Break the bones of Violence

At the age of 11 years, I had decided never to marry.

Mom told me that there is no true love in this world, it’s just all about compromise……”What you see in the movies is all myth,”, said mom, “ life is a long struggle of do’s and don’ts, and there is too much sadness and difficulties for a married woman. It’s better you study, be well-educated and make yourself independent, if you have enough money to support yourself, there is really no need to marry.” She said.

True that!

Over the years I have realized that if you have enough money, education and a firm belief in yourself, life for you is a better lot than those who have no faith in themselves, no spine to fight back and cannot respect themselves. If you decide to remain single, it’s not a curse at all but if you are married then you should learn to hold your reins of happiness.

And the stories that I have read over the week on ‘Violence towards women’ are very distressing too….and many-a-times I count my blessings on remaining single.

I am not sure how I would have dealt with this situation if I had to face one, but I do know that I am not likely to take shit from anyone....er..again I am not sure...

My point is not that you walk out of an abusive marriage but that you should not allow somebody to take advantage of you.

If he is taunting unnecessarily or randomly teasing you, it’s better to ignore him than to react, you don’t have to listen to his every complaint if you feel that he has ‘Middle-cast-mentality’. Fear is the main key of violence. When we show fear, we become subdued and that gives them greater pleasure in making him believe that he is powerful.

I am not a man-hater; in fact, I enjoy male company more than women’s company. I am not the type who enjoys discussing maid’s and children’s problems. I instead enjoy discussion on money and investments, life-styles and travel, movies and books and listening to lotsa jokes. I get along with all my male cousins, BIL’s, friend’s spouse and can talk endless on any topic with them, without being attracted to them or flirting with them. Some of them are abusive to their spouse (and I do voice my discomfort when they do so) but personally I feel they can be trained to behave themselves.

My point is that do not allow your spouse to abuse you under any circumstances, stand there firm and fix that problem.

Very easily said!!!!!

During this month of October, there is a campaign of ‘Violence Against Women Awareness Month’, that shouts “stand up, speak out, reach out”

I agree that every woman should be able to stand up and speak up for themselves but you cannot reach out to anybody else because nobody can help you except you, yourself.

Domestic violence rages in India, even against women of a new generation educated, capable of being financially independent, articulate. It rages because we allow it to.


Not that I have not tried to help people but many times I have heard them turn their back on me with statements like:

“You have never loved anyone that passionately, what do you know about love? Just little abuse is no reason to walk away, he loves me a lot and showers me with expensive gifts”

“You are single, you will never understand our problem, we can’t leave, this is our fate, we have learnt to compromise”

“If I will leave him, will you support me? No nah? Then leave me alone, you mind your own business or else I will tell my hubby”

“My family says to get a divorce and get the money then we will help you settle down, you have our full support”

“Actually he is very nice its only when my MIL or SIL interfere that he gets violent”

“Otherwise he is a gem, it’s only when he drunk that he becomes violent, I try to hide his bottles it’s my fault really”

Gem? He is violent only when he is drunk? But he drinks too much almost every day! No, my dear friend, it’s not your fault, you are supposed to hide those bottles or else help him see how his drinking is affecting you, but you won’t tell him that because you are living in fear, you are afraid that he will slap you.

Why didn’t you stop him the first time when he raised his hand on you? Why didn’t you stop him the first time he raised his voice over the silly mistake that you made?

That was the first time he tasted the blood of your cowardice and smacked his lips.

Women are not that weak as they are believed to be. When the abuse and torture exceeds the limitation of tolerance she is capable of doing drastic action.

“I want to show the women who are suffering that they are not weak. We are hard workers, we are strong. Women can do anything, and we can do it without men”

says Kiranjit Ahluwalia, on whose experience a film called “Provoked” starring Aishwaraya Rai as Kiranjit was made.

Yes, women are not weak and men are charming too, it’s the link that is delicate, if we wash our dirty linen in public there will be more complications than solutions. With understanding and proper communications, the problems can be ironed out.

Life is a very long journey, respecting each other’s needs is very important and if you can neither adjust, nor are you strong enough to change him, then stay single, it’s a bliss…..but only if you have a strong spine of your own.

Insensitive nah? How could I say that?

Well,.....er... The above opinion that I have is from the society that I have been exposed to, it is about the people who have walked out of marriage and then suffered at their parent’s home and have been coaxed to return back, These are the parents of high status who want to hush up everything. Parents of such women are not sure if their sibling will take care of them in future, and are not willing to help them settle until they get a divorce and bring back some alimony for themselves.

It is to these women that I say ‘don’t allow’ to be taken advantage of, stand firm and don’t allow abuse.

But I have realized that there is much too much pain out there, especially in middle and lower caste families, where people are brutally raped/tortured/ abused in the most inhuman way.


October is VAWAmonth and let me share their twitter links of VAWMonth and VAWAM where there is an open conversation about this issue. It is at their blogs at VAWMonth and BelBajoa that I have realized how very cruel life these women lead and how much help they need to come out of their pathetic situation and if you have capacity to help them, please help, it’s a day well-spent.

Tweet, Tweet and a Fairy Tale Weaves.

Image source for this picture

The story was ‘The fiery sun’ and before the team started; they decided that copyright would not belong to anybody.

I saw them weave their story on Twitter and was amazed at how the story was unfolding. Four tweeple (I was not sure if they knew each other- but I assumed they were friends) were tweeting a story. The story was for Pratham books that had enthralled the blogger world with their write-a-thon to celebrate the International girl child with ‘The upside down story’.

On the twitter, they had invited tweeple to create one story and Asmita had taken up this challenge.

She put up her tweet-request to make a team and like a relay, each one wrote 5-6 tweets and then passed on the writing baton to the next participant. Asmita kept track of the story with a handle #swpb (story writing for PrathamBooks) which she would collate and post it on her blog.

I was following the story and was very impressed with the talent out there, Ratna wrote:

I reached the tree, bent down to pick 1 stone. To my surprise, it wasn’t a stone at , but a tiny, ice-cold blob of sparkly jelly! I put it in my mouth – silly me? – and it melted instantly into a mouthful of delicious, cool coconut water. I quickly gobbled 20 mouthfuls till my thirst was gone. Then i lay down under tree – a cool, dark place that smelled faintly of vanilla & dreamed.

Although the story was expected to be completed in one day with 100 tweets, it tweeted on for three days. The participating tweeple came in their own free time and tweeted the story, passing on their writing baton to the next person after their turn. I had decided that I would give my feedback at the end of the story but the story was so amazing that I could not wait no more. I wanted to cheer all the writers whom I knew.

My twitter chat with Asmita

Me: Loved the way your story is shaping out

Asmita: Would you like to add to the story?

