Tag Archives: shock

Breathe.

Her husband sat her down at the bed. She’d just taken a hot water bath. She placed her towel on her shoulder to soak up water from her wet hair. She inhaled deeply. This wasn’t the first time she had to answer the questions. This wouldn’t be the last.

“How did it happen?”

“What did he say?”

“How does it feel?”

“When exactly did it happen?”

“Did you see it all?”

Once again she closed her eyes and recalled the moment. In a flash, it was all over. One second she was at the pavement, the next she was on the road, the head of a dying man on her lap, blood drenching her clothes, tickling down her skin, shock overriding the bile building up in her stomach.

She opened up her eyes again. She was ready.

Her husband instead said, “It must be difficult for you dealing with the accident. Do you want to eat outside or should I cook?”

She breathed again!

Graciously Yours!

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The House That Wasn’t.

dark_ancient_house_by_sand3rr“What is it that is stopping you?” she asked. “Come on in! I am sure the place isn’t haunted.”

He stepped in. His torch was slipping from his hands due to sweat. In the eerie silence of the house, the buzzing quiet of the night outside seemed favorable. All those stories he’s heard in his life of 19 years came back to haunt him.

“Will you even move?” his girlfriend whispered.

“How did she even manage to get the keys?” he wondered. He took his first step forward and his shoes clicked louder than ever. Coherent thoughts were giving way to fear again.

“Couldn’t you wear sports shoes or rubber slippers?” she whispered angrily.

“Well, you never told me you’re going house hunting today,” he retorted, scared of his own foot step.

“Take your shoes off,” she said, “or you’ll scare the ghosts away!”

“I am not going to do that,” he said.

“Fine. Then try and be less noisy,” she said with gritted teeth.

“If you could be less nosy,” he mumbled under his breath.

She held him by the wrist and walked around. The furniture was strewn all across the floor. Cobwebs shone into the torch light, dancing around him. The musty smell of the place was getting on to him. He spotted a cracked mirror hanging on the wall ahead. He averted his eyes lest he saw something he wasn’t meant to.

She kept talking to him but not one word got through to his conscious. His mind had its own set of defenses in place. His body was tense and alert. She stepped on to broken glass. His scared jump had a feline touch. She laughed at his reaction. Her laugh echoed in the house. It was scary. It wasn’t the laugh he had fallen in love with.

Soon he’d know why. She had stopped laughing but the house hadn’t.

Fear crept in her eyes too.

Continued…

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

When inspiration met ants.

It was always dark inside their homes. The dim lights reaching the upper reaches let them know if it was time to sleep or not. All the elders worked hard for long during light, tirelessly and happily. He had lots of friends and they all lived, played and ate together. They were soon going to start work too. Today had ended and night had fallen. The elders were trooping in after a day’s work. Some worked further down and others went up to the place from where food and light came. There were others who took care of all of them. They were aplenty!

He was being trained. He had been told he would soon be sent upwards if he was strong enough. He was very excited. After dinner that night, he turned in early. Sleep made him stronger.

Much before it was time to wake up, he heard loud slurping noises and terrified shrieks from around him. Something ominous was happening. His roommates looked as terrified as he felt. He peered out from his corner of their home, hoping to see someone who could help them or tell them what was going on. He saw the villain make way.

It was a silver monster, gliding and silencing everyone in it’s path. It was coming their way. He ran towards the other end of the corner where all the others were already crouching out of fear. The monster was now at their door. Most of it pushed ahead but the rest was trickling towards them slowly. It was incessantly hot in there. It was suffocating too. He couldn’t breathe through the fumes and long before the monster could reach him, he had breathed his last. And so had everyone else. In a matter of a couple of minutes, it was all over. Their home would be put on display soon. With their bodies still buried inside.

This is popularly called anthill art, which is made by pouring molten aluminium into anthills and then letting the molten metal cool down into this ‘amazing’ art form.

Here’s how it happens :

Feel free to enlighten me with what you think about the process.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Most YouTube comments on such videos seem to state fire ants as a hated species and also environmentally invasive and this process is nothing short of doing good for human life, both artistically and economically environmentally.

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’s 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!

Cheers to life! Again.

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Dear biker,

Thank you for ramming into me yesterday. You put my life into perspective again. Of late I’d started giving more leeway into my life to people who probably didn’t want it. The heart wants what the heart wants after all. I had started forgetting it was my life and no one deserved more attention than me.

Thank you for reminding me how precious life is and how granted we take it at times! Checklists start remaining unchecked, dreams get postponed, relations are assumed to remain good forever and change is detested.

Thank you for giving me the chance to make amends before it was too late to to only regret. You need something as strong as that moment for the fact to dawn upon you that some things have to be accepted as they are. For your own betterment.

Thank you for changing your bike tyres regularly and oiling your brakes well!

Thank you for being a good biker and letting me get off with  the least bruises possible!

Still sane enough to find positives from the negatives,

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Mother, if you were to ever know about this, don’t scream at me please! That may be the reason why you didn’t know this in the first place 😛