Meeting Vandana

About a week ago, I went to the New Delhi railway station to see off Ankit. There I chanced upon Vandana, a school friend from the commerce section. Though we were not very good friends, probably a little more than acquaintances, but the mutual feelings demonstrated that time were that of ecstasy. It was such a pleasure to know that she is now doing her management course from MDI and is looking forward to a good placement next year. We tried to recall all names we could from school, classmates, favourite teachers, juniors. She reminded me that she had once persuaded me to write an article “Why cockroaches are so beautiful!” for our Interact club magazine that never saw the light of the day. I wish I had some memory of this article, wonder what my thoughts were at that point of time! Infact I don’t think I will be able to write much on the same topic today.

We noticed the changes that the in-between years have brought to our physical appearances. She was almost the same as before, I thought. For myself, I cