THE WAIT... A micro story

                                                                         
                                                                                
                                  THE WAIT

Like every day, he was here, opposite the pillar No. 2345 on the India- Pakistan border as early as the sun appeared on the horizon. The eight-kilometre walk from his village Barmer was taxing for his old legs. 

The tremulous gaze of his stone-still eyes fought with the dying hope of seeing his son alive again and the dazzling sunlight. Strong wind barged its way across the border shoving his beard to flick against his suffering chest and sticking straws to it as if to tease him.

Two months have passed since his only son, Jaidev had forayed into the territory of Pakistan. The village apothecary had told that the panacea which could save his ailing mother was found exclusively at nearby Pakistan village. The father tried to stop him but failed. 

Since his wife died forty days ago, he came here every day and waited for his son.

‘You’re taking too long for a journey of twenty kilometres, Jaidev. Come back, son. Come back before I leave,’ he would mumble throughout the day. 

Prolonged uncertainty over his son’s life haunted him. The sun started with him, soared up slowly, shone over his head and then drowned far in the West, snatching away some breaths from his feeble hope every time.

COURAGE WITHOUT SANITY IS STUPIDITY

                             
            COURAGE WITHOUT SANITY IS STUPIDITY




It was on the last Sunday that I went to Mathura with my son. Due to some problem, I had to leave my car at home and travel by bus. As are the Summers in North India, it was a blazing day.
We reached the holy city after noon. The mercury was at peak. To go to our destination from the Bus Terminal, we took the tempo that seat twelve passengers. We sat on one of the middle seats with a young couple on our side and four youths opposite to us. The rear seat accommodated four other passengers.


The young men, all barely in early twenties or maybe below, had 'Gutka' in their mouths. Being on the extreme right, the hot air was roasting my face. To prevent direct exposure, I covered the side with my handkerchief.
Suddenly, the young wife, who was the only woman in the cab, slapped the youth sitting opposite to her.
'Can't you spit carefully... Twice before, droplets came to my hand,' she yelled at him after reddening his already burning cheeks.


The boy was mad and tried to return the slap that was intercepted by the husband. I screamed at the fuming boy warning him not to retaliate. The group confronted me. Their point was that she should have cautioned him after the first instance only and shouldn't have 'assaulted' their friend. The poor husband was meekly listening while I was having words with the furious boys.
The belligerent woman was unapologetic. The husband was timid. My son wanted me not to meddle in. I was concerned about the dumb but courageous woman. The cabby was indifferent and kept on driving.


Even after I told them the consequences of thrashing a woman, the youths were not ready to let it go. The cab had reached the place where I had to get down.
As I asked the cabby to halt, the boys started screaming at the woman. The husband was so frightened that he asked her wife to get down too. Rightly so, considering the rage of the boys. Poor he. I really pitied him. They had just started their life together and with such short-tempered partner, his life is going to be miserable.


The youths too, came down.
'I will call the police, if you don't go inside the cab and move away,' I sternly warned them. The other passengers told them the same thing.


The cabby speeded away as the boys re-settled. I stayed with the couple until they got another cab to go further.


No doubt, the woman was bold but, my point is that one should never forsake sanity ever so courageous he or she may be.
I am not favouring the tobacco chewing and spitting hooligans but, she should have conveyed her discomfort before taking the extreme step. Could she or her husband have contested with four young men?


Things would be ugly if I had not stepped in.


Good that women are finding voice, but it better would be better if they use their wisdom to understand when, where and how to use it.

DREAMING, NOT BREATHING, KEEPS YOU ALIVE

       

         

DREAMING, NOT BREATHING, KEEPS YOU ALIVE

I was doing quite well before my life had a major disaster. Suddenly, I was thrown down to ground from a decent height I had achieved. I was jobless and was meeting ends by taking tuitions in a 50 square feet room. The saddest part was that I had no plan or desire of improving or expanding it. I was tired, ambitionless and dull. I picked up quarrels with everyone who criticized me. The graph of my life had plunged to its deepest and my morale was at rock bottom, though, I feigned it. My ego was at prime. I was earning a meagre fifteen thousand rupees. Life was nothing more than a formality and I was alive just for the sake of my family. I mostly wore unironed clothes, would shave only on Sundays and would wear shoes only when I had to go out. I taught my students wearing slippers.

Then, the calendar turned up to show the magical date of the 5^th of May 2005 (5-5-5). I woke up to a telephone call to hear the news of the death of a relative. When I reached their house to attend the funeral, there was some delay because they had been waiting for a distant cousin. I had lived in the same locality before. So, everybody there knew me. An old friend took me to his house for a cup of tea. He revealed the purpose of his hospitality before serving the tea and showed me the ‘Plan’ of a multilevel marketing company. 

I joined it just for my long camaraderie with him. I didn’t work much but I did attend their educational and leadership seminars. That education changed everything about me. It injected positivity in me and made me understand the importance of dreaming.

I remained presentable and cheerful always. The sickening ego drained out of me. I wanted to do more for myself and my family. And, in eleven years following that magical turnaround, I am a different person. I owe the change to the resurrected desire to do something to be able to leave an indelible mark when I finally depart. I am still working on it and have no doubts about accomplishing it.

DREAMS- not those which we see in a state of dormant consciousness with our eyes closed and those which sneak in involuntarily, but those that we see with open eyes with gambolling consciousness, those, which make their presence felt with a gleam in the open eyes.

With my experience of life, I assert that only a person who dreams is truly alive. A person who is privileged to live on this hallowed coliseum of earth must do something worth remembering and appreciable as a price for eating up the natural resources. It is morally wrong to populate a heaven as a parasite.

So, for all those who haven’t started nurturing dreams, here is a push-start button.

Not having any dream or ambition bluntly signifies that nothing motivates you; nothing evokes your interest, you are ill of negativity. All these, together mean that you are dead.

Narrow down your focus. Combat negativity. Keep your motivation up. Relish everything that fires your interest. Search the fuel to light that interest.

You must know what you want. Brainstorm, meditate and find out what you love to do. Find out what invigorates you and what makes you feel fulfilled.

Talk to yourself. Find out your bad habits. Try to improve yourself. Admit your faults and mistakes to yourself and never hesitate to admit them to others. Correct yourself. Every new person you meet has some good traits and some bad. Learn whatever you can from him and ignore his bad traits. Unrealistic planning, bad habits, incorrect beliefs, negative character traits are obstacles. Shun them for good.

One thing we all must know is that it is easiest to change our self.

Be crazy while dreaming. Dream big, really, really big. All big achievers were dreamers once.

Believe it or not, but big dreams are easier to achieve.

If I ask you to hit a ball inside a circle, when it will be easier for you- targeting inside a small circle or inside a big circle?

In a village, there lived a giant on a big tree. When hungry, he got down the tree and wolf down whoever he would find. One day, a tired traveller slept under the tree unaware about the giant.

The villagers woke him up to warn. The stranger wondered why the villagers didn’t do anything to get rid of the giant.

The villagers conceded their debility stating that the giant was too big for them. The stranger propounded that his big size makes his killing easier. He suggested them to call the whole village near the tree. He asked them to take a stone in their hand and wait for the giant to come down. When the giant woke up to devour another life, each villager aimed the stone at him. The giant got hit at different parts of the body and crumpled to death.

Bigger targets are easier to hit.

So, walk out of your comfort zone. Drop the beliefs that limit you. Stop indulging in everything nonsensical. Don’t fritter away your energy on unproductive things. Stop rueing, arguing, overthinking, quarrelling and all such things that are a waste of time and energy.

Inspiration and opportunity can visit us at any time. Always welcome them. Be a good host. Listen to them and don’t discard at once.

Think more of the ways you can be successful than entertaining the ways to fail.  One great characteristic of a human brain is that it can achieve what it perceives. When we tell it that we want to get something, it starts finding and suggesting us the ways to reach our goal. On the contrary, when we tell it once that we can’t get to our goal, it would come up with hundreds of reasons to corroborate it.

Motivation is a verb and not a noun. It demands more action and fewer emotions. Positive affirmations boost your confidence.

Negativity is toxic to success. Don’t be afraid of failure. Failure is not the end result. They have a great worth in terms of experience.

After Thomas Edison succeeded in creating an electric bulb, he said, ‘I didn’t fail, I just found 2000 ways not to make a bulb.’

If you are determined not to give up on your ambitions, failures can’t be permanent.

So, come on. Be brave to take your first steps. Once you do it, you cross the biggest hurdle. Your path becomes clearer. Now, keep saying to yourself, “I have to do it and I will do it.”

1.      FIX YOUR DREAM TODAY-

Sit alone for a while and think. What gives you pleasure? Where do you see yourself in five or ten years from now? What do you want your life like?

Get the answers and hold on to the most appealing thing you want to do.

Your dream should be-

SMART

S- SPECIFIC

             M-MATERIALISTIC

       A-ACHIEVABLE

   R-REALISTIC

       T-TIME BOUND

2.      PASTE IT-

Get some pictures of your dream and paste them everywhere- in every room of your house so that it remains in your vision all the time. Paste it in the washroom, on your study table, and on the television so that whenever you fritter away time needlessly in the washroom or watching TV.

3.      TELL EVERYBODY-

You may hesitate to do so, but telling everybody around about your dream would prove the most helpful in achieving it. When you tell people about your sky-high ambitions (they would consider them so), they would make fun of you and that should work as fuel for you. Also, they would keep on reminding you what you’d told them and their frequent nagging would impel you to keep following your dream.

4.      GIVE IT A DATE-

Binding yourself and your dream with time helps in achieving your goals. A big and long term dream can’t be achieved with a big single leap. To remain focussed, you should divide it into an appropriate number of short -term targets to be accomplished in a fixed period of time.

If you don’t do it, you might be behind it always.

"Many of man's greatest achievements are the products and accidents of their ambition."

Always start your day early. Stop hating people. Harness your ambition so that, it fires you but without burning you.

 And lastly, a message for all students. Love mathematics and study it  as long as possible. If you really have an interest in it, make it a part of your life. It helps you to think logically and believing that every problem has a solution. 

All the best to you all. May all your dreams attain shape.

Let's  dream.

DREAM

BELIEVE

CREATE

EMPOWERED WOMEN, VULNERABLE MEN

EMPOWERED WOMEN, VULNERABLE MEN

Are we heading towards the other end of gender discrimination?

Mr. Prasad, a post-graduate Physics teacher in a reputed Delhi school, had crossed thirty, completing his education and then establishing himself in his career. He was desperate to settle down. Without verifying things, he asked for the hand of a girl, ten years younger to him. He rented a bigger house and bought new furniture, electronics and other things before they got married. The girl didn't allow him to touch her on the first night. On the second night, when Prasad urged her for copulation she slapped him. After two days, she demanded a diamond ring in lieu of beginning their married life. Prasad complied but she didn't.

Even after fifteen days, nothing happened between them. One day, when Prasad returned from work, he found his house empty. Before he could understand, police reached to arrest him. His wife had filed a complaint against him for harrassing her for dowry.

After a few visits to the women cell, the girl demanded a hefty amount of ten lakhs rupees for an out of court settlement. At last, Prasad had to give four lakhs to get rid of her.

Anti-Dowry laws in India are being misused frequently to harass and extort husbands.

Section 498A of Indian penal code is meant to protect women against marital Cruelty and Dowry harassment. This law enforces the arrest of the husband and his relatives irrespective of their age and health only on the basis of the allegations made by the wife, without any evidence and investigation. It is a non-bailable section and allows imprisonment even before the guilt is established.

Divorce and Child custody laws too, are biased against men.

Domestic violence against women Law- 2015 is one-sided too. It is against the liberty and dignity of an average man.

Not only these, but most of the laws have an astounding scope of misuse. Any evil-minded woman can easily manipulate these laws to harm a man.