Me: Ah! I wish I had joined in earlier, now your story is in its last leg, no? It’s truly lovely and you are doing good

Asmita: Even if we are at end you can join up, continue the story or end it. It is a collaboration effort- no hard and fast rule to it.

Me: Thank you so much, I am so very tempted to join in but it doesn’t seem fair to me to butt in last minute – maybe next time.

I slept off after the chat but in the morning I had change of mind and decided to give it a try.

Me: On the second thought- maybe I should, it sounds fun, pass me the baton please. And I was in…..just for few tweets. I wrote:

I looked closely at the gold handle, turning it upside down, round and round, examining each part running my finger over it. It was smooth. Too smooth, what a strange handle? The picture of that delicious map has shown that it was attached to the tree but I couldn’t see any hook, how will it fit on the tree, and how do I find that tree? Maybe Jin might know. The animal-shaped plants had said that he helped everybody, maybe he is somewhere around.

“Jin, Jin, where are you there? Can you hear me? Please help me.”

I looked around waiting for Jin to appear. There was no sign of Jin. Silence everywhere except those faint distant sounds of ‘“tabala tabala hiri hiri boom” I kept the handle aside and then saw those pair of rose-colored spectacles. They looked so pretty and I tried them on, suddenly …

No, I couldn’t end the story…there was much too much excitement to it…I tweeted only as far as my images clicked into my mind (was still warming up) with just about 8-9 tweets only and passed on the writing baton to the next one….and before I realized the story had swirled around into such a beautiful story somersaulting my imagination.

I have memorized every scene. Now I wait to catch hold of a child, straddle him on my lap to relate this story..and experience the bliss of story telling

To read the full story, please click here

Dear Vodafone and Crossword, Do You Really Care…..??

When the event in a remote area where there is no proper restaurant in its vicinity, it is important to have a cafeteria where one can soak their dry lips.

Last week I was invited for Vodafone Crossword Book Awards 2011 by my friend, Dipti at NCPA.

Normally whenever I go for any event I always make sure that I have eaten enough so as to not crave for food but on that day, being a Ganpati festival, I went visiting few places before going for this event and didn’t get much time to eat. (I don’t call sweets and Prasad as food and sweets are normally No! No! I avoid sweets)

So, I was hungry.

The event began, with Lillete Dubey as the host, presenting the show. I started to rummage through my purse to find something to eat and found a small packet of dry fruits. Pleased that I had something to munch on, I watched the show.

The show was quite interesting, with the 7-year-old Keshav’s beautiful performance on tabla, (Remember Kehsav, the one who had performed at “Rhythms of India”, the opening event of the Commonwealth Games (CWC) opening ceremony?) He never fails to enthrall the audience.  This was followed by the poetry performance by his mom- Ms Gopika Dahanukar and then of course the main event itself –VodaphoneCrossword Awards 2011.

I earnestly wanted my friend Annie Zaide (who was nominated) to bag that 3 lakhs money prize for her non-fiction work ‘Known Turf’ but it was not to be and I was disappointed.

My hunger grew stronger.

Dipti and I walked outside the auditorium looking for a cafeteria. A big buffet table was set with neatly arranged tables and chairs but (wait a minute) ONLY FOR THEIR ESTEEMED GUESTS. The waiters walked in and out of the kitchen with shiny silver trays laden with exotic snacks and I looked on hungrily like a starving street child. I tried to enter the dining area but the volunteers blocked me, asking me for a white-dinner coupon. White-dinner-coupon? Huh? I looked into the invitation envelop, nopes..there is no such coupon! I have been discriminated!!! There was no food, neither a drop of a drink for a commoner like me. I had no idea that my invitation card did not have the dinner-coupon. I offered to pay for the dinner but they refused. I did see some of the ‘esteemed guests’ begging for dinner coupons for their ‘commoner’ friends but I was not about to beg for such invitations. 


This was too embarrassing for me.  

How much does the dinner cost anyways? huh?  If, considering that more than 20 lakhs have already been spent on this event (that includes prize money, auditorium booking, participants, publishers and readers) can’t they spend extra few pennies to make dinner available to all the attendees, those who remove time from their busy life and honor their show? After all its going to be common people who will give them business, isn't it? Of the 1000 people attending the show, there must have been only 100 commoners like me. Is it so expensive to cater to those too? Why so much stinginess on hospitality?

Dear Crossword and Vodaphone, Thank you very much!! This is what I would call penny wise, pound foolish!!!

It was late evening and I was too tired to go to any fancy restaurant, I just wanted to eat something to stop those restless hunger pangs. We decided to go to a vegetarian restaurant opposite Churchgate station. It was closed. We looked for another restaurant inside the station, it was closed too. We started to walk towards the train and on the platform there was a tiny, sleepy kiosk, selling wafers and snacks. I bought two Samosas for myself and I almost puked because of the stale oil.

Bad day indeed!

I had a noodles soup for dinner at home.

Good Indian Girl

My friend launches a new book called ‘The Bad Boy’s Guide to Good Indian Girl” and sends me the promo on U-tube.

While making this promo, she had asked me if I was a good Indian girl, but I couldn’t think of anything intelligent/dumb thing to say, in fact I was not even concentrating on the word ‘girl’. I was just thinking if I was a good Indian person. But this is a tricky question.

I do what I please; I had memorized 'Gita' page by page and have forgotten it too. I decided to my live according to the rules etched in my mind. Basic thing is to do what you think is right and not be influenced by other people’s opinions. If I were married, maybe (I repeat maybe) I would have looked after my lazy and pampered family too (their laziness would be the result of my pampering) because during my childhood I had seen my elders dote on their men and little boys in the family. By nature, I am calm, cheerful, although sometimes aggressive too, ( especially if the things don’t go to my liking) go on…judge me, Am I a good Indian girl? Who decides?

I have travelled around the world and met many girls from different walks of life.

Each individual’s personality is shaped with the respect to their environment that they have been raised into. Those from broken homes have different perspective to life. Many of them are abused in their childhood and they develop an aggressive behavior. The Indian girls who are raised in the foreign countries are more exposed to western culture. Although most of them belong to secured Indian family, many of them are confused lot. They cannot decide as to what are the right etiquettes that will be acceptable when they visit their family home in India. If wearing a saree and making a good cup of tea makes one a good Indian girl then they would be willing to learn that too. (In many Indian homes, it becomes mandatory to know the basics of cooking and outside food is strongly discouraged.)

Whenever NRI’s visit their cousins in India, they see the different culture. They discover that their cousins in India are more religious, (well, most of them) God fearing and do listen and respect their parents. They look after their grand-parents and maintain a special bond with their close relatives. They are caring and understanding and will happily nurse you if you are in distress. NRI cousins admire the Indian’s great tolerance and patience and their willingness to forgive easily

But does that mean that girls who are raised abroad are bad girls? Is having a mind of your own a bad option? What do the Indian girls think about their NRI cousins?

