Tag Archives: crime against women

#NationWantsToKnow?

There are some days when life does not make sense.

Then there are more days when your manager does not make sense.

Then come a lot of days when the news does not make sense. Picking up a few of those gems!

What say you? Are you prepared to ruin your good day? Well, or maybe brighten up a bad day? ūüėõ

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Despacito = slowly!

Like the article mentions “Despacito is a song in Spanish about slow love making.” Translated lyrics here. For so many of us Indians and also non Indians out there who think sex is and should remain a taboo, here goes. The song you so love to jive and hum, blabber words you don’t even know the meaning of and think that Spanish is only spoken in Spain, wake up! Life just dealt you a joker. Now what will you do with it?

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Mr. VP – I would wonder about the why rather than the what.

Okay, call me demeaning, if you want. But if this would have happened at a Railway Station washroom, I’d go all, ‘Maybe there have been worrisome incidents in there and there’s a context that isn’t being reported.” But if you tell me that a Church had to take such a step for women’s safety, then well, I’ll return in a while with my argument after laughing my guts out. The Church also needs to be worried about women’s safety in their premises now? Or is this an excuse for men to now make us more worried than we already are about our safety so that they can have a good, authorised peep show. Wonder if the CCTV footage reviewers also have to take the vow of celibacy.

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So I understand we’re going all digital and laptop usage is at an all time high. Yeah, well, you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that bit out. But what I am left wondering is why is Cambridge scrapping exams due to bad handwriting? We could have done this with the thought of saving paper, contributing towards cutting lesser trees, maybe slow down global warming or at least be happy about having done something to slow it down, even though it seems inevitable now. But no, we’re scrapping it because the handwriting is illegible? How thick brained are we really?

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Yes, that is an iPhone screenshot. Not owned by Yours Truly. Duh.

Oh, yes! News of the week. The iPhone 8 got launched. The iPhone 8S too. And the iPhoneX too. Poor iPhone 8 and 8S. They became obsolete within two minutes of their launch! Need I say more?

Then this happened. Bewakoof.com which when translated in English means foolish, lived up to their name for the first time. They launched a tShirtX. You shouldn’t think so out of the box also. Too much of anything is bad!

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Living up to thy name!

And with that I’ll end my tirade and only ask one thing – does the nation really want to know these news? #NationWantsToKnow.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : What have you come across of recent that you want to rant against? Tell me. Maybe we think alike!

Of Darker Alleys (Part 2)


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She started walking faster. She had to get to the house early to make use of all the time she could get. She wanted to get away from them. She was desperate.

She reached the house. She could see the men standing outside impatiently. Bowing her head, lowering her eyes, she walked past them silently. She felt their eyes piercing her back. An involuntary shudder passed through her as she walked in through the wooden door. It was the last time she was going to do it.

It was a beautiful house. Much better than what she had been brought up in. The elders of the house had built it with much love and money. Latticed windows, carved doors, floral designs adorning the middle of the courtyard; she fell in love with the place when she saw it. She used to imagine how she would one day take care of it. Little had she imagined anyone could be as unhappy here as she had become.

Her mother-in-law was walking towards her. She muttered instructions to her. All she caught was the confirmation that they would be back in some time. Possibly half an hour. She didn’t listen to anything else. Not anymore.

The minute they left the compound to attend the neighborhood wedding, she ran to her room. She didn’t want to attend the wedding. It was a trade. The girl was being sold and she wouldn’t know it for a while. That is how the village was surviving. The current generation had almost no girls. Who would the boys marry? They killed their own daughters and bought daughters of other parents only to sell them off as commodities once their utility was over. Higher the demand, higher the price. She preferred the dried grasslands over such fake lushness. At least back at her place, they treated humans as humans.

She had put together a few of her clothes. She was still in two minds if she should run away with her baby or alone. She knew if they found the baby missing, they would not leave any stone unturned to get to her. But if she alone went missing, they might not even bother. With a heavy heart, she picked up her little cloth bag and crossed the length of the house to leave.

She stopped right at the main door. Her son was wailing. Her only son was wailing! She opened the door. She tried ignoring his cries. She could see her freedom waiting down the road. She could hear a hungry heart and an impatient stomach calling out to her.

The mother in her had decided. She had decided to remain human. She closed the doors on herself again. Clutching her bag to her chest, she ran up to his room. Her baby wanted her. Her freedom would have to wait today.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : I do not know about other countries but I do know that such practices are rampant in India. How rampant, where, since when ~ I wish I could answer those questions with surety, but I cannot.

Picture Credits : Ishita Shah.

Seeing me in you.

Looking into your eyes,

I lose myself in their depths,

My hands in yours,

Seem to melt all my troubles away.

Fingers entwined, feet in sync,

I can take the world head on,

Your faith in me,

Is much more than my trust in myself.

Taking you up in my arms,

Kissing your cheeks as I hear you giggle,

My dear little daughter,

It’s the sweetest sound to my ears.

When I look back into the past,

To not have heeded to your father,

I feel absolutely blessed,

You’re nothing less than God’s gift to me.

 

Sketched by - Graciously Yours!
Sketched by – Graciously Yours!

All those mothers who fought to keep their girl child alive whether as single mothers or fighting against their families ‚ÄĒ¬†You rock!

Graciously Yours!

Accept India’s Daughter.

On 16 December, 2012, the¬†Nirbhaya¬†rape case rocked the whole of India. For a long time, we protested, came out on the streets, demanded change in laws, wanted the rapists hanged, shouted slogans of women’s empowerment, wanted safety for women. The fire is still seen, the flames are still being fanned, the coals are¬†still red and we’re still waiting…

 

 

 

BBC¬†released¬†a documentary on all of this titled “India’s Daughter”. And they’re being taken to task now.

 

Times Now, a prime time English News Channel, of the Times group flashes :

 

“Is it ethical to reveal the identity of¬†Nirbhaya?”¬†

 

“Is BBC being sensitive by showing the pictures of the victim?”

 

“Should a rapist be given a platform?”

 

“Voyeurism¬†or journalism?”

 

Times of India, a leading English daily in India, from the same Times group, reports with full sensationalism :

 

“Nirbhaya gang rape convict blames victim for full assault.”

 

They went on to report that the rapist says if the Government changes the punishment under the law to death row, the rapists will not make an attempt to leave the raped girl alive. These are words spoken by one of the rapists who even after two and a half years of jail, has the audacity to say it all. From inside the jail when on death row.

 

Most of our media is happily making the BBC journo a scapegoat. The video has been banned. They found someone to blame. They found a new story to sell. They raised burning questions and shouted their lungs out, all in the wrong direction! I am sorry but that is how I feel about things! Wait. I am not even sorry. Thanks to my irritation at the media, I chose to watch the documentary myself to judge!

 

India’s Daughter.

 

Yes, it reveals the identity of the victim. She has a name. And it isn’t¬†Nirbhaya. It’s Jyoti Singh. Her name means “light”.

 

Yes, it shows pictures of the victim. And her parents chose to do that by free will. Who are we to question it?

 

Yes, it recounts the whole horror of what she had to go through. Of what all us women had to go through when we read those gruesome accounts of the rape that went viral all across the internet within days of December 16, 2012. I still feel nauseated when I think about the pain the lady must have lived through.

 

So what? Is that what we should really be worried about? What ethics and victim privacy are we talking about? The lady is no more. All her parents have are her memories. The least we could do is honour those. And let her parents get a platform to speak.

 

I have questions of my own to ask.

 

  • Why are the rapists still alive?
  • Why even after two and a half years in jail, the rapists seem to not have even a drop of remorse in their blood?
  • Why are we not afraid of the law and instead believ it is our birthright to circumvent the law?
  • What has been done to ensure that the juvenile rapist who will be released in December, 2015, has indeed been reformed or not?
  • Why do those rapists and many others like them believe that it is their right to tell off girls to where they apparently belong – the household, by raping them and shaming them?
  • Why does that rapist say that the girl should have endured it all and not fought back?
  • If on death row he can still say that, what would be the extent of vileness in his thoughts if he was out on the roads?
  • Why are we worrying more about giving these rapists a platform and less about all those endless rape victims who aren’t being given justice yet?
  • Will shoving the video out of sight help to shove the grim mindset aside too?
  • Will educated men still believe that women are to be inside the house to be safe, irrespective of our domestic violence data?
  • How long before we come out of denial and accept that our society needs to start treating women as fellow human beings?

 

Each person in India has a right to be defended in the court of law. I’m happy that we’re democratic enough to be giving a chance to these rapists as well. But trust me on this, that when you read what¬†the defending lawyers had to say,¬†your soul will shudder!

“The moment she came out from¬†her house with a boy who was¬†neither her husband nor her¬†brother, she left her morality and¬†reputation as a doctor as well as¬†girl‚Äôs morality in the house and¬†she came out just like a woman.¬†A female is just like a flower, it¬†gives a good looking, very¬†softness, performance, pleasant.¬†But on the other hand a man is¬†just like a thorn, strong, tough¬†enough. A flower always needs¬†protection. If that flower is in a¬†gutter, it is spoilt. If you put that¬†flower in a temple it will be¬†worshipped.”

 

Such crude and filthy thoughts from educated men with professional degrees makes me cringe in horror at how bloody patriarchal and backward the Indian society still is. I feel sorry for the women who live with them and bear with them.

 

She was a 23 year old bright medical student on her way to fulfil the dreams of her parents and get them out of poverty. What was her fault exactly? That she was a girl? That she tried to build a life for herself? That she had parents who trusted her? That she was independent and fierce? That she was confident? That she fought back?

 

Jyoti Singh (1989-2012).

 

Open your eyes, India. You’re half awake. Get out of bed. Whip those sheets off. Open the curtains. The light is out there. See it, embrace it and honour it.

 

Graciously Yours!

A Look Is All It Took.

“And up next is the hot favorite of the season — Nikhil with the slew of his latest songs!”

The crowd roared in welcome. He was her current favorite singer. She was in love with his voice. And his face, too. But voice more. And then he walked onto the stage. She wasn’t crazy enough to try and leap across the stage security but she was crazy enough to get up on the benches and cheer for him.

When he started singing, her friend pulled her down on the seat again and they started swaying to the voice. The rawness, love, passion in his voice that she heard sent her tumbling in a world of her own. Her friend jabbed her in the ribs. She tore her eyes from the stage and looked at her companion angrily! The friend just nicked a look towards a group of boys sitting a few feet away. Some of them randomly had their cell phone cameras focusing in their direction arbitrarily. Some randomness.

She caught one of them looking at her and when they caught eye contact, he looked away not losing the smile.

The smile seemed eerie.

The paranoia triggered.

She had countless incidents running through her head. Nikhil’s voice had been pushed to the background to the constant stream of chatter of safety, security, and self precautionary measures she had heard in the 24 years of life!¬†She chided herself for having come without a male companion.

Any direction she looked, any smile she caught, any stray look she saw, made her heart sink lower.  She crossed her legs. Sat upright. Lost her smile.

A Look Is All It Took.

Why I am not safe among my own?

Courage does not come with age.

She sat quietly in the corner of the class. At the edge of the seat. She was staring at the blackboard in front of her, thoughts wandering elsewhere. The teacher was writing in white. Her classmates were copying. Her partner nudged her out of her reverie, beckoned her to scribble along.

Continue reading Courage does not come with age.

Celebrating Womanhood? You decide.

“… Her heels clicking on the tarmac, the street lights lighting her path ahead, talking over the phone while walking down the deserted by-lane to reach the safe havens of her home, she wished her friend a “Happy Women’s Day” and kept the line. Another 5 minutes and she would be home, she thought. She heard an oncoming bike and looked sideways to see if there was space to weave through the footpath occupiers. Finding none, she continued walking ahead, expecting the biker to be careful enough not to hurt her. But the bike came and stopped just near her, surprising her and causing her foot to twist while she fell on the footpath. She looked up angrily to see two pairs of eyes leering at her. The anger gave way to fear. The screeching bike had woken some of the beggars and within seconds, which felt like hours, one of those young lads came to help her get back on her feet. Several of them came and stood beside her. Her phone vibrated. An incoming message, announcing ¬†‘A 3-day special discount in celebration of Women’s Day.’ …”
 
Yes, there’s inequality. Yes, there’s commercialization. Yes, there’s tyranny. Yes, there’s irony.
 
But, above all, there’s hope.
 
Happy Women’s Day.