Women often file false and frivolous cases against men to teach them a lesson or to extort money from them.

Section 498 A is largely misused by women to settle scores with their husbands and in-laws. The result of a study says that almost 98% of cases filed under 498A are false.

Sumit Kumar, the eldest son of a Delhi Police Sub-Inspector, lives in a nearby apartment. His was an arranged marriage. The girl came along with a decent dowry along with a Wagon R car. Aftermarriage, she would go to her parent's house often. After a couple of months, she started living there more than she stayed at her husband's house. They had quarrel whenever she returned.

She gave birth to a girl child after a year. Everybody hoped that the things would improve between them.

Barely, after two months she went away with all the things she had brought in dowry, including the car but leaving the child with her husband. Sumit's father paid her two lakhs and could not escape from the draconian 498A inspite of being a policeman himself.

Women desecrate the institute of marriage and trust in relationships by misusing these laws for personal gains. They use it for extracting money, to walk out of the marriage due to adjustment and compatibility problems or to get rid of the husband as they don’t want to live with him. Many times, when a girl is forced to marry the man, not of her choice, she resorts to these laws to abolish the marriage knowing that the parents would also support her if they allege the in-laws of violence and unfeasible dowry demands.

There is an urgent need to repeal the laws and introduce gender neutral legislation. If everybody is equal in the eye of law and women demand equal rights, then, the law must consider that a woman, too, can harass a man physically, sexually, financially and mentally. Gone are the days when spousal abuse meant that the victim was wife. Now, men are at the receiving end often. They do face physical and psychological abuse at the hands of their wives.

Unfortunately, the law in India doesn’t recognize domestic violence against men. There has been a spurt in the number of men victims in last few years.

Our society considers it unmanly if a man is beaten by his wife. Men harassed at home, don’t get sympathy outside also. They are a subject of mockery. It is easier for a woman to report harassment but it is opposite for the men. Often, men endure everything for the sake of children for they are the worst sufferers in such fights. So, men don’t report abuse and harassment. Maybe, men need to change as the women are changing.

A Bangalore man approached the police to report an assault by his wife. The cops ridiculed him and threatened him that they would encourage her wife to file a case against him. The man killed himself the next day.

Only the weak, sincere and law-abiding men are distressed by the women. The unlawful minds know well how to play with the law.

Sadhuram, a class 4 employee in MTNL lived with his wife and two teenage sons. They’ve been living at the same address for ten years. Sadhuram was away for some days. In his absence, another man came to live with the family. Nobody doubted. The second night after Sadhuram returned, late in the night, people heard them quarrelling. Sadhuram called the police and claimed that the man who came to live in his absence was his wife’s paramour and had beaten him. The wife claimed that Sadhuram was not her husband but was her brother-in-law and was forcefully living with her after the death of her sister. The two boys, she said, were her brothers. Nobody believed the woman because her revelation was contrary to what she had maintained for ten long years. Police reconciled them and went away. Sadhuram was often beaten by the duo. Finally, he was forced to leave his own house which has a market worth of around sixty lakhs. His wife and her leman live together, shamelessly.  

Why should empowerment be a battle- battle of sexes when it comes to empowerment of women and battle of races, when it comes to empowering backward classes? Because empower in our country is rendered by privileges.

Privileges can’t empower anybody because it kills potentials of both, those who get them and those who don’t. The laws discussed above, are also a form of privileges designed keeping in view the vulnerability of womankind.

Social norms are undergoing change. Women today, want to do everything they were forbidden to do. They want to wear what they want, they want to go out at night, they want liberty about their sexuality because they think men enjoy that, they don’t want a pregnancy, they hate menstruation, they disapprove marriage because of the lifelong commitment it asks for and approve of live-in. Women chose live-in, men welcome it.

We owe the hugely in vogue ‘Live-in’ system to the biased and relationship-killer laws because women are aware of the whip hand the law gives them against the men.

Also, the whole movement of women empowerment is going in a direction that defies the premise of the nature. The woman has to produce children and the man has to be a protector and a facilitator. Men and women complement each other. None of them can be an independent entity. When we try to change the principles of nature, repercussions are inevitable.