Indian cousins admire their NRI’s cousins and think them to be very fortunate. They accept their rudeness, their drinking and smoking habits, their late nights to the clubs, their freedom to talk to opposite sex without any inhibitions, their carefree attitudes. Although, one common question that every Indian girl will ask her NRI cousin is why do they need a tissue paper 24X7? Deep thought there! Personal care is the last option for every conservative girl. ‘Me first’ is a very selfish option.

While living in Spain I noticed that people are very friendly. There was no high or low caste/class. Every one greets other with equal jest and respect (unless they have personal issues).You can share stories/opinions with the taxi and bus drivers, with the electrician and carpenters, with store salesmen and their bosses. You could go alone to a coffee shop and start a conversation with a stranger.

Different people have different ideas and devise their own scale of judgment.

Most of us (in India) cannot or won’t express our feeling too openly, because we live in fear of being rejected, of being judged, of being branded as social outcast. We are kind and compassionate, even to those who hurt us, we pretend to forget and forgive, we keep a smile and move on, and we lead a double-faced life.

My friend posts a FB status that says “I'M A HANDFUL - unfortunately most women WON'T re-post this. I'm strong willed, independent, a bit outspoken, and I tell it like it is. I make mistakes, I am sometimes out of control and at times hard to handle but I love and give with all my heart. If you can't handle me at my worst then you sure don't deserve me at my best. If you are a HANDFUL, re-post! I dare you..I'll be looking for the ladies who re-post”

I asked her “Are you a good Indian girl?’ and she replies “not a chance..not even trying.” And I am set thinking if the above status makes you very un-Indian?

I am still searching the meaning of a ‘Good Indian Girl’. Maybe a good Indian boy could answer that…………..

Birthday Party of One-year-old

 9th of August, I am invited for the children party at 5pm and I decide to go. And why not? The kid is my sister’s grandson, who is celebrating his first birthday.

I reach his house on the dot of 5pm (thinking that rightfully children's party should be betwen 5pm to 7pm) but the kid is still in his nappy’s. His birthday suit was brought the last minute and his pants were long, so his mom had gone back to the shore to do some alteration. He is dressed in his new shirt and a nappy. Cute!

“Happy Birthday dearest Hirankh” I say handing him his birthday gift. He slaps the gift few times and then throws it aside. (what does he care if I braved the heavy rains and spend thirty full minutes at a toy store searching an approriate gift which is educational and musical, quite suitable for his age- a musical tea-set which sings different rhymes every time you pour out the content from the kettle into the cups)

“Won’t you open the gift and see what I got you” I say, he looks at me and grins,takes another small plastic toy and stuffs it in his mouth. He just has two teeth up and two teeth down and he is always putting things in his mouth.(to stop the itching perhaps)

 
I start to sing a nursery rhyme, “twinkle, twinkle, little star…” he gets interested. I have been singing this same poem since last six months with actions and now he had learnt to recognize it and imitates my gestures for this poem.

 
I feel good that he is responding and want to sing more nursery rhymes, but the little master with short attention span, soon he is bored and shifts his attention to more plastic toys to stuff into his mouth.

His mom returns from the store and dresses him up and he is ready for his friends. He crawls to the hall which is decorated with lots of baloons and streamers.
 

His first guest, a 14-months-old, arrives at 6pm, one hour late. A loud music to full volume is played and both the kids shake heads and hands as they sit opposite each other.

Soon more friends arrive, all under five-years old. All shy at first, hiding behind their mom’s legs but with little nudging they start to smile and are attracted by the basket full of toys kept in the middle of the room.
 

Hirankh loves kids and he is gurgling and babbling, happy to be amongst so many kids around him. He rolls on the floor, tries to stand up, falls, stands up again, shakes his head and enjoys the music. They play with soft toys, kicking ball, squeezing the noisy toys and jumping on a bean bag. The care-takers stand at a small distance, alert, watching the kids while mothers discuss the likes and dislikes of their children.

Potato wafers and smiley-shaped snacks are served and all kids move to the centre table, nibbling the wafers and dropping some on the floor. Its 7pm and the party has just begun.

The party goes on till 8 pm when the birthday baby cuts the cake.

This was a fun party where I enjoyed one-year-olds interacting with each other…….

“Dare to Dream” I am Kalam

Children are the best performers and there is no doubt about that. They have the sincerity and powerful expressions that bring life even to a dull story.

This week I received an invitation from Smile Foundation for the preview of the film “I am Kalam”

Smile Foundation is the NGO that believes that the desired changes in the lives of underprivileged children will come only when more and more privileged people start participating proactively in finding a solution. The Foundation also believes that the only way to ensure a better future for these children is by educating them.

Keeping that vision in mind, the central theme behind the film “I am Kalam” focuses on need for education to change the destiny for a better tomorrow with the powerful message of ‘Dare to dream’.

The film is set in the remote area of Bikaner, Rajasthan and shows the brighter side of India. For once there are no slums, helplessness and poverty or any other negative aspects of India. It was pleasant to watch the colorful and ethnic beauty of Rajasthan. The folk music added the glamour to the film. I loved the scene where different musicians from different culture strike a chord on different instruments and produce a striking harmony at the road-side dhabba

There was no moment of boredom as the story progressed, although its more of a fairy tale about the friendship between prince with a commoner, each one happy in the other’s company, learning and exchanging knowledge while the adults unaware about their friendship. The poor friend conveniently climbs up to tree and sneaks into the prince’s bedroom to play with his toys and Prince too, sneaks out on the streets and learns to climb trees and sit by the lake without the knowledge of his conservative family.

The scene that impressed me the most was when Chottu (Harsh Mayer) goes to the hotel delivering tea, seated on a camel and peeping through windows, asking “Want tea madam?” The part of the palace is converted into a heritage hotel, but has no in-house kitchen and has to depend on Dhabba for their daily meals and tea. (lucky Dhabba has no competition)

Nevertheless, it still amuses with its witty dialogues and sparkling cinematography which makes the film a visual treat.

'I am Kalam' celebrates the survival of a human spirit and has a ‘feel good’ factor, it's simple and yet quite moving.

Clubbing in the City

Don’t know if there is age for everything and if you do something unusual it might seem odd to the public,so much so that they might raise objection, might even go into their judgement mode awarding you with an odd dunce cap because the rule is that discos and loud music is for youngsters, temples or walking by the sea-shore is for oldies and for middle-age there is coffee shop, gossip and theatre.

But all my life I have followed no pattern whatsoever and have done whatever the opportunities have provided me at that time and I have never felt like a bull in the crockery shop in any of these instance and of course, not worn the dunce cap either because of my ability to fit into every group and change my colors matching the company.

Therefore last late evening when my nephew asked if I would like to go with his group of cousins and friends for a drink to a club, I found nothing odd about that.

As we entered the Trilogy Club at SeaPrincess after dinner, it was alive with loud music, so loud that I almost turned 180 degree to return back, but the décor inside the club distracted me and I wanted to experience the ambience.

There were too many bouncers dressed in black inside the club, who guided every body with their laser-torch, they were highly alert, stood at their specific post with their eyes surfing the crowd and later I discovered their usefulness when the crowd got rowdy and somewhere, somebody was playing with a gun and he had to be quietly escorted out of the club. The matter was resolved so silently that those busy with dancing didn't notice the fuss.

There were a group of people at the bar enjoying their drink, and there was a separate area for smoking. We walked upstairs to the dance floor. Everybody who entered the dance floor walked in with their shaky butt. I took a high bar stool and perched myself on it to watch the people dance. The music was loud and instrumental but not the type that I am used to hearing. The type of music that I used to like was those of BoneyM and TinaTurner and more recently MariahCarrie but this 'Baysurri' music was beyond my understanding. The instrumental music was screeching from the juke box, slow at first and then to higher crescendo mixed with the rhythm of drums. The thousand bulbs twinkled with the music in orderly manner creating the chain of dancing lights.

My nephew got me Margarita that had an icing of salt-dust at the rim of the cup. I normally don’t drink but one sip of Margarita was quite refreshing. I watched people dance, some of them lost to the music, swirling their body, shaking from top to bottom, as if struck with an electrical shock, others imitated the MichealJackson/Mithun/SalmanKhan dance steps while some just shook one part of the body, just their arms like trafficPoliceman, or the pose of dancing Cobra, but most of them were in Nirvana under the influence of music, stuck to their own group of friends occupying only a small area of the crowded dance floor. I sat there feeling the vibration of the loud music on my finger tips as my hands clutched around my handbag and some time later, I was tapping my feet too. Most of the young girls were dressed in halters and short skirts while boys in loose jeans that kept slipping from their waist, at every pause in the music there were hugging session, boys-girls, girls-girls, boys-boys.....and a sip from their drink.

I was still sipping Margarita, when my nephew brought another drink, Jaeger bomb, in a tiny glass. I was hoping I don’t get too tipsy or else people might have to carry me home but the drinks were so very delicious that I had to use a strong will power to stop myself from drinking too much.

The rule in Mumbai says that all parties must end by 1:30am and thus, much to my relief it was time to go home.

You are Invited For a Tea Ceremony

If you come and spend a day with me, we will chat a lot, you can talk, I will listen, if you like a game of scrabble, we could do that too and in-between our usual activities we will have tea ceremony.

What say you, will that do?

Well, you may ask me what is this tea ceremony and how do I know about this? So let me begin to tell you that I just attended a talk by noted tea connoisseur ‘Radhika Batra’ who educated me on how to soothe my senses by refreshing and aromatic tea ceremony.

Did I tell you that I am regular at Nature Basket and I seem to be shopping for all my groceries from this store that includes sauces n cheese n those exotic stuff. So, this month my shopping coincided with this talk-show on tea ceremony and I walked into the wine section of this store, where normally all that food talk takes place.

The table was laden with fancy teacups and tea-kettles, different types of tea jars and bottles of spices like rosemary leaves, thyme and cloves, lime and cinnamons.

Now normally when people visit me, I just give them a Indian cutting chai, a black variety cooked on the gas with milk and sugar and the conversation is never about tea, I mean what can we discuss about ordinary tea making? We have been having our cup of tea from childhood with no extra fuss except to crib sometimes about the quantity of milk or sugar..

Every country has its own traditions and customs in serving tea  Like for example:

The samovar, a symbol of tradition, is used to brew tea in Russia. At the base of the samovar, a charcoal fire burns, and a metal pipe runs up inside the container to heat the water. Tea leaves are infused in a concentrated form in a small teapot that rests on top of the samovar. Water dispensed from the copper vessel is mixed with the strong tea to create a hearty drink that is often served with sugar cubes that are held in the mouth while drinking. In Iran and Turkey, the Russian samovar is used for special occasions and holidays.

But this time I have decided to make some fuss over you if you visit me. I will have a tea ceremony with you and that means we will have the ritual of tea five times a day, yes! You heard me right, it’s a tea ceremony remember?

Early morning we can have ‘Longjing Chinese Green’ tea. All we need is hot water and patience. Just one teaspoon of green tea with hot water, and we keep it for brewing for five minutes and it’s done. This tea I always order in the Chinese restaurant after meals; it washes down the grease form the food. But when you visit me, we shall have this green tea to start the day.

Now you may ask me what is this Longjing tea? This is one of the purest and most popular green tea mainly from the mountain lakes of Hangzhou in China. These pan fried leaves give out a pale yellow liqueur and as you sip it, you get a slightly sweet cherry blossom aroma.

At noon we shall have mid-morning blue, a Darjeeling Black tea. We shall brew one spoon of black tea with lemon and cloves. If you like thyme or rosemary flavors, we could do that too. Black tea is best brewed in a kettle instead of on stove. Since these are plantation fresh, the same leaves can be brewed twice. I could even flavor this black tea with tulsi and ginger or cardamom and cinnamon.

After lunch around 2 pm, we could have mid-eastern infusion, a ‘Barush Flower’ tea.. This will not contain any real tea leaves but it will be made from the potpourri of flowers and herbs. I love this tea because of the sweet aroma of different flowers. Hhmmmn..deep breath..Nirvana! This middle-eastern flower blend is bedecked with colorful flecks of dried flower petals of Rose, Chyrusanthanam, Marigold, jasmine.

During evening we could have oolong Shanghai style, the champagne of tea. We could swirl this with cinnamon sticks or Vanilla pods to get that fragrant whiff. You will love the toasty sweetness.

And late evening we could have the fruity lovers’ tea, which is simply from mixture of fresh and dried fruits.

Imagine the VIP treatment you will get if you visit me on the days when I am in that mood of hosting a tea ceremony…you can enjoy the tea all day but just let me win each game of scrabble, one after the other, without getting annoyed each time you lose….hehehehe….want to come?

Enter Mumbai at your own risk- This is a twilight zone

It had been a long and tiring day and I was returning home by AC bus. It was raining heavily outside, but I was comfortable by the window seat. Having skipped my lunch, I was thinking of ordering delicious dinner from KFC as soon as I reached home. The thought of dinner delighted me; I shut my eyes and listened to the music plugged to my ears. Periodically I opened my eyes to look at the woman sitting opposite me. I started to admire the henna tattooed on her hands as she finger-chatted on her Blackberry; I was tempted to remove a picture of her decorated doodled hands curled around the mobile, it made beautiful composition, but was not sure if I could. What if she was annoyed? What if she snatched my camera? I put away my thought back into my sleeve and continued to enjoy the conversation and the music on FM radio.


Suddenly I was distracted by the conversation on radio. The speaker off-handed mentioned that there had been a blast somewhere in Mumbai and said not to panic, it could be just a rumor but he would report as soon as he got some more information. I was not sure if I had heard him right because the very next moment the music continued to play. I look around in the bus to see if anybody else was listening to the radio. The woman opposite me was continuously talking on the phone. I put off the radio and went online on my BB. There was much activity on twitter and they all were talking about serial bomb blasts. I let out a soft scream “Oh my God!, there had been a Bomb Blast” The woman opposite me heard me and started a conversation with me. She informed me that she too had received a call from her family and that there have been three blasts in the gap of ten minutes, “Dadar kabootarkhana, Opera house Panchratanna and JaveriBhazar” the three most crowded areas of Mumbai.

She made few more calls to her family members and to her children asking them to stay indoors and that she was on her way. It had stopped raining but there was too much traffic jam. I started receiving messages and SMSs from my family and friends inquiring about my safety and asking me to call them back when I reached home.

I reached home, safe and secure, ordered dinner and sat down to watch the news on TV.

That’s when the pain sets in.

Helpless Mumbaikars stranded on the roads, with no clue of what they had wronged. The news spoke of the bomb blasts at the crowded areas, about injured people being rushed off to hospitals, some limbs chopped into pieces flown into different directions, and angry people on the streets. The whole stretch of road was bloody. The bomb blast was triggered by a timer and nobody had seen it implanted there? On crowded streets of Mumbai, nobody had noticed the bomb being implanted on a scooter at Javeri Bazar, on the top of the bus-stop at Opera house or under the tiles on the road at Dadar. People went on with their business unaware of the danger being built up and terrorist were successful in their destructive and inhuman act.

Over the years, say many analysts, the state's authority has been eroded as a nexus of greedy politicians; a thriving underworld, unscrupulous property developers and a discredited police force seem to have been ruling the roost, undermining institutions. The most commonly peddled narrative is that by attacking its much touted financial and entertainment capital, you deal a body blow to India and get global media attention. Source

 From TV news to FB discussions to Twitterati, all had the same voice -tones of anger and disgust of not doing enough to make Mumbai a safer place, or being subjected to repeated attacks  and cry for help to find some solutions.

I was really touched by Mumbaikar’s unity last night, people were offering their house to stay to those stranded on road, offering lifts in their empty cars, tweeting away to offer their help, while the telephone lines were jammed there was lots of activity at twitterati.

Within 30 minutes of the explosions, twiteratti began circulating a Google spreadsheet with important numbers and information. As time went by people who wished to help, (be it by providing transport or a place to stay, by making calls/finding out information on behalf of people or by providing blood) began adding their names and contact details to the list. The hashtags #here2help and #needhelp began trending in India, with other twitter users trying to match requests for help with offers to help in various areas. Others trawled the #here2help tweet stream and updated the Google spreadsheet. Source

Even the Bollywood industry expressed their grief on twitter reaching out to people in distress.

While the officials tried to figure out who is behind these blasts, the life goes on, and today is the another day, its raining heavily again, people are back to work commuting in crowded trains, although they are not sure this time if they will return home safely at the end of the day, life move on. School going children are interviewed randomly and into the camera they scream “We are not afraid, we are not afraid at all….” although the fear rings in undertones behind every smiling face.

The Unplanned Sunday Afternoon

This Sunday was not the day what I had planned to do. I had not planned to go out with the family to soak in the sunshine and visit the nature behind man-made blot. It just happened.

I was sitting with my cousin late night, chatting away, when one of her friend suggested that he take her out for a picnic to Lonavala, ‘Aamby valley’, he said and my antenna shot up to 20 feet, now I have wanted to see this town since a long time but somehow, it has never worked out therefore I decided to tag along if ever such picnic was to take place.

“Can I come along Didi, please?” I said and she smiled gently not confirming if we were to take this trip.

“We will decide in the morning, go to sleep now.” she said

I got up much early than my usual time. 6am is not the time I would opt to wake up on any day, and especially not on Sunday, but then this was not to be an ordinary day.

By 8am, the house was bustling with energy, more than 25 people showed up. We huddled into four cars and started our journey towards Lonavala.

Rainy season is the best time to make a trip to this place which is at the altitude of 620 m above sea level .The hills sing a melodious tune with waterfalls churning out through layers of rocks. Different shades of greens add sparkle to the landscape.

Our first stop was to Naryani Dham which is nestled in the valley. This temple with sparkling ivory white marble had carving even on the roof. The idols of Gods were decked with finest jewelry and brocade clothes that reflected rainbow hues when the lights of the chandeliers and spot lights were focused on them. The spotless and shiny walls had beautifully carved windows in marble. On the ceiling were the paintings of Krishna in his large chariot. Some beautiful designed motifs of colored stones, glass and mirrors decorated the entire upper walls. The building was still under construction, the railing of craved marble was being installed for support. I struggled to walk up the stairs and the volunteer stretched his hand to offer me the support and informed me that there was a separate lift to go up too. It was a cloudy day, as we emerged from the temple, we saw children enjoying the garden equipments and we were tempted too to enjoy a swing or two. We walked down the path which had water fountains along the way till we reached a bigger building which had 60 rooms with attached bathrooms for weary travelers. There were some cottages too behind the temple for people who would like to enjoy the nature for more than one day.   

After a short visit to this Dham we drove through the winding roads, into the deep narrow lanes which opened up into the vast plains and high up on the hill was the Shiva temple.My cousin is the devotee of Lord Shiva and I could see the glow in her eyes as we approached this temple. This was a carved stone structure, well maintained, which had a large black Shiv-ling dominating the centre of the dark room.  There was a  three-forked trishul and dumroo on one side of the black stone Ling. A beautifully carved metal pot hung from the ceiling which had the tiny aperture to the base of the pot. When the devotee poured water into the pot, it dripped drop by drop on the Ling bathing it. They offered rice and vermillion and sprinkled some flower petals on it. Then they sat down with eyes close seeking blessing. A pundit sat there guiding the devotees to the proper way to pray and offereing prasad to every devotee.

 

Next was our program to go to Aamby valley. We had only 8 passes to go to restricted Aamby valley, where one can go only by invitation, so while the rest of the group headed home, only eight of us drove through Bhushi dam and Tiger’s leap to the other side of the hills to reach the Aamby Valley.

