the security forces to rape them. Facing the AR gate with their bare bodies, they shouted to the Assam Rifles, “If you really have the craze to rape, come rape us’

They raised banners where was written in bold letters, “INDIAN ARMY RAPE US,’ INDIAN ARMY TAKE OUR FLESH.”

Photo: UB PHOTO

More than 50 women from different women’s organizations of Manipur came from G.M.Hall and among them, 12 naked bodies marched on to the Kangla gate and cried against the killing of Manorama , “You dogs of AR! Come rape us like you raped meitei chanu (women) Manorama”.

They wailed. They shouted, “We are all mothers of Manorama. We stand for our daughter Manorama. Come fulfill your lust. Play on our body. Eat our flesh. Come Indian Army. They continued their complaint against AFSPA with slogans, GO BACK INDIAN ARMY. Withdraw the Armed Forces Special Power Act 1958 from Manipur!

Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) has been imposed in Manipur and most of the Northeast since 1980. The Act allows the army to use force, arrest or shoot anyone on the mere suspicion that someone has committed or was about to commit a cognisable offence. The Act further prohibits any legal or judicial proceedings against army personnel without the sanction of the Central Government

The protest of the women continued for about 45 minutes. Due to excessive emotion, more than half of them fell unconscious. Being surprised, some AR personnel watched the scene dumbfounded. They stood spell-bound. The scene broke the heart of the passers by. People even shed tears and closed their eyes.

There was no policeman when the women protesters sprang from no-where and staged their tear-provoking scene. Some minutes later, police officials along with Imphal west SP scolded the police officers for there were no women police. Disregarding the polices effort to carry the fainted women, the protesters used private vehicles to take them to hospitals. The women then tried to launch the same protest in front of the Chief Minister Bangaloo. Police arrested some of the protesters and dropped them at the gate of the office of the All Manipur Women Social Reformation and Development Samaj (AMWSRDS) situated at the palace gate.

As precautionary measures to control the possible drastic situations, the Manipur Government imposed indefinite curfew from 11am of the same day in Imphal East and West district. The D.C. Imphal West also issued orders under section 19 of The Cable Television Network Regulation Act, 1995, prohibiting the transmission of any particular program including news items.

That was an unexpected consequence of the custodial murder of Thangjam Manorama after rape."

But justice is likely to wait forever.

Freedom

There are days when I just want to scream, a real hard scream, something strong and loud that would awaken my whole neighborhood and bring them running to my door to release me and take me to a safe place where life would be much easier and bearable for me.

I wish to be free.

I don’t like sitting all day in front of this baby, clothing him, changing his nappies, warming milk ever hour. My back hurts on the days when he is in pain. I have to carry him and take walks, singing Gayatri Mantra, hoping that he will understand and find meaning in the verse and find some peace. Sometimes I hope this one-year child will feel sorry for me and let me rest. How do I tell him that there are other chores to be completed as well and that I cannot be pampering him all day.

There is food to be cooked. I have chopped the vegetables and even cooked the rice. I must keep the meals ready before mom arrives. When she is back from her work, she will make some chappatis and also help me with washing of dishes. It will be 5pm and I will be done with all the house chore and then I shall be able to stretch my feet for a moment of fresh air, just a tiny whiff of fresh air.

At 6pm I shall pack my bag and head towards night school. I need to study because I don’t wish to be a domestic maid like my mom. I need to do something more than that. I need to study. Sunita teacher told me there is future for me. The future is mine, she said and the time is now.

Nine years is the perfect age for me to dream. An age when it is possible to built the reality steps towards my lit-dream

If I wish to be free.

Living in this painful world.

Shobha shrieked with pain; the blows continued to shower. When she could not defend herself against her husband’s cruelty, she fainted. She found herself in the hospital ward as she opened her eyes. Eyes blood shot, body ached as she lay attached to thousand tubes “Do you have something to report ma’am?” asked the police officer. “No,” she replied simply supressing her pain.


Men subject more than 60 percent of women in the poor countries to domestic violence, according to the UN development program. It says: “Women may be half of the world’s population, but seven tenth of the poor people around the globe are women. Two third of the illiterate adults are women, and those who remain, if they are lucky enough to have the freedom to work, can only expect 75 percent of the salary as the man doing the same job. Everywhere women continue to be the victims of violence listed as significant cause of disability and death among women of reproductive age.

International Women’s Day is celebrated on March 8. The idea of celebrating this day is for recognizing the importance of women’s role in the society. It is an occasion to review how far they have come in their struggle for equality, peace and development. It is also an opportunity to unite, network and mobilize for meaningful change.

It dates to the year 1857, when one of the first organized actions by the workingwomen anywhere in the world took place. Hundreds of garment and textile women workers went sent on strike in the New York city protesting against low wages, long working hours and inhumane working conditions. The event ended in violent struggle with the police. Fifty-three years later, in August 1910, at a meeting in Copenhagen, the women’s Socialist International decided to commemorate the strike by observing an annual International Women’s Day.

Today, they still refuse justice to women in those countries, where women are treated as second-class citizens or the property of men. Women’s work is unrecognized everywhere in the world and there are still disputes over women’s rights, sometimes cultural, sometimes religious and sometimes social. There are some women, who feel that there is no point in having the international woman’s day every year if the woman is forgotten for the remaining 364 days of the year.