Women have successfully proved that if given a fair chance, they can reach the pinnacle of glory in every field. We all acknowledge it. However, they must accept that men too have a big hand in that. Men have realized that the women should get their due and that a productive woman is a boon for a family, society and the country. The only thing is that they are too desperate. Mutual cooperation would make the long journey ahead comfortable and enjoyable.

At the same time, men must also realize why women have to decry of inequality and demand for empowerment. Aren’t men accountable for it?

Relationships are bliss. Let’s not be competitors. Let’s complement each other. Let’s live and let live.

(These are the personal views of the author and have no connection with any person, living or dead.)

#Articles #Laws #498A #Bloggers #Relationships #Man&Woman #TOI 

WHEN SOLDIERS BULLIED US

           WHEN SOLDIERS BULLIED US

                                                           .......AN ANECDOTE

It was a sudden programme. The same evening, Kishore had telephoned me to tell me that Apte Sahib was conducting another Personality Development Program at Lucknow. I didn’t want to miss and decided to go.

May and June are the months of vacations. One can’t get the reservation in trains on a short notice during these months. So, we decided to travel on unreserved tickets by The Lucknow Mail.

We reached New Delhi Railway Station at 9 pm, bought tickets and waited for the train. The departure time was 10:05 pm.

We boarded the General compartment which was the last bogie in the long train and looked for seats. It was my instance of travelling in an unreserved compartment. Most of the seats were occupied by Army men; an enigma to understand how so many people reached the compartment before two young men as we were.

Ten or more people were sitting on a berth that is meant for only three people in reserved compartments. People were at all places, on the floor and also on the luggage racks. Some lone Army personnel lay on the upper berths. They refused flagrantly when somebody asked for a little space to sit.

On one of the seats could accommodate two of us. All soldiers were sitting there. They obliged us.  Not comfortable, but we had a seat and our legs could relax to attend a two-days PDP just after reaching Lucknow.

The soldiers started boozing soon after the train left New Delhi. The label ‘Sundari’ on the bottle showed that it was a cheap country made whisky. They were twelve in all; three lying on the upper berths and nine sitting on the lower berths.  There was a middle-aged person among them whom they were addressing as ‘Sir’. Their language was filthy and abusive. After an hour, high on boozing, they started harassing the passengers on the side berths. Nobody dared to retaliate. That, perhaps, didn’t interest them. They wanted a belligerent and more aggressive prey.

Another half an hour passed. Their binge-drinking was still on as was their tormenting of passengers.

The guys on the upper berth were more notorious. They would ruffle the hair of the passengers, passing by or standing near them. Seeing a woman coming, they would drop their hand in the passage, already narrowed by the standing crowd.

When a woman and her husband confronted, they thrashed him savagely. There were many other soldiers in the bogie. All collected and warned everyone against meddling in.

After that, they were in high dudgeon and asked Kishore and me to vacate the seat. We didn’t comply and ignored.

They did, again after a few minutes.

I politely replied, ‘Everybody is comfortable. Why should you have any problem?’

The ‘Sir’ among them took the lead.

‘What do you do?’ He asked, sternly.

‘He is a teacher and I am an engineer.’ Kishore answered him.

‘Really!’ He wrinkled his brows and mimed to his peers, ‘A teacher and an engineer are sitting with us.’

‘My father worked in Indian Air Force. In a way, I belong to the family of Armed Forces,’ I said, trying to influence them with my Air Force connection.

‘Another lie,’ the ‘sir’ said scornfully. He didn’t seem a fraction more cultured than others, ‘stand… at once. Vacate the seat.’

‘Have we done any wrong to you? Did we misbehave?’ I asked.

‘Dare you?’ One, sitting beside the ‘Sir’ spoke.

‘Don’t argue. Stand up or I will throw you out of the train.’ One, on the upper berth, spoke.

We stared at them controlling rage.

The soldier, sitting next to Kishore kicked him on his thigh.

Another one, hanging above, pulled my hair.

We stood up.

‘This is highly unbecoming of a soldier,’ I said.

‘Bloody bastard. Prophet! Keep that f***ing wisdom inside you. Now, I will not allow you in this compartment. Get down at Barelley or we’ll throw you out.’ The ‘Sir’ said.

We didn’t argue further. When the train stopped at Barelley, we got down and boarded in a reserved compartment. The Ticket Examiner was sympathetic; hearing our explanation he didn’t ask for a fine and issued one seat to us for a meagre two hundred rupees. He told us that it was a routine occurrence.

We completed the rest of our journey peacefully and comfortably.

Years after the incident, I feel no malice for those soldiers who I feel, were class 4 recruits.

I have seen the life of Army men closely and have utmost respect for them.

The bitterness those soldiers treated us with, was not in their culture and blood. It was due to the harsh conditions and the discriminatory environment of the armed services.

         Workplace bullying is no more or less frequent in the Army than in many                other demanding, high-stress occupations. However, when workplace bullying does occur in the armed forces, it may well be harsher and more aggressive due to the chain-of-command structure of the military. My point of recalling and sharing this bad experience here is to point out and stress the need of improving the work conditions in the armed forces.

The one-off incident can be overlooked. We do ignore occasional bad behaviours of our friends, family, parents, children and neighbours because we know that they are not bad always.

The soldiers do great a job for us civilians. We bank on them in all emergencies. They oblige us every time without complaining. They will do better when we keep them smiling.

A smiling soldier will spread more smiles than they do.

1984 ANTI-SIKH RIOTS- A MEMOIR

                                                                  

                                    

  

  1984 ANTI-SIKH RIOTS- A MEMOIR

                                     WE ARE GUILTY AS A SOCIETY

                                

                                                                  

                                                                 
It was the morning of 31^st October in 1984. I was eleven and studied in class 6. 

My father, an Air  Force Personnel, was posted at Delhi and we lived in a rather plebeian locality in Trans-    Trans-Yamuna area. 

The dawn of the last day of October had a special significance for all of us at home. It was the  marriage anniversary. We all woke up to a mood of celebration. My father went to work. We went to school on a promise of a glorious evening and agreeing to go as it was a half-day.

In the evening, when we’re preparing to go out, my father was watching the news on Doordarshan. Salma Sultan, the well-known newsreader broke the shocking news of the death of the prime minister Mrs. Indira Gandhi. Her security guards had shot her at her residence in the morning. The immediate effect of the gravity of the news was that my father cancelled going out.

                                    

In the morning of 31^st October 1984, at 9:20 AM, when Indira Gandhi was on her way to her office at 1, Akbar Road from Prime-minister’s residence at No. 1 Safdarjung Road in New Delhi, Satwant Singh and Beant Singh, her bodyguards, opened fire on her.

Salma Sultan gave the first news of the assassination of Indira Gandhi on Doordarshan's evening news more than 10 hours after she was shot.

We’re shocked but for a short while. The news had spoiled a rare convivial evening. The loss overshadowed the national grief. Quite natural for the age we siblings were in.

The national television showed a continuous broadcast of the footage of the slain prime-minister’s body, surrounded by the crowd, frantically shouting anti-Sikh slogans. “Khoon ka badla khoon” – on and on it went, repeated over and over again. Father was glued to his chair in front of our Black and White Television.

The next morning was dreadful, chaotic and frightening. The assassination of Mrs. Indira Gandhi had triggered violence against the community the killers belonged to. It was the same community of Sikhs, whose valour, kindness and benevolence India always felt proud of. Schools and offices were closed.

Rumour was rife; trains were arriving from Punjab with the Hindu passengers having all been killed by the Sikhs on board; Sikhs were celebrating and distributing sweets; Sikhs had poisoned the water supply of Delhi. That was just to justify the massacre and instigate people to assault the Sikhs.

The main gate of our small house was an iron gate that hardly hid anything. The frenzied mob with bamboo sticks, axes, rods, kerosene canisters ruled the streets of our colony. They flaunted swords and daggers openly. We heard them boasting of killing ‘Sardars’, beating 'Sikhnis' and children, looting and then setting their houses on fire.

We knew those faces but never thought they could kill innocent people. We knew those too, who were being killed mercilessly, and trusted that they could not kill anybody.

Because of the rumours, simple Hindus were afraid too. The construction of our house was incomplete. There were no stairs to go on the roof. My father sent us to the roof from the adjacent neighbour’s house.

We heard that Sikhs were being killed in large number. We saw fires raging in the distance. There was hue and cry. Men were patrolling the streets. Women and children were on roofs. We ate there, slept there and relieved ourselves there only.

I still shiver whenever my mind brings back the evening of 1^st Nov. It was about 6 in the evening. Dusk was sliding down and the sky had begun to wrap the blanket of darkness. My mother had just gone downstairs to make dinner. Suddenly, somebody ran across our lane, shouting ‘Sardar aa gaye, Sardar aa gaye’ (Sikhs have come, Sikhs have come). My dad asked my mom to climb the wall to go upstairs. She could not. We reached for her hand and tried to pull her up. She was asthmatic and was breathless when we managed to get her with the help of our neighbour Mrs. Verma, and her kids. She had bruises all over her body.

                                   

Sardars never came. They didn’t kill any Hindu. The pogrom against them went on for four days. More than 8000 Sikhs were killed in North India, with more than 3,000 in Delhi. People looted the shops bringing home new suitcases, sacks of dry-fruits, clothes, Televisions, VCRs and what not.

Three Gurudwaras in our locality were burnt. A Sikh family, who were our friends, had lost all men. We heard the mother and other women recounting their killing. The mob surrounded their house and shouted for all the men to come out. They had two grown up boys whom we called ‘Vir ji’ two young boys, a year or two older than me and their fathers, the two brothers.

The brothers stepped out. They pleaded mercy. The mob beat them ruthlessly. Then they were doused with kerosene and were set on fire alive. The two young men, sons of the elder brother, on seeing their father and uncle being killed, ran out with ceremonious four feet long but blunt swords. They were too, beaten to death. As if killing four people was not enough, the lynch mob barged into their house. They raped the women, killed the young boys and looted. Nobody stopped them. Nobody could stop them.

A Sikh carpenter, ‘Lal Singh’, a simpleton and very innocent man, had worked in our house. He regarded my father much and my father too loved him for his simplicity and craftsmanship. He lived in a nearby shop and visited us daily.  On 31^st October, he was working somewhere. People wanted to burgle his shop, but my father intervened. Some of them suggested him to keep away and threatened of serious consequences otherwise.  My father saved Lal Singh’s shop, hoping that he would be safe somewhere. However, he never returned.

My maternal uncle lived three lanes away. A Sikh, Mr. Gandhi lived in the opposite house. Young boys were made to wear girl-clothes; their hairs were done into braids to save them from the unjustified ire of the insane dregs of the society. A young boy hid in the attic. When the crowd asked for them, my uncle lied to have any knowledge of them but the boy in the attic sneezed and was killed. People beat my uncle too. Gandhi’s house was set ablaze. Nobody saw them after that.

More than thirty-one years have passed. I have heard and read about many riots but never had I witnessed a riot as closely as that took place in 1984.

I have worked in a Sikh institution for than five years. Never did I feel a twitch of anger in their behaviour against me being a non-Sikh. I can vouch for their philanthropy, the large-heartedness, spirituality, and love for mankind. What they had to undergo was unfortunate. The hard-workers and fighter they are, they never looked back. They earned back everything they lost except lives, humiliation and bloody repugnance in their own country. Also, they have not changed. They have not altered their ways to help the mankind. They have not closed their Gurudwaras for the non-Sikhs, who shamelessly go there to feast on the ‘lungers’ and devour the delicacies during ‘Nagar Kirtans’. They don’t complain, don’t deny, and don’t discriminate.