 

Aamby valley is the man-made town in the midst of the hills. The architecture and design is worth the visit. The place is well maintained with manicured gardens and proper roads. This is the lonely town, where streets are empty, the privileged few who drove down the streets were crazy, perched on the roof-top or protruding half the body out of the window in the speeding car. At the lake, where we went for the boat ride, there was a loud music where the youngsters danced while waiting for a boat ride. The gardens and side-walks were continuously preened by local gardeners.

This is the town where greenery is restored in its virgin form, with the waters running through its soul, birds chirping freely and flowers have freedom to bloom

In Transit at Frankfurt

When making long distance travel, the biggest hurdle is when there is overnight stay between the flights. Staying with a family is unnecessarily inconveniencing them and even though they are family, it is not my style to trouble them for pick-up from airport just for one night. Checking into the expensive hotels is the added expenditure, which is quite a waste if you do not enjoy the privilege of touring the place and the third option of spending the long night at the airport is draining off your energy with sleepless nights. Waiting in transit is no fun at all. I have tried all three and have not been happy with any of those options.

But, only once I remember, some few years ago, during my transit at Frankfurt, from Tenerife to Mumbai, it was a pleasant stay. There are thousands of hotels in Frankfurt and some at very reasonable rates, but when I am travelling alone, I am always scared to go to an unknown place in a strange city and that is why when my travel agent suggested that I stay with a family for a night with just € 60, I grabbed this opportunity.

I paid € 60 to my travel agent in Tenerife and I was told that the man in charge would come to pick me up from the airport. I arrived at Frankfurt airport at 5pm, not knowing whom to expect. One gentleman in late 60’s approached me and introduced himself as Mr. Advani. Most of my luggage was offloaded directly to Mumbai from Tenerife, so I had only a small hand-carry which he helped me carry to his car.

He drove me through the city, pointing out to important monuments on the street on route to his house. After an hour’s drive we reached his house where his wife gave me a warm welcome. They had a small apartment 3BHK and there were three more men in the room who were there to spend a night. Mrs. Advani offered me a cup of tea and asked me if I wanted to go for a drive with her to the supermarket. I went along, not wanting to sit with strangers in the room. On the way to the supermarket, I learnt that they had grown up children who had moved out and they were bored till they found this hospitality business of accommodating the transit passengers. Everyday, they had visitors from different parts of the world whom her hubby had to pick and drop them back to the airport and the woman cooked the meals for their guests. She also had a garment store in town which was not doing so well.

By the time, we returned from the supermarket, we were friends. I went to the kitchen with her and together we cooked meals. (not that she asked my help, but I cannot sit idle if somebody is busy) Unfortunately, she had no helper at home, so besides helping her with cooking, I also helped her wash dishes and set the table. She was quick and efficient and within one hour, the dinning table was set with proper meals of Dhal, Rice, one vegetable, salad and snacks. The men were deep in conversation, sharing jokes and anecdotes, and when we entered the room, they included us into their conversation. They had Indian channels on TV but nobody was watching that.

The time passed quickly for us and also for that old couple who would have been lonely otherwise, but they were happy to hear our rant and it made them feel alive having found an audience to share their stories. They didn’t miss their family or their children who had moved out to the sunnier sides, they were happy that they were doing something worthwhile for themselves; they were offering a safe haven to the lone travelers. It was only for one night for us, but for them tomorrow would be another day with different set of transit passengers.

Since I was the only women in the group, she offered me a private room, which I could lock from inside while the other men shared the next room. Early next morning, after a hot cup of tea, Mr. Advani dropped me back to the airport just one hour before my departure time.

It was the most memorable and safe one-night stay in transit at Frankfurt.

Wooden Cane

Wooden cane carved from a single bambool stick

Thursday Challenge _ Wooden

EAT, European Art of Taste – Cookery Demonstration

When the table is set with your assorted favorite ingredients such as cheese, pasta, wine and olive oil, and if you wait long enough, you will be served Italian food and that too all free, because this is the Italian food festival presented by ‘European Art of Taste’  and you are their special guest.

When I got the invitation to attend the rich and savory cooking demonstration of Italian Food at ‘Nature Basket’,  Bandra,  I jumped to this opportunity, arriving 30 minutes before the demonstration was to begin. The Chef, Angelo Francini, a friendly young man was only too pleased to share his art, educating me about this program that is supported by the European Union and the Italian Government that aims to promote their products like pasta, cheese, sauces and wine into the Indian market with the promise that it guarantees quality, authenticity and the safety of the products.

The stage for demonstration was set in the inner area of the store, with one table laden with all the products like pasta of ‘Barilla’, extra virgin olive oil of brand ‘Monini’, Provolone cheese of certified origin (Valpadana) and assorted wine and pasta sauces. The main demonstration table was laden with all the ingredients that he would need, plus electric stove and microwave.

Within half an hour, the room was full of curious chefs/housewives/regular shoppers/photographers, all eager to pick up some culinary tips and give in their expert comments.

The demonstration started with what I would call it an ‘Italian salad’. (The Chef called it ‘Panzanella di verdure con bruschetta all’olio extra vergine di olive).

In a big plastic bowl, he mixed all the freshly chopped vegetables like carrots, celery, cucumber, bell peppers, fresh red tomatoes, rocket leaves. He roasted the chopped cubes of bread and added to the mixture. Added salt, pepper, olive oil and vinegar and it was now our turn to taste. The rich taste of olive into the mixture of veggies gave it a buttery sweet and sour taste and I was hungry for more.

The next dish was (Penne all’arrabbiata) he cooked on the electric twin-stove, boiling pasta on one stove and cooking the tomato sauce on the other. He added garlic, parsley, salt and pepper to the hot olive oil, mixed it and added tomato puree. After cooking for seven minutes, he added boiled pasta, and tossed them, mixing it well. Then added grated provolone valpadana cheese and then came the best part……Yes!!....You guessed it right….tasting! The tangy taste of tomato blended well with pastas, but I found pasta a wee bit hard, I normally prefer pastas to be softer and slippery.(so slippery that the minute they touch my lips, they go sliding down my throat, leaving behind the tangy taste)

The heat was slowly building up as vapors escaped from the pots and the sweet aroma of garlic and tomatoes flooded the room. Smacking our lips, we looked hungrily as he prepared the chicken dish; the small chunks of chicken breast, previously marinated with dry herbs for more than seven hours. He cooked the marinated chicken chunks in olive oil, seasoning it with salt and pepper and added eggplant (that was previously cooked with garlic and parsley), cooked them till chicken was tender and later garnished it with the cheese. The cooked eggplant, the melted stringy cheese and the chicken was good combination and was quite delightful to taste. The chicken was very tender and tasty although there were no chilies at all. (now, being an Indian, chilies is must for me otherwise I call this ‘phika’)

While he cooked on electric stove, his assistant baked in micro-oven some more dishes, there was toast (pancetta) with cheese topping, soaking in olive oil, and chicken topped with cooked eggplant and cheese too. And yes, one more thing, the finger food (they had forgotten to give as a welcome warm-up) made of baby-tomatoes, basil leaves and cheese on a tooth pick was the sudden but pleasant intrusion.

It was a grand feast, all in succession, one after the other; I was finding it difficult to concentrate on his cooking, so busy was I in eating (I mean ….tasting). I would have appreciated an additional glass of wine or a cup of coffee ….maybe that thought did not cross their mind....or…maybe….er…. wine is expensive? Ah well!!! But never mind

It was a fun evening and fully satiated, I walked down the narrow corridors of ‘Nature Basket' super market to pick up some of those Italian delicacies to be able to try few for my guests, who would appreciate this light meal with their evening cup of tea..

Oh yeah! One more thing!! I was happy because each one of us received one complimentary gift that contained apron, one badge, one booklet on ‘Guide to tasting and understanding ‘Extra Virgin Olive Oil’, and two chapbooks of Italian recipes.

*Look, can you see me boasting now?

Royal Massage on a Lazy Afternoon

Walking for two hours on a dusty road can be tiresome especially when the scenery around you is all shoes and clothes, sea of perspiring people and the noisy traffic. It is at such moments that a visit to an air-conditioned mall can bring relief (even if it is only for a short visit to the loo). My feet are soaring and I spot 'Sabal', a foot massage parlor. I am reminded of my last visit to Bangkok, when at every opportunity we jumped for foot massage and it used to be such a relief. Late at night, my cousins and I, after shopping and dinner would head to the nearest massage parlour to pamper ourselves. Just for 300 Bhats, we would sit side by side, next to each other, on the smooth reclining chairs, behind the glass windows and get some relaxing massages. It used to be such a pleasure as we floated on our feet on our way back home.


I decide to try this one in the Link mall at Bandra.

The receptionist sitting outside the parlor hands me the various types of foot-massage on offer. There are four different kinds and she advises me to go for herbal massage. Since I have tried none before I opt for her choice.

I enter the dimly lit room that has a strong aroma of lemon grass. There are perfumed candles everywhere and one big picture of Buddha dominates the wall under warm spotlights. After a cold glass of water, I am led to the reclining sofa with cushions tucked behind my back. There are several girls in the room but they all look alike, same narrow slit eyes, long face, large forehead and nod with a smile. How do they recognize one Thai girl from another? Anyways, even in Bangkok I am confused when I see so many people of similar features. One with the crinkly eyes comes closer with a hot tub of water, containing some flower petals. She washes my dirty feet and I apologize. In India we wash the feet of the spiritual gurus, and I pretend I am the one. She smiles, maybe she is used to many, more such dirty feet walking into her parlor. She wipes my feet with warm towel and gently lifts them over a small stool. I stretch my feet and close my eyes. There is a soft, soothing piano music in the background. I am drifted to ether world. Wow! Such is the life!

The masseuse brings a tray of different herbal oils. She pour oil into her palm, rubs the oil between her palms and with circular motion she massages my feet, calves, knees and toes. I remind her to be a bit careful because I am afraid of wrong pressure on my nerves but she is proficient and works very efficiently. It is very relaxing and I take in deep breath (having learnt on TV channels that when we have nothing to do, we can utilize that time with breathing exercises, breathes in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.....) I feel her kneading my muscles with her knuckles, and then with finger tips and nails pressing on pressure points. When she starts her massage with blunt roller, I squint to see that blunt object but feel too drowsy to keep my eyes open. I drift back to sleep enjoying the soft music and pleasure of the warm tingling sensation on my feet. Suddenly there is a warm steaming rub under my feet. I cringe. The room is now filled with vapors and the scent of lemon grass is strong. This time I am curious to see the source of the vapors. I see a tub containing hot steaming oil on her side. She had a small muslin potli filled with lemon grass leaves. She dips this potli in the hot lemon seed oil and presses it lightly on my skin.

I am amused and started to converse with her, thanking her for the nice treatment. She asks me to visit her more often, explaining that it is good for circulation of the blood and in keeping oneself healthy. She talks about her life in India and tells me that everything that she used during the massage was imported from Bangkok. Her boss is an Indian married to a Thai woman. They have two outlets in Mumbai, one at Bandra and other at Infinity mall in Varsova. There are seven reclining chairs at Bandra branch spread over two levels. I did not see other clients and I was the only one, alone during my visit. Maybe it is expensive. For my foot herbal massage, it cost me Rs1500, if I were to ask the masseur to come home, they normally charge Rs150 for body massage. But then I think we pay here for the ambience and the feel good factor.

After the foot massage, I am asked to sit on lower stool and she gives me back and head massage, stretching my arms backwards and sideways and finally ended with massage on my arms, shoulders and fingers.

I was just thinking of visiting a natural ice-cream parlour across the street, post massage, when she entered again with the tray of fresh fruits (grapes, kiwi and apple) and a cup of hot ginger tea.

Light and refreshed I felt like a royalty in the kingdom of my own..

Corruption - Root of all Evil

During my growing up days, getting admission in colleges was easy. We neither involved our parents in our admission formalities nor in selecting a college for us. The only criterion that was important was high percentage or a wee bit of friendly influence. I don’t remember paying anything extra than just fees which was affordable. Some of my friends were undecided in choosing their career and would hop from one college to another over the period of four years and after graduation, would choose a completely different line. Some were successful in life and some not, but none of them had wasted millions of rupees during their fickle-minded career hip-hops.

Things have changed. More people are educated now and most of them are sure (well, almost) what they wish to do. They have career guidance centers that help them choose the right track. The only problem (now-a-days) is that they need their parents’ help to escort them because unless the parents don’t co-operate to bribe the college faculty for their admission to a good college, they are not likely to pursue the studies of their interest. Corruption is deep rooted in our world today and those who cannot fight, join in.

I met one such parent who had a story to tell.

Sunita is the single parent, a widow, who is a mother to a bright twenty-two year old youth. Yesterday, she proudly showed me her new blackberry that her son had gifted her from his first salary. There were tears in her eyes, tears of joy, happy that she has an earning son. She recalls the day, two years ago, when she had tears of different shade. Those were the tears of fear and stress. She was so stressed out during those days that she would visit every temple, which were known to perform miracle. She prayed to Gods to help her fulfill the dreams that she and her husband had nourished for many years. She wanted some miracle to happen to save her from paying the bribe of seventeen lakhs that the management was asking for granting a seat in their prestigious college.