Man and woman, both are essential parts of the most basic human equation. While the circumstances of the cobbler and the judge may clearly differ, nobody would question the right of each human to equality as a citizen, or before the law. In the same way, man and woman can only reach the true equality through the recognition of their substantial differences. A truly civilized society would relish those differences rather than punish women for their sex. But still, nowhere in the world can a woman claim to have same right and opportunities as man. “The advancement of the woman and the achievement of equality between woman and man is the matter of human right and a condition for social justice and should not be seen in isolation as a woman’s issue.” According to the Platform for Action the final document of the conference held in Beijing in 1995. “They are the only way to build a sustainable just and developed society.”

Society neither helps a mother to work, nor makes her feel that she has right to do so. Regardless of the evidence of research, a deep almost subliminal idea is encouraged to needle away at her conscience that the child needs his mother all the time. The guilt can go with her everywhere, augmented by the notion, that only woman has the natural proclivity towards the mother. At work she feels the guilt of not being a good mother and not spending more time with her children. Since she has children, she also suffers the guilt of not working hard enough at her job. In both the quarters, working mothers feel compromise and inadequate.

International Women’s Day is the day we need in order to remind the women around the world to stop, take a deep breath, and think about where we are, what have we achieved, to re-energize ourselves, to mobilize ourselves and set new goals to where we want to reach. This is the day, which the UN has conferred for women because it also enables nationals to stop and think about what they want their women to achieve.

Addressing the problems faced by the women is at heart of a global agenda promoted by the United Nations. By adopting international laws and treaties, United Nations has established a common standard for society to achieve equality between man and the woman. The world now has a growing number of women as policy makers, with a recorded ten women as heads of the state or government.

In his message marking the International Women’s Day in 1995, at Beijing, Boutros Boutros had said; “In the global efforts for peace and enduring progress, the promotion and protection of women’s rights are central. Success in the tasks means progress for everyone, young and old, men, women and children,”

And the success for the protection of women's rights is yet to come. We are still waiting......Alas!!

ps: I would like to request Sandhya, Pallavi and Annie to participate in this contest

Who is Coming over for Dinner?

When I can’t think what to cook or too lazy to cook, I opt for Chinese. Why? Because it is the most tastiest and nutritious food that I can think of and it takes me just fifteen minutes to prepare it. My fridge is always stocked with fresh and canned vegetables, lotsa sauces and some dried mushrooms too. Initially, during my trips abroad, I would pick up too much food stuff from the supermarkets, most of packet would rot, exceeding their expiry dates, and there were some soup and sauces packets, bought blindly, would lie unopened for years, but now I am glad that we get everything here in Mumbai and I can do just weekly shopping in small quantities.


There is a small store close by, which stocks all the exotic foods. This week I picked up firm tofu (there were other types too like silky tofu and soft tofu, but thats for later), some fresh mushrooms, and Japanese Soba noodles (On the packet of this soba noodles it says that it is a traditional style buckwheat and wheat flour noodles with a nutty taste, I was buying it for first time. One packet only, see, economical? yeah?))

Now this tofu is really very tricky. Tofu is actually the Chinese cousin/version of cottage cheese (Italian) or Paneer (Indian). The method of making it is also same except that it is made from soya milk. Get it? But it is rich cousin, mind you and little ‘light’ to eat, melts in the mouth, a great source of high-quality protein, rich in B-vitamins, iron and an excellent source of calcium. The best way to use the firm tofu is to wash it with water, squeeze it out and then marinate it before using. Tofu acts like a sponge and it sucks in the juices of marinated ingredients. Since I am going to use it in Chinese, I have marinated in garlic, ginger and vegetable stock cubes. Okay, I have stored in my fridge, so for next two days I must eat Chinese if I have to finish it in two days. Of course, I will add in soup once and another time I will make salad, can’t have same stuff every day. Isn’t it?

But just now, what I had was quite tasty. It looked dull because I didn’t add colorful veggies like reds and greens (my friends always adds red and green peppers, but its okay if I don’t add when I am making only for self) but it was tasty.

Its so simple to make. why do my friends make such a fuss while cooking? So much drama over nothing!!

In the oil, I added crushed garlic and then I just stir fried shallots, mushrooms, bean sprouts green chilly and corn. Then added these boiled Soba noodles and tofu. Next added Teriyaki sauce, soya sauce, sesame oil and chilly sauce.and Voila!

Wait, let me take one more spoonful. chomp! chomp! burp!

And yeah, I made dip too. I just added garlic, ginger, salt, wasabi, dried herbs into curd. Mixed it and hung it for three hours, squeezing out the water. Then added olive oil to give a glossy look.

Yummy. When you come to visit me, I shall make for you too.

Sita joins the FB ??

Okay, I admit it that this is not my story,(I can only comment and give my tipri) I would never have such a talent to reproduce a story so cleverly. but it arrived in my mail box through the forwards and it has amused me a lot

This first page on the FB gives the Live Feed that shows:

 
I am amused that Bharat is 'pissed' with his mother and starts a group called 'Parents sometimes go crazy' the youth of today would happily join this group because they have a mind of their own and are hardly listening to thier parents. but the question is 'how many would bother going through this swayamvar?' It happens only in TV reality shows and viewers are actually 'pissed' with these shows, although they are still watching it. but that is how far it goes....there are no marriages in the end (remember Rakhi Sawant?)


that brings me to the second page of this Live Feed that shows:

haahaha! Even in the remote jungle, they have access to internet and are recruiting friends, playing 'Mob Wars' and writing on FB walls and discussing the laxman rekha? Amusing, Isn't it? Ram seeking Hanuman's help on FB wall....Can we trust our friends (in our absence) to save our spouse from...cough! cough!! no comments on that!!!

and the page three shows the Live Feed as:

And when Ravana is dead only 132,457 people like it. hahahaahaa! there should have been bigger numbers. but since Ram and Sita did not live happily after, Sita's page should not expire.