 Justice is still awaited and in all probability, will always remain awaited because the politicians of this country know how to manipulate the law. They know it takes a few words and very few rotten heads to spread anarchy. Politics in this country is not about governing, it is to know how to manipulate people. A crowd has no face and no ideology. They are robots. A literate person never goes to political rallies. I never went to one. Democracy is not workable in a state plagued with illiteracy and unemployment.

As a Hindu, and a non-Sikh, I feel guilty of 1984 riots, and all the religion based riots, being a part of a society which can be beguiled easily.

REVIEW

Shadow & Soul

By Nandita Bose

MEET THE AUTHOR

After a Masters in English Literature and a Ph D in Aesthetics, more than twenty years in academia and then running her own Performance Management Consultancy, Nandita Bose turned to a long-cherished dream of writing. The area of interest is relationships that best reflect our society and how affinities develop within it. ‘Shadow & Soul’ is Nandita’s fourth book.

                                      

                                 

REVIEW-

My profession of teaching and vocation of writing sucks up most of my day. So my longing to read is a thing of leftover-leisure. Thus, I am a picky reader. However, nothing comes between when it comes to reading a book from an authoress, who I consider the best among the contemporary Indian writers. Ever since I have read her ‘Perfume of Promise’, I am her fan.

‘Shadow & Soul’ by Nandita Bose is one book I have been anxiously waiting for.

I started the book with great appetite. Frankly, the story failed to impress me initially, but the marvel of the language, the piercing analogies, the poetry in her prose, the masterly choice of words to describe emotions which my eyes perceived as words but they touched my soul, sustained my interest. 

                                  

‘Shadow & Soul’ is a story which shows how indispensable love is. The character of Devika as a woman married only for dowry, then ignored and astonishingly disowned, like a lifeless article in the huge house her parents pay to her doctor husband in lieu of marrying her, has been beautifully portrayed by Nandita Bose. Devika is starving emotionally and carnally when Shaurjyo, a distant relative of her husband comes to their house for a vacation.

Though he was younger, their proximity leads to physicality, care, concern and mutual fulfillment, and consequently emotional attachment that make Devika a rebel. One may disapprove their relationship in beginning, but immorality too has justification sometimes. When the story reveals the meanness of her husband, Devika’s lapse into infidelity doesn’t pinch.

The narration is amazing. Though, Devika and Shaurjyo dawdle along years, chanced meetings and Shaurjyo’s visits and they don’t bind themselves with any hurried commitment, the story progresses at a good pace. The author keeps taking the readers back and forth into time making it an amazing and interesting read.

“…Everything was a waste. Everything. Even life is nothing but a waste. It is no more than a candle flame that snuffs out unexpectedly. But at least, the candle serves a purpose, brightens gloom for that period. A life does not…”

Until Page 153, I abhorred the two protagonists. Shaurjyo to me was an opportunist and Devika, a lovelorn woman who easily and readily lapsed into infidelity. Then comes a chapter ‘Young Woman Reading’ and changed my perception of them.  It had already satiated the writer in me, but the reader in me was also gratified until I read the last line. True....there are moments then there is life.

‘Shadow & Soul’ is a wonderful read. It shows how indispensable love is. Devika longs for it. Shaurjyo finds it in an older woman and not in his women colleagues. Devika’s husband ties knot with her for the grand ‘Meera Mansion’ but fails to bind his soul with hers and abandons her and the mansion. The only cruelty on his part is that he never feels guilty of having stolen her life from her.

Lovemaking between Devika and Shaurjyo has been described with poise and aplomb, keeping it decent. The author has told these amorous moments from the mouth of Devika and Shaurjyo both and she does commendably well.

“…And my tongue roved her skin returning often to the honeycomb of her breasts, the coral of her lips. She tasted of salt and memories and me…”

 And at last, love triumphs over all.

The cover is yet another marvel from Pinaki De. It is, always a delight to read her work and this book added to my reverence for her writing.

‘Shadow & Soul’ is worth reading, not for its story but for its amazing literary beauty.

Other Books By Nandita Bose-