She was seeking admission for her son for MBA at management institute in Mumbai that boasts 'of professionally managed, multi-disciplinary and multi-faceted oasis of knowledge'. This institute with a mission to redefine the system of education believes that the most profound learning that they can give to their students outside the textbooks is the importance of value, the strength of upright character and an ability to make difference that can set them apart.

Before meeting the student, an interview with their parents is a ‘must’

Sunita, along with group of other parents, waited in queue for an interview with the director of the institute. When her turn arrived, she was asked to deposit her purse and her mobile outside the room. (Were they afraid that she might record the conversation?) She entered a posh room and sat opposite him, admiring the expensive rings on his eight fingers. This gentleman had good taste and to afford that kind of luxury one needs to earn an attractive salary.

“I am a single mom, can you reduce the amount by few lakhs, maybe fifteen?” she pleaded, “Seventeen lakhs is lots of money and I cannot afford that kind of donation.”

“I am sorry” he replied , "We cannot reduce it. We don’t even reduce it for those people who say that they are over-burdened with 3 daughters and that they need to save money for their marriage, nopes, we don’t bargain at all. It is the same amount for everyone.”

Unabled to speak more words, she sat quietly, staring at the blank wall with tears glistening in her eyes. The director moved uncomfortably in his chair, changing his posture..

“However, there is a solution.” He said, “We will be conducting formal interviews for admission next month; all the students who have applied in our college will be called for an interview, if your son excels in that interview successfully then maybe, he will be spared.”

The interview was held for 2500 students and only 60 students were selected from merit list. She was lucky that her son was selected on merit.

“Miracle, this was pure miracle, I just couldn’t believe it” she says “I had gone all the way to Navi Mumbai to one particular temple to pray, actually I went to many more. I am sure God listened to my prayers. I used to emotionally blackmail God to help me fulfill my promise to my hubby”

After finishing two years, her son has a job now and is earning twenty-five thousand a month. She had paid only five lakhs for the course, plus the transport and the food which might take another two years for him to cover the cost of his education.

Yes! He might make his mark in the corporate world (as was promised by the institution's capability to deliver professional education that meets the highest standards of professionalism worldwide).

BUT.....What about those students who did not make it to the list of lucky 60?

Those who were forced to pay the bribe of seventeen lakhs plus five more lakhs as tuition fees plus the expenses of text books, transport and food? What about those desperate ones who borrowed money to fill those greedy bellies of prestigious institutes? How many more years will it take them to earn back that amount?

The foundation of their education was corruption and we should not be surprised if they will fight back with more corruption.

There is no end. me thinks OR Is there?

Real Beauty is Skin Deep

I, like millions and millions of people around the world, found my own mother the most beautiful woman in the world. Mom was a widow for last 40 years of her life and she only dressed in white.

Many years ago, when I lived in Surinam, Parimaribo, one of my friends invited me for a wedding ceremony. I asked my mom to accompany me. She wore a plain white silk sari, her hair rolled up into a small bun, and no make-up at all. For jewelry there was just a pearl necklace, 2 gold bangles and her diamond ear-rings (that she wore all the time). My friends were impressed. Next day when they met me, they told me that my mom was the most fashionable lady they had met. My jaw dropped. Fashionable? I thought my friends to be crazy. How could they call my mom fashionable when she was dressed so simple? She had no make-up on, no flashy clothes, no fancy handbag and no matching shoes. I looked closely at my mom to try to figure out fashionable element in her and discovered that my mom wore grace and a smile – maybe it was that what they perceived as elite. Who-so-ever met mom were always in awe with the way she carried herself.

Real beauty is skin deep, which is cliché but undisputable fact. One status I read recently on FB said “Search for truth and you shall find beauty, search for beauty and you shall find love, search for love and you shall find God, search for God and you shall have them all”

There are hundreds of ads on TV that show products that promises beautiful body, smooth and clear skin, long flowing hair, a group of admirers who will go ga-ga and drool over our physical beauty. I have met many people who fall for these products and who will swear that they will strive to be beautiful. I envy them when I see them dressed in most expensive finery that the money can buy. I know I cannot afford those things and even if I could, they won’t suit me. Every time I look into the mirror, it puts me into a pause mode. Not having a perfect figure is the big disadvantage. My mind drifts back to one nagging question “What will people think?” or maybe, I get conscious that some may feel sorry for me that nothing really suits me and am still trying so hard to keep abreast with fashion fads, which results into even more depressing mode than looking at the ugly figure in the mirror. I cannot change that so I stopped trying. I decided if anybody needs to see the beauty in me, they need to know me because I will continue to maintain the inner beauty instead.

Beauty has different meaning for different people, like in the video of Gul Panag, where she talks about women empowerment, of respecting oneself, which is also one facet of beauty, of building one’s pleasant quality.

Some time ago, one of my friends’ #FF me on Twitter as ‘beautiful people’ asking her followers to follow me. I was flattered. Now this friend is my virtual friend whom I have never met, (and not sure if I will ever meet her) so naturally she is not likely to learn about that image that haunts me everyday from the reflecting surfaces. For her, I am the person whom she knows through my writing abilities, through the range of my work with mentally challenged, through my choice of my friends’ circle, through my lens at photographs that I post on my walls. I have never tried to make any impression on anybody but sub-consciously, my thoughts get translated and interpreted into the messages that reach out to people who care.

A beautiful face can easily be Photo-Shopped on virtual wall, it just requires the right kind of tools to brush away the scars and blemishes but can our thinking and beliefs be hidden from the real world?

What kind of beauty is that if we wear it with an attitude? When we show no compassion for our fellow human being and are so occupied with our own self that we just don’t care?

We may have walked the red carpet with a crown on our head, have brought home thousand of gifts from our admirers during the beauty pageant, or even hosted ‘Get Gorgeous’ shows, but the fact is that besides being beautiful, we need to be draped with beautiful habits too. We throw away the dirty cotton swabs on our dresser after cleaning our face, the lipstick cover is missing, the talc powder is sprinkled everywhere and we wait for somebody else to clean our mess? Cleanliness is next to spirituality. If we cannot keep our environment clean then the bad vibrations that surround us, results in bad temper, restlessness and unstable mind. The bad mood seeps out of our thick face-pack showing the ugly chip of our character.

However rich our finery is, however expensive our cosmetics, the real beauty will never get a chance to shine its worth if it lies burried under the layers and layers of our bad attitude; the ugly lines of bad manners will continue to crinkle our face.

This Indiblogger contest is what kick started my thoughts on ‘real beauty’

Note: This post is written as a part of What does real beauty mean to you?? conducted by  Yahoo!! Real Beauty in association with Dove !!

and this is what I received as a gift hamper as a token of appreciation
Thank you Dove and Indiblogger.....