So what would Sita's activities be, had she not opted for earth to swallow her???

Picture Portrait

I have this huge picture of my spiritual Master, Maharaji Charan Singh, nailed up on the wall, in the foyer. It is very old picture of Maharaji in white kurta and white turban with the backdrop of blue and it has been there as far as I can remember. The picture has different expressions at different hours of the day and they change according to my moods. On the days when I am happy, I see the smile and on the days when I am angry, I see the grin. My friends, who don’t know him, ask me if this is the picture of my father and I always say ‘Yes’ cause he is the only father that I have known, having lost my biological father at the age of three. This picture gives me inner strength.

Maharaji was very photogenic and I think he used to love to pose. Whenever I had visited my paternal aunt (who was a very close friend of Maharaji), I used to see the beautiful poses in her house of her trips with Maharaji. There would be picture of his trips abroad; there would be party pictures and many more in my aunt’s personal album. There was one picture that I had liked which was actually a painting. It was a huge painting of Maharaji sitting on an easy chair,outdoors, cross legged, in churidhar-kurta and a shawl, looking out into the fields, his gaze fixed at hundreds of sevadhars doing manual labor of lifting/sifting sand, transporting it on their heads. I used to love that painting and I would always stop for one moment longer, whenever I passed by that painting.

My aunt is no more and so have Maharaji Charan Singh too, but what happened to those pictures and that painting, I have never asked.

But I am thinking what happens to those pictures when the person is not there no more? How long do the people preserve the photographs before they decide that they don’t need it anymore? And how do they dispose it?

With the digital camera, now we click too many pictures and then dispose off those which we don’t care, but in the days gone by, each picture had a story to tell. Whenever we visited our family, and if ran out of conversation, family albums were taken out to discuss the pictorial stories. Portrait pictures were clicked in the photo studio and blown up to life-size to decorate the foyers and the bedrooms and the halls.

I, for one, don’t buy pictures nor calendars of Gods or of any spiritual Masters because I worry about the storage. I would not like to insult the photograph and throw them away in the garbage when I don’t need them anymore. Why must we buy so many pictures and put them up in every room? We just need one picture to remember and admire the person. Some people like to keep it in their wallet, visible only to themselves, and to admire it secretly. But having too many pictures, all over the house, is quite scary to the non-believer.

When I inherited my family house, first thing that I did was to bring down all those life-size pictures that ruled every wall of my house. I have packed them up and stuffed them into the drawers, out of sight. There are too many albums sitting in the cupboard and I really do not know what to do about them. The photograph which don’t have me, don’t interest me and I am sure that even if they become antique, they will still not get me any copyrights.

Only this picture of Maharaji, which I had loved it even then, is still hanging up in my house, but that’s because it speaks to me.

I don’t store nor develop any more memories, I would never want the abuse of my pictures, even after I am here in this world, no more……..and I am certain that nobody else would want it too….

Muse over FB message 'Acceptance'

With twitter and facebook becoming a strong board for exchanging ideas and thoughts in this social media network, not all status messages are funny and light hearted, some are thought provoking too and force us to re-think on issues which could be just a passing phrase. One such message, that I copied on my page and then was pleased to see it on my friends’ page too was:

"My wish for 2010 is that people will understand that children with disabilities do not have a disease; children with disabilities are not looking for a cure but ACCEPTANCE........93% of people won't copy and paste this, WILL YOU be one of the 7% that does and make this your status for at least a hour?”

I saw this message on many of my friends’ pages and someone even argued saying that “Just by copying and pasting are people going to change the attitude? No offence to your friends who have already copied and pasted it, they may have done it because they are among those few people who understand that children with disabilities do not have a disease......”

My reply to that comment was: “yes! Attitudes do change with the wind. .specially by those who believe in the message and pass it on....and unfurl those soft pebbles off the hard rock...

But the page that really caught my attention was when someone commented:

“Wait a minute... I'm pretty sure that people with disabilities ARE looking for a cure... No one willingly accepts that they are disabled when there is a readily available cure out there that can make them "not disabled."

He found it difficult to accept the fact that handicap people can be accepted in this society as productive member of the society if they are allowed to perform the task to their best of their ability.

He argued that “You can’t accept someone who is disabled as a productive member of society when you still have to watch over them and make sure that they don’t fall and/or jump in whatever they need assistance. If that’s the case then there is no full acceptance, only fake acceptance that will make these disabled people feel a false sense of security of their place in society. And to be honest, if I was disabled and wanted people to treat me with respect, the same respect they treat everyone person, and you were patronizing me in this way and treating me as if I was less of a person then I would hate it. Your saying that disabled people want to be treated like everyone else.. well you can’t treat them only half way, because they still aren’t equal, and never will be. It’s all or none. I’m afraid.”

Actually I would hate it too....but that is where my point was, I meant to say that either the people are patronizing the disabled too much or ignoring them completely and both ways it hurts the differently-abled person.

Society just cannot see the talent beyond the handicap at a first glance, a differently-abled person has to prove their capability from time to time, they have to prove that they are capable of performing as perfectly as any normal person , and there is no need to sweat over them if they are able to deliver....independently....every disabled person can also be the productive member of the society, if he is allowed to follow the profession in which he excels and in which he has faith in, but the society never allows him to forget his handicap.

Every individual should be able to decide when they need to be over-protective and patronizing and when they should just accept them and let them perform to their fullest ability and in every case, acceptance in important because they are not freaks.

And he was confused as to where does one draw the line?

What gives anyone the right to tell one person that they fully capable of working on their own and another that they cannot be trusted to be on their own and must be supervised? He argued that when people say that "We wish that society would accept disabled people as being productive members of society, there isn't a special clause that states: " this only applies to people who are able to function independently, with out supervision, everyone else isn't fully accepted as fully functional and must be watched and cared for."

And he wondered as to what happens to those who don’t meet those specific criteria? Are never to be accepted as part of society and considered the useless ones who have no place in the society?

“ I know it seems harsh,’ he continued, “ but if they cannot be accepted as productive members of society then what are they? Or do we reevaluate what that criterion is so they can be accepted? But what about the people left over from that? Who are not accepted after that second evaluation of who is productive and who isn’t?

It’s an endless cycle that will never end.” he concluded

And I am left wondering whether the society will ever wear the cap of acceptance…ever……

Bus Ride in Mumbai City

India is shining. Or rather, I should say that the things are improving a lot, specially my regular four hours journey (back and forth) to my school which I take every alternate Wednesdays.

The bus ride has become a pleasure for me since the introduction of AC bus no 105 from Bandra to CBD.

No more do I have to sit on the hard seat, reserved specially for the ladies, by the window, because I am afraid to sit on any other seat where I might have a male stranger dozing on my shoulder. No more do I have to worry about over-crowded bus where I would feel guilty when I saw more than thirty standees, all jostling for a seat. No more am I exposed to dirt and pollution, and the bad stench during my bus ride that passes through the route of Dharavi and Chembur.

Many a times, I was subjected to the stench and shit that I would see on the road if I wished to peep out of window. I would see the open toilets on the road, the main doors broken, exposing the people in the act. Reading was impossible because there were too many jerks, and I would have difficulty in focusing my attention on vibrating words. I used to prefer to plug the music to my ears and slept most of the journey, not that I could sleep, but shutting my eyes to the realities of the world, I could snooze off to my own imaginary world.

The only time I was awakened from my slumber was when the tempers ruled the bus and people got aggressive over a slight dispute. That was the time, when I too would be curious to differentiate the victim and the culprit during the commotion. I would then secretly take sides, team up and wish for my team to win an argument. Sometimes the argument would get worse and there would be exchange of blows and slaps and the bus would be abandoned in the middle of the road and we would wait till the cops arrive. Sometimes the cops would take too much time to arrive and all the strangers in the bus would become friends and together they would suggest an alternate punishment and pass the verdict.

Yes, travelling by bus exposed me to the difficulties and problems of a common people. It was the closest I could get to them.

Now, I have graduated to AC 105. The seats are comfortable and the bus fare is three-fold. Most of the seats in the bus are empty. There is music playing at the dash board, which is either radio or CD of old Bollywood songs. There is an electric-socket for people who wish to connect their laptop. Most of the people are busy on their mobile, chit-chatting. Recently, they have introduced in-vehicle retailing service managed by the ticket-conductor and soft drinks are up for sale.

During the smooth bus ride, I look out of window, no more, because now, I see the life-styles of a common man only in my books.

Yes! I am a Bhaibhand

When I was young I often heard my family boasting that we were Baibhands and they made strange remarks when talking about other sects such as Amils, Sahitis, Larkanas, Shikarpuris, and other such sects. For me, all that mattered was that we were all human and spoke a common language that compartmentalized us into Sindhi group. During my schooling years, my school friends often ridiculed Sindhis, criticizing their etiquettes and habits which were common in certain sect, and embarrassing to me, so much so that I often pretended that I was non-sindhi and was even shy to expose my ability of speaking perfect Sindhi.


To an outsider, it will be difficult to differentiate one Sindhi from another, but when we are in the inner circle, we do notice the difference in food, culture, dialect and sense of dressing. But one thing is common in all the Sindhi’s that they have emerged as winners. Most of the Sindhi families were displaced during the partition of India-Pakisthan war and were forced to give up their wealth and property and migrate as refugees. But hard work and will to survive with dignity has paid off and there are not many Sindhi beggars you might find today. That’s because Sindhis are very generous by nature and are willing to support their not-so-fortunate families.

Even before the partition, when all Sindhis lived in Sind, they had the same quality of camaraderie. Bhaibands never focused on education, and preferred to trade. In the days of the British, they sold some specially embroidered cloth pieces. Coming mainly from Hyderabad, Sindh, Sindhi workers specialized n the supply of local art and craft objects, referred to as ‘Sindhi work’ to the British and other Europeans in their homes. English men called those boys ‘Sindu workers’.

Generally, a boy of seventeen or so, among Bhaibands, went abroad for some time. That was called his first tour. When he finished his tour he came back to Hyderabad and was married. The husband left for foreign lands while the daughter-in-law was at the mercy of her mother-in-law! Daughters-in-law were sometimes not happy with this arrangement but this was compensated with huge stack of money checks that arrived regularly and enhanced their status in the society. (However, after Partition, the wife started leaving with her traveling in order to stay with him).

Bhaiband men went to different lands: Singapore, Hong Kong, Japan, Saigon, Jawa, Sumatra…even the remote corners of the world and did business. They suffered many difficulties. They had to learn the language of the place and eat food they didn’t like, but they learned the tricks of the trade! Most often, they established their own firm. They shared their knowledge with their own family members and encouraged them. The members of the firm were brothers or cousins only. Each member set up base in one country. The system of demand and supply used to send these members to different countries and lands in order to spread their network far and wide. Perfumes, cloth, almonds, pistachios, and such goods, bought cheap in one land were sold expensively in other lands and all the partners of the firm became rich!

