The Book of Life

When you want to be with no one else but silence, when you like nothing but loneliness and when you feel nothing but pain. It’s when you hear your heart beating as if it wants you to listen to it or it wants him to listen to it. How do you tame it? When it breaks the chains of patience and bulges out giving you the pain for life. No matter what stories you make or poems you recite, it’s not just good enough, really. To remove a page from a book, what can you do possibly, tear it, fold it or rub the content. But in the book of life, you can’t rub it because it’s your destiny. You can fold it but you know that if you will try opening the book, you will be directed to that very page only. Last is, tear the page. Yes, you might not be able to access the happiness and emotions scattered all over that page of life in future but same would hold true for the pains and misery too. Tear that page and write a fresh story, a poem or sketch and stick it there. Gradually you will learn to like it too. Gradually the page would turn yellow and you will be at peace, not because you won't miss the previous content but that you will have something new which will become richer than the earlier. When the book of life is not ready to direct you to the new page, you find yourself stuck at a point, don’t worry, go back to the previous page and read it carefully, understand it, solve it and the fresh page will soon be displayed. When you have difficulty in understanding the content of a page even after trying several times, please don’t stay, place a bookmark and promise yourself you will comeback later on and solve it. Sometimes lessons taught in the later chapters are fruitful to solve the questions of the previous ones. This is the book of life. 

Break Silence

Silence is not noxious till the time it's young. But as it grows it piles up that stack of questions and thoughts which might populate the minds of both, the bearer and the observer. It's better to loosen up your thoughts by the language of speech than to push them down your throat which after a lapse chokes you. Many of us often replace this natural language by the artificial and superficial language of writing. But one should understand that no matter how lucid it is, no matter how smoothly each sentence slides over the other and makes it rich and satisfies your inner war but still it might not fit in the space of your well wishers eyes. He who loves you and cares for you is incapable of searching hidden meanings in your portrayal. He looks at it as another reflection of your vexation which consequently turns him paler. He thinks that you are afraid of talking to him which has forced you to choose the other options to express your distress. Do not do this to him. Introspection of your inner world is as important as his interpretations regarding your gloominess. At least it wont be biased. Write, sing, compose your problems, whatever suits you but don't forget the language of speech. Remember, the least you are interested in speaking out, the more it is awaited. And if in the worst case where you have no one to talk to you always have one person. Its not me, its GOD. 

Public Private Partnership

After India’s independence in 1947, economic conditions across the country were devastating. The brutal effect of the British Imperialism on the economy was fairly evident by the frequent famines and the high fatality rates. Partition of India not only divided it on the basis of land but also in two economic zones. Therefore, the government underwent a hard time coping with the economy deficits and poverty in India. The period between 1947 and 1991 saw the pre-liberalization phase. During this period the public or the government sector failed to meet the demand of the nation to overcome its problems with reference to the poverty and bitter financial status. Jawaharlal Nehru, then Prime Minister of India, devised a method of Mixed Economy (capitalism combined with government intervention which consequently led to initially high growth rates but which by the end of fourth decade converted to low growth rates and a license obsessed restrictive state). License Raj proved to be unfruitful because the foreign goods were unable to reach the market and the private companies were restricted to produce and to make foreign trading. But the beginning of 1991 saw the post liberalization under P.V.Narsimharao. Liberalization eased the restrictions over the small scale industries, the taxes and other price controls promoting policies like foreign direct investment. This led to the expansion of private sector more than the public sectors with the prime motive to earn profit. But this policy of liberalization helped to improve the economic statistics of the nation. The public and private sector are often considered to be contradictory and sometimes complementary. Since both the sectors helped in increasing the country’s capital therefore there was a need for these two wings to join hands and work together which is now known as public private partnership. Under this relationship, public sector gives away certain cooperation to the private sector in terms of land and infrastructure and the private sector gives high capital profit by producing superstructure. Similar partnerships like BOLT (Built Operate Lease and Transfer) and BOOT (Built Own Operate and Transfer) serve the same purpose. BOLT and BOOT are long term schemes under which private party is given a certain area of land on which it can establish private firms and produce goods, capital and profit and after a certain period of time as decided by the Government, the private sector has to transfer the control of the industry to the Governments hands.  Public sector alone is a victim of Red Tapism that involves excessive bureaucracy and low efficiency in decision making while private sector is fast at decision making and is highly efficient. Gradually with increasing privatization, globalization also came to picture. Up till then the GDP of the country increased from 16% to 47% by the end of 2008-10. Globalization included the FDI which made India a preferred centre for the same. Public sectore kept major functional areas such as Health, Railways, Defense, Infrastructure, Land allotment etc under its control and the private sector gained access to the superstructure development, Industrialization, Globalisation in terms of export and import. But in the recent years the areas under Public sector have open handedly welcomed the private intervention, for example, infrastructure under National Highways Authority of India and Midday Meal scheme. In the field of Health concerns, various NGO’S such as C.R.Y., Transparency International, Common Cause, Naz etc have exemplary contributions. Corporate Social Responsibility is the policy under which the private firms are obliged to pay back the cost of profit in the form of welfare and developments. This type of relationship has not only bought the two sectors closer but also a shared the responsibility to take the nation to appreciably higher levels of economy and development so that India can rise as a world power in terms of Financial Stability by the end of 2025. Therefore the Public and Private partnership is proving to be a boon for the entire nation and world facilitating export and import, earning foreign currency, providing larger employment and developing science and technology and consequently taking the country to the higher summits of success. 

Beating down the heartbeat

She occupied the darkest patch of shadow, darker than her wounds, chosen intentionally to hide her dreadful nightmares which were all turning true. Pain has no face but has a voice. She sat on the floor where her emotions lay brutally assassinated and her self respect torn to pieces along with the pages of the stories that she was told before marriage. She shied of her reflection not just because the facial and bodily marks gave her a sympathetic look but her eyes flashed the memory of the painful encounter. The marks on her face were still better than the cuts on the heart, the bleeding of the wounds had stopped but the heart was still oozing out the entire bloody twinge. It was killing her like a slow poison. Chhavi always analyzed the past picture and tried locating her fault but when she failed to find any she simply made one and convinced herself that she must have been wrong somewhere. She consoled herself and started collecting the broken vase that Vipul threw at her and a part of which gave her a new scar pattern. It was more like a routine now. Every problem has a solution then why the constant vituperation and violence ruled the house? The consequences turned the walls of the house opaque to any ray of hope or happiness. Erstwhile they were THE happy couple. Retrospectively, this was never meant to be this way. Vipul was jobless, soaked his days in alcohol and nights in blood, everyday he returned stained with a new rejection and tried washing it off with Chhavi’s blood. Using manly musculature to dominate a woman only predicts his spinelessness. Women in India are taught to worship their men, they are taught to realize their commands and desires. But the two genders are comparative and women remain a bitter competition to men in all attributes except physical power. This weak point is often manipulated and used so well that it completely changes her art of living. Chhavi is not the only one but she is just another such woman who is fulfilling even this command selflessly. When a man cannot defeat her on any of the sensible grounds, he beats her and tortures her to get hold of her intellectuality which turns her insane and cracks her spirit to live. When will this practice find a full stop? When will the status of a woman rise up from the levels of slaps and kick to hugs and kisses? Only when he wants to? Only when he is unwilling to sleep without a woman besides him? Does violence makes them believe that she won’t run away with any other man and remain a part of his kingdom not as a queen but as a vase on the table which looks lively but is after all dead? Some stories are exposed and some torn pages still hang from the sides of an old diary which no one is interested in reading. Domestic violence is one sided and is unfair. I wish I could save such women from the abuse and take them to a heaven where dead entries are not mandatory unlike the one we have heard about.

Can I wear this?

Can I wear this?

Whenever the seniors of the house want me to follow any of the new rule from their “BOOK OF RULES TO MAKE HER LIFE HELL” whose status always says “work in progress”, then they avoid making ‘me’ the subject and very cleverly portray an example for me. The most recent story is the most interesting too and for that I can bet even my last penny on it. Guys join the fantasy.

A fair plump middle aged woman, hair well styled and her perfume filling the smoky and stinky premises of the local Gajiwala Police Chowki, is continuously playing with numbers on her cell phone and her wrinkled eyebrows perfectly display her anger. Her sari reminds of the Mannequins draped in some similar fashion that you must have seen through twinkling windows at an expensive Mall.  Staring her was a multitude of constables, some local thiefs and the respectable Daroga Babu. I am not being chauvinistic but I am categorizing men in two- men and policemen. The difference being that a policeman can appreciably fall to even lower levels of cheapness. Daroga Babu aka Shyam Prasad Pandey busy caressing his moustache is scanning the lady through the scanner software that only men have but policemen have a better version always. After a long standing silence Daroga Babu lifts his right leg and places it over the table between some dusty files and says in the peculiar crisp policewala style

“Madam, jab tak dikkat nahi batayiyega tab tak report kaise likhi jaaye”

The woman already drenched in sweat and anger, notices the body language of the GENTLEMAN and gives an unpleasant expression.

She avoids it and decides to open the Pandora box.

“I am the wife of the Principal Secretary…” and this introduction compelled our Daroga Babu to recollect his manners and straighten up his backbone for a while.

“… and I want you to write an FIR against some boys who molested my daughter and harassed us in the middle of the street while we were shopping. One of them even tried touching her. I want you to arrest them now and to kick their asses as hard as you can. And if you don’t take any action now then am afraid you know the consequences better.”

Rising from the dead, Daroga Babu asked his constables who were busy measuring her curves, to take action and to bring the hooligans right away. The place where the incident took place was not too far and the culprits didn’t expect a FIR therefore they didn’t attempt to escape either. Four of them were brought held by their collars. The lady took a deep breath and said “yes, these are the ones”

Daroga Babu rose up and clapped their cheeks.

Now, what else was needed, Daroga Babu’s government pen was still resting in the government pen stand.

“Madam, jara peedhit ko bulayiyega? I mean (putting all his efforts to speak in English), your daa-ter (daughter)”

The Lady signaled the driver to do the needful.

“Baby… come here. They need your statement”, the Lady shouted.

The door of the white ambassador wide open and a 5 inch heel pricks the ground. An equally fair, slim and beautiful girl, 22 or 23 stepped out and her silky hair rolled down her shoulders. She waves her hand in front of her face to show her annoyance over the scorching heat and the whole sequence. Her blue shorts and pink blouse added to her beauty and charm.

Daroga Babu’s scanner speeded up and the same multitude of glances crossed each other. After a deep analysis and process of thought, Daroga babu stands up and says, “Madam, bura na maniyega par jis tarah ka Baby ka dress hai, shukra hai ladko ne SIRF CHHEDHA”

And that was the end to it. Her face turned red and she felt ashamed when few constables exchanged smiles over the statement. The company left.

The idea behind telling me this story was to make me understand what to wear and what not to wear. The dogmas of the society, changes are always a part of a girl’s routine. My wardrobe is supposed to change if a group of boys can’t control their hormones and molest me just because I tried wearing something I like. Another moral is that “Boys harass only those girls who wear short clothes”. Isn’t it bullshit? May be that’s the reason they rape a 2 month old because the baby also wears short clothes.

Our clothes will decide our vulnerability towards being raped or just being harassed. That is an excellent logic. Well, now they will say that SOCIETY says so, therefore I ask them what the society wears. Then I will decide whether I should F*** it or just let her go by.

………………………………………………

Give me red

Peeping in those smoky streets of the city where the life is said to begin at night under the red light, where alcohol is the only liquid permitted and where the word ‘sex’ doesn’t make you turn your eyes away, has always been on my list of dark temptations on some number 3 or 4. Though I haven’t seen the picture too closely but it surely has some promising entertainment. I guess may be that’s why our Bollywood movies can’t resist repeatedly using the same idea of brothels, what else!! Dumping behind the logic of good and bad, the red life cajoles me to unveil it shamelessly and to drape oneself in the same. Taking a clue from the movies, I can fancy ladies who have overdone their styling and one of them steps ahead with a peculiar glistening shade of crimson red covering her lips, a crisp language dipped in a hot seductive tone that collectively causes all men’s reproductive elements to collapse in a moment. Though a GOOD girl is tabooed to enter even the outskirts of the red canopy, still my wild side dominates the good. I want to spend such a night life, if am not interpreted the wrong way. I have a keen desire to interview the club of flamboyant yet poised SHES and learn from them the art of bewitching the HES so that I can always be sure of him. I may be mean but I will definitely be pleasant. After having imagined so much about the secret untouched corners of life, I sit in disappointment because even my man can’t make this happen and men are definitely powerful!! (Chuckling). As I earlier said, am not too curious to know about the hows and whens. If I had to choose between the two attributes i.e. chaste or taste then I am quite sure of the answer. These ladies may not deserve respectable adjectives from where the society looks at them but they are definitely bold. But as usual, one question will always question my wit that is “DOES FORTUNE REALLY FAVORS THE BOLD?”

Your heart or ours?

Ambience within the house maintained a perfect pH balance when I noticed an acute acidic inclination as soon as I turned 22. Ladies in the house adopted a unique mode of communication-whispers. Before I could have figured out the reason behind this weird and suspicious behavior of the 35+ gang, they gave me the blueprint of the plan and soon I was showcased in a peculiar art gallery where different breeds of men examined me, be it the way I walk or the way I talk. The procedure was very conventionally followed and finished. I walked in with a tray full of Samosas and chutni etc which were bought from the old Dhaniram’s shop at the square but the credit always landed in my hands. Solacing my little innocent heart which had no idea about the match making festival being celebrated in the house, I tried numbering the trail of questions hitting my head bang bang!!! I remember my mother congratulating my elder brother on his 22^nd birthday as “you are a big MAN now”. My conjecture after hearing and silently repeating the phrase in my mind is that the word MAN in our society (the typical Indian society is what I would like to mention) is quite enough to represent adjectives like Brave, Hard working, Powerful and moreover DOMINATING. After analyzing the events more closely I am compelled to doubt the justice of nature that boys grow powerful with time and girls grow weaker or at least the SOCIETY thinks so. Family then makes an imperious set of final statements about the marriage things ending into a luring male dominating party where the bride is the only one who is prohibited to dance on her own wedding day and feels intruded. From the time when she is wooed by the metallic luster of jewelry to sign the bond till the time she enters his new possessions list, she follows their heart. She is deprived of her right to cross examine her MAN whether he can walk and talk equally well. The word rejection lies in her dictionary only if she is the one who is rejected. Why doesn’t this society realize that though the outer appearance of a woman may reflect a certain amount of weakness but her soul remains the same and as powerful as her MAN’S? She has the right to reject and refute. She has the right to choose and again reject. Why the norms of the society are still made for male convenience? Why isn’t she allowed to follow her heart and moreover one question is almost impossible to answer, WHO IS THE SOCIETY AND WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?