In 1947, when the families were displaced, many of the Sindhi migrated to those places where they had done business initially before the partition. The concept of family life for many Sindhis living abroad underwent a change. Men, who had always worked for few years and then returned home, the idea of ‘returning home’, ceased to exist, more-over the business suffered and they had to start a life anew.

Bhaiband never like the idea of women working outside the home, but many women are normally involved and are encouraged to participate in family business, (if need be) to take care of their hubby’s biz in their absence.

Over the sixty years, life had changed. Bhaibands are more educated now and it is difficult to differentiate them from other sects. Youth of today don’t care much for diamonds and gaudy jewelry (which was the specialty of Bhaibands) and are easily adjusted to every country wherever they choose live in, adopting the culture and language of their adopted country. A Sindhi youth may not know his own Sindhi dialect, but is well versed in the foreign language, trading efficiently in whichever umbrella he chooses to be.

The adults too, foreseeing the erratic working hours and the hardship of the trade and business, encourage their children to take up the professional field, which is more secured and relaxing.

Although more and more Bhaibands are educated now, seeking the best educational degrees that money permits them, and pumps them up to enter the best professional stream.

Surprisingly young, educated Bhaiband still bounce back into the family business!

Here and There

My friend tells me that she wants to go out of Mumbai with me for few days. I am reminded of the last trip that we went out, and am thinking whether I should go for the next one with her, again?

"Where do you want to go?" I ask her wondering why she ever wants to go anywhere. During our last trip, all she wanted to do was eat, shop or sleep. She wasn’t very much interested in looking around. Our taste differs in every way, but she is just content to go out with me and my friends.

Not that I mind, actually I do like it, I do like to spend time with my friends, I like to talk of thing here and there, share some jokes and learn something from each other’s experiences, but what I like the most is the adventure of trying something new. When we go to a new place, I want to visit the museums, see the new culture, taste the local food, and meet the natives to talk about their common issues. There is certain kind of energy that creeps into my body during the trips out of station. I am able to adjust to all the unavoidable discomfort, but not she.

And, my main problem is the time factor. I am not an early bird. When I wake up, she has already finished her morning walk, had her bath and breakfast, is dressed tip-top from head to toe and is walking impatiently in the room, left, right, left, right, waiting for me to rise. Can’t blame her if she is tired by the time I am done with bath. I always skip the breakfast and we go out for lunch. I don’t like shopping and walking aimlessly, but she does.

What we do together is sit and chat till late nights, play some board games or other creative games, and laugh a lot. In the group of eight, if all are not same, we are not annoyed.

But is that the reason enough to plan the next trip???

What does 'Seva' mean to you?

When you get opportunity to do seva, are you proud? Does your ego get accelerated?

During my recent satsang meeting in January 2009 in Mumbai, this year, I saw many sevadars get frustrated when people asked for chairs? I heard one of the sevadhar shouting rudely at the devotee that she had no more chairs left and if the lady did not have ability to sit on the ground then she can very well stand in one corner for one full hour! And suddenly after ten minutes, I saw appearance of more chairs arriving when somebody known of better stature appear. Why was she lying?? Were there really no chair available (or ignorant?) or was she really frustrated with the crowd??

One of the finest qualities that one expects from a sevadar is the humility and patience.

Babaji gives special darshan to sevadhar and they are blessed, wouldn’t it be nice if they could reflect their blessings and services on more people who surround them and ask their help??

I agree, it is a tough job, arguing with the pushy ones, who want some comfort along with the discourse, but aren’t sevadhars aware of this?? How do they get so frustrated and yet are able to make things easy for people of their acquaintance?

Seva is unselfish service, full of devotion and care and if they are not able to show some empathy towards the devotees, they might as well do the seva which is easier and does not involve their emotions

Some people feel good by just donating the money, and not opt for physical seva. But I have noticed that they too worry about the benefits of their money-seva.

Once, a satsangi lady told Maharaj Ji that as she had no income of her own, she always asked her husband to give her some money for offering in seva. "Will this sewa ever benefit me? Does it have any value?"

Maharaji must have known the purpose of her seva then, He understood that people want benefits here too but, Maharaj Ji replied, "Yes if both of you are happy in giving this seva".

Maharaj Ji further explained this by giving an example of a satsangi with one leg who used to come during the bhandaras. "He used to come from the hills of Himachal, and was very poor. Just to save money to give in seva, he used to walk from his village in the hills to Dera, with the help of his crutches, covering a distance of over 75 miles.

"Once he was brought to me during 'money seva' by Mr Bolokani. He offered one rupee in seva.

"How can you value this seva? Is it not worth much more than the hundreds and thousands that the rich give?

"The value of seva is not in how much one offers, but in the feelings and love with which it is offered."

What Maharaji meant was that You do the seva (if you must) but without any selfish motives. Don’t think about the benefits, there is only one way to benefit from His grace, by obeying him and doing your bit of meditation to find Him.

Rest are all the choices that you make, if you feel that you have tolerance and patience to understand the needs of a devotee, then please continue to serve, we need you too…….

Shopper's Agony

She told me to meet her at Bandra, Hill road, the big shopping area of Mumbai. One month from now is her marriage and she has not yet purchased her wedding gown. We go to this boutique at Hill road. The sales girl switches on the shop lights and AC as we enter the store. In the times like these, salesgirls are instructed by their boss to sit in heat and dark unless the client enters the store. She is quite pleased with our entry, happy that she will have somebody to chat and enjoy few moments of light and cool air.

There are bright-colored-stone-sequined- clothes on the rack for display. There are brocade saris, salvar-suits, ghagra- cholis. I assure her that this store has reasonable rates and that other well-known designers with branded labels have crazy rates. She believes me and follows me as I sift through the clothes on the rack, one by one.

There are two dresses that she likes a lot. One is the Gagra choli and other is chooridar set. I ask her to try it onto know the fitting. She wants to know the price, its forty-two grand in INR. She is hesitant. She finds the futility of spending too much money for one-day wear. She prefers to save the cash for a rainy day instead. Maybe for a trip abroad? I tell her that she will be somebody special on that day and its one-day affair of her lifetime and she must look her best. She relents and picks up both the sets and enters the trial room.

She has well shaped body with just the right curves. Both the dresses suit her and do justice, the color and the style, both are perfect. But she finds the price is too expensive. I inform the salesgirl that we are undecided and would like to visit some more stores before we can narrow our search. The salesgirl understands our plight. She quotes her last price lowered by three more grand to guarantee our return. We exit.

We visit few more stores, still confused.

Facebook's colorful drama

Friday morning, while brushing teeth, I checked the mail on my facebook, and the chain mail from three of my friends, with a subject line ‘Cause’, caught my attention, it read:


‘We're playing a little game where every woman on Facebook will type the colour of the bra she is wearing today, (on your status) just the actual colour, nothing else. Forward this to women ONLY and let's see if the men can work out what our game is. Its also to raise the awareness of breast cancer’.

The mail was from my three dear friends and I couldn't ignore it (neva). I was hesitant at first, not wanting to disclose something in an open forum such as FB, but pretending to be on a beach made thing easier and my FB status flashed ‘Sky blue’ while warbling 'Girls just wanna have funn'....

Not sure whether it spread the breast cancer awareness, but it was very, very entertaining. Some of the colors flashed on my friend’s status were hard to believe. Dark purple? Deep red? Hawaian green? Electric blue? Leopard skin, nude? (were they all at the beach???) Teasers!! Interesting though!!. I started making a list of the colors to look for on my next shopping trip.

What was entertaining was the curiosity of men who were perplexed. Reading the updated message on color by one woman would not have bothered them but reading the same message on all the women made them uncomfortable. They squirmed and wriggled, longing to know the secret behind the colors. While they tried to decode the colors, women were having a field day, amused by their innocent comments. The status message such as “What a colorful day”,’ What’s with a women in black, white, yellow’ We cross-posted on our friend’s status teasing each other, with 'smiley', 'grin', 'ha-ha' as comments which made them curious even more, till some spy peeped into his spouse’s inbox to know the secret.

We knew that somebody has finally cracked the code when we read, “All plans to keep Facebook safe for the whole family are going bust” followed by ” Police in Iran are cracking down on Facebook activism today. Once their true colours are revealed, the guilty will not be let off the hook.” hmmn!

As the day progressed, more and more men discovered the secret and they played along, posting wittier messages and counter messages that only few understood, till some clumsy spoiler spilled the beans.

FB got flooded with drool…..

Men went back to the messages to get the drift. They fantasized, Googled for bra-images to match the colors, tweeted, how do they get excited by just the color of a garment?? come on, it's just a garment of support for 'do bichare, bina sahare...'

Then started the series of messages that spelled their fantasies, and I lost interest when jokes went too far and the messages started to get uglier and embarrassing…….ekdum nonsenshence.....

Ye kya ho raha hai??????

Babaji’s Visit to Mumbai in January 2010

Babaji – The Master, Gurinder Singh Dhillon - was in Mumbai this week. The satsang is held very far from the city, at Bhayander, and of million people attending the discourse, 75% of the people come to the venue in their own private transport. The place is well organized, with sufficient space to park the cars; there are separate lanes for cars, for buses and for trucks.

In the past, I have always gone by private transport, (in comfort, arriving just one hour before the satsang and occupying the most comfortable seat) but this year, I want to experience the common person’s way. I opted to travel by public transport and it was very inconvenient. Traveling by train in Mumbai is like being packed in a sausage can. There is not enough room for two feet; you get pushed back and forth at every station as the stream of crowd rushes in and out of the train. From Mira station to the bus stop, there was a long, slow walk of 15 minutes, people who had no patience to wait for the bus, walked for next 30 minutes through swamps and fields on a muddy road to reach the venue.

Having said that, after all that adventure at reaching the venue, listening to Babaji was a treat. Babaji spoke for just fifteen minutes in English and I was enthralled. He conveyed the message that mystics come with a purpose and it is very important for us to understand the difference between knowledge and comprehension. Knowledge is all around us and we can get it by every means. We can read a book, watch TV, and read newspaper and we get that knowledge. But what use is that knowledge to us if we cannot comprehend and put it to use? Just getting initiated is getting knowledge but we have to experience it, without experiencing it we cannot define it. If somebody is eating sugar and he tells you that sugar is sweet, how will you know what is sweet if you have never tasted it. To know the real taste, you have to taste it and experience it.

On this theme of knowledge and comprehension, I am reminded by one extract of Bhagwant Gita where it is mentioned - “Arjuna asks Krsna to reveal His splendour. Krsna gives him divine eyes with which he sees the universal Form. Arjuna is awestruck by this magnificent display. He bows down with folded hands and describes this spectacular vision.

Krsna then displays His raw power, all-devouring and fearful. Overcome with fear Arjuna asks Krsna to go back to His gentle form. Krsna shows His four-armed form, His gentle and gorgeous nature.

Krsna underscores the rare privilege earned by Arjuna. Even the gods long to see this form which cannot be seen by mere spiritual practices. But one who acts for Me, is devoted to Me and regards Me as supreme obtains Me.”

It is very important to reflect on the things that we learn, give it a thought and try to understand the true meaning of the concept, just attending endless satsangs on Sant Mat without our attention focused on the theme, will lead us to our own imaginary world.

Day accomplished, the browny point was the reward of darshan we received after the satsang when Babaji drove in his little golf car, passing through the lanes of seated devotees.

The sea of devotees headed towards canteen after satsang, which was very well organized by sevadhars, who served tasty batata-peas bhaji with bread and tea. I saw many people buy loads of bananas and biscuits to take home.

Returning back home was another nightmare, equally inconvenient. I promised myself that I would never take such trip again. I have a choice.

But what about the common person who has no choice

Uncrowned Glory

If I count the hair on my scalp, it will be exactly 25 feathers. This has been a topic of discussion with most of my friends and relatives. When they should be asking me about my well being, all they notice is my naked scalp. I wish I could hide it. I envy Muslim ladies who are able to cover their scalp with burqas…yeah it helps to save from embarrassment, also those 1950’s women, who wore beautiful hats to cover their scalps, ,but for me, there is no relief…I cannot wear burqa nor wear any hats (this might attract more traffic of stares on me) I have tried perms, adding curls to disguise my tresses but they have lost their luster over time and are even more straw’ey than ever before.


My recent visit to a hair salon brings me some hope. I like the oil massage and so very glad that such services are available now. (when my niece was a kid, she would regularly massage my hair, oiling it liberally and playing with my hair. I would enjoy her tiny finger in my hair) but, now that she is grown up, she would rather concentrate on her own hair. I have been regularly trying different salon to seek the best masseur. I think I have found it at last.

I went to this hair salon, on recommendation of my friend, who is concerned about my vanishing tresses. She fixed the appointment for me; therefore I am no stranger to them. The best of the clan volunteers to massage my scalp. Gently squeezing the cotton soaked in oil over my scalp, she covers my head with dripping oil. Massage is actually pressing of points, gently with her fingers, followed by gentle hammering with closed palms. I drifted off to sleep enjoying the pampering, awaken only when she moves away.

“Maam, I see you have very scanty hair” says the superintendent of the salon. (as if I don’t know)

“So, what do you suggest?” I say, hoping against hope that there is some remedy.

“We have solution if you are ready to take up the treatment” she says

“Really? And what that be?”

“First, you must come regularly, at least twice a week” (she is looking for steady clients, I am sure)

“I have come for hair massage, just need to oil my hair, get a good massage and leave it overnight. I shall wash it next day.”

“Oh no, no, you should never leave your hair oily and walk on the street. There is too much dust on the road that will harm your roots. Have you seen foreigners with oily hair?”

(As if foreigners oil their hair. I am not sure. Plan to enquire this quest on my next trip abroad.)

“We will give you hair pack of ‘curd with secret ingredients” (I have heard of face-pack, now what is this hair-pack? Who is this introducing new gimmick every time?)

“Okay and then?”

“Then massage and steaming, long procedure, maam, but sure-shot treatment, believe me; you will find the difference within one month”

Since my crowning glory has limited life, I decide to play along. Aar ya paar….

I confirm the treatments, lay back and relax…..

For another hour, there is massage, hair-pack, steaming, hair-wash and blow-dry.

Three hours of my precious time is lost in a salon which promises me a matted crown, but I am feeling good......

Hope it works. I have fixed the appointment for follow-up next week…..

Postcard from Ganpatipule

Just 375 kms away from Mumbai, and it’s a different world, in complete contrast from high-rise, polluted Mumbai, we enter a small village, serene, sedate, unspoiled, the magic land of virgin beaches, with 400 year old land mark- the Swayambhu Ganapati temple.

Being a holiday season, it was flooded with thousands of devotees and tourists. Moi and my group of eight friends added to this burden of population for three full days.......

Night time is the best time to travel by road, since there is less traffic and the ride is smooth, with the curvy roads giving pleasant swings at regular intervals. We started our journey at 10pm after our heavy meal and dozed off to sleep as soon as the bus revved its engine, only to open our eyes at twilight to watch the beautiful sun rise...... the scenery was beautiful, at some places we could touch the clouds as they floated through our windows....blinding our lens.... We drove through the narrow mud-roads, the earth dark red ....glistening in sunshine... and the roofed houses with clean courtyards that added quaint touch to the panorama. We passed the bridge to arrive at our destination of calm village of Ganpatipule....Yes we had arrived......after ten hours of journey by road...in time for hot breakfast and a cup of coffee........

After breakfast we headed towards the 'Swayambhu Ganapati temple' (Swayambhu means 'self-made', this is a temple of the self-originated idol, Ganapati). A long queue winding from the entrance through narrow bamboo barriers, snaked through the curves, three-folds and it took us more than sixty minutes to reach the idol. The temple here is very beautiful and recently it was renovated. Every year in the months of February and November the sunrays fall directly on the Ganpati idol....( I was told)..... one of persons in our group wanted to take a "Pradakshina" around the hill where the temple is located, she explained that 'Pradakshina' is a form of showing obeisance wherein the devotee walks in a circle around the idol of the lord or around the temple, the house of the lord, The pradakshina or the walk of 1 km is interestingly Ganapati Shaped. ..But I was already too tired walking through those paths within bamboos railings in queue,(of one hour) when we reached the temple, we were allowed only 30 seconds of the glimpse of the idol...."Chalo, Chalo, line bahut hai" said the pundit as he ushers us towards the exit....I wanted to look closely at the self-originated, idol of Ganapati, that is made of copper. .but look at him...shooing us away....not fair...

The rest of the evening we spend at the beach, watching the people in colorful (zakaas) clothes clearly surprising the foreigners, who are used to seeing people dressed in bikini and bare skin in their home town.....

Next day, we rented a private transport to tour around. We started our journey (after a heavy breakfast) at 9am to explore the other areas of the village..... I was attracted by the fountain that welcomed us at our first stop at Malgund village...Malgund village is the birthplace of the famous Marathi Poet Keshavsoot. (Have you heard about him??) He was born here in 1866. He is termed as a poet who heralded the dawn of modern Marathi poetry. The "Marathi Sahitya Parishad" (Marathi Literature Society) has constructed a beautiful monument called "Keshavsoot Smarak" in the memory of the great son-of-the soil. There was even an amphitheatre behind the house...He must have performed his poems in front of large crowd (I am sure) There is also a museum where you can find information on most of the modern day poets of Marathi language. The Memorial is a real treat for people who are interested in Marathi literature. Lucky poet, he had such a big house......I am thinking, thinking, thinking .. if I could invest some time on my poems.....maybe...??? On the second thought, it is understable with all these inspirations of plants, birds and trees...(I am sure if I had a house like that, I would be a famous poet too)..Who wouldn't be???

And traveling by roads is an experience by itself. The vast "Konkan" stretch abounds with scenic greenery..... Our next stop was 'Prachin kokan' an open air museum on a hill, showing our old culture, basically old customs of Konkan areas. The museum is spread over an area of 3 acres on a hillside. The museum was constructed by a 27 year old resident of Ganpatipule, (Vaibhav Sardesai). all the statues had great expressions, the path was quite hilly and steep and I needed support to climb those big, huge stone steps...Planners of this museum are quite insensitive...they didn't think of placing some railings on this hilly path...come on, everybody was uncomfortable walking through this hilly path.. having a railing makes life so much easier...I tell you...duh!!

There was a guide with us, who kept rambling (in Marathi) about the history of the statues ( giving me a headache). On the highest peak of this hilly museum, there was a store selling art stuff and my group (always crazy for shopping) give a good business to the store...which later they deposited with me in the sumo, since I was enjoying the privileged, bigger seat in the front, next to driver.... But truly, this open air museum was one of its kind....quite enjoyable......except for railings. .huff! huff!!

We continued our drive through Bhatye beach...that had silver white sand against deep blue waters.... Bhatya is a small village sited at a distance of 1 kms from Ratnagiri. The village is known for flat and straight 1.5 km long beach. The scene along the coastal region was amazing and I could not control clicking shots,( click, click, clicking the boats and the canals on the route..).till we finally reached 'Patit Pawan Mandir' at Pawas.. "Patit Pawan Mandir" is of importance here. It was the first temple built for the non-Brahmins by revolutionary leader, Swatantryaveer Savarkar. ..

Our next stop was the house where the freedom fighter Lokmanya Bal Gangadhar Tilak was born, and is now declared and maintained as a national monument He was born on 26th July 1856 in this house. It was Lokmanya Tilak who gave the slogan that "Self rule is my birth right and I will achieve it. Lokmanya Tilak stayed in the house till 1866. Although the rooms in the house were quite tiny, but, at the back of the house, there was a big open space, large enough for long walks or jogging...

So close to nature, such scenic rides....such clean streams....(unlike our Mithi river) and so much greenery and open space....there were no slums?? huh?? Why must we have all the slums only in Mumbai??? Why is the population of Maharastra not evenly spread out....??? Jobs can be created here too, tourist industry perhaps?? Hello? Is somebody listening???

Our next destination was the 'Thebaw Palace' Thebaw Palace was constructed in 1910 – 1911 when the king and Queen of Myanmar were dethroned and were exiled. They stayed here in the palace from 1911 till their death in 1916. The palace was built under the King’s supervision. The five years of their stay at the palace have been immortalized on the walls of their tombs. There were lots of carved artifacts What I liked was the design and architecture of this palace and the view behind the windows....built in such a way that sun rays filters through palace evenly... those steep wooden stairs leading to the courtyard....everything was so beautiful.... A constant debate is going between the government and private authorities to convert the palace into a regional museum and a heritage hotel.

Next we passed through the busy market place to stop for lunch.....It was 3pm and tummy was complaining.....and the smell of fresh fish was in the air.... after lunch we headed towards The Balla Fort, that is located on a hill by the sea shore.

The fort is constructed in the shape of half Circle like horseshoe. The fort is built on an area of 120 acres and is surrounded by sea from three sides. There is a light house constructed on the western end of the fort. ..We climb up the fort and visited the temple again, once more...The main part of the fort has a Devi Bhagwati temple. There is also a small tank and a deep well in the fort premises. During the Navratri’s a ten day festival is organized at the fort. ....

Next we reached the aquarium.. and 'The Seafood Processing Centre' at Mirya. ...tiredness was seeping in..... we talked with the fishes, although they had no proper etiquettes to stop and talk to us.... they happily swam behind their glass prison, the sea horses in the aquarium had company and were prohably preparing for some concert.... and my friend wanted a closer look....wanted a new friend....to meditate on.. And why not? she told me that you can meditate almost on everything ...just keep your mind blank and shut out the past and the future., just focus on present....I tried, but my mind is too wild and undisciplined...never pauses for a moment....arrgh!!

On our way back, we stopped at top of the hill before descending to Bhandarpule, to watch the sun set.

The next day was reserved for relaxing at the beach, having a note of thanks, getting to know each other, sharing views over the cup of coconut water....and playing some creative games The sun over our hotel 'Sukh Sagar Palace' (where we were staying) reminded us to pack our bags and return back to the rat race of our beloved Mumbai

..... ..till the next long week-end arrives.....and we will head towards a newer destination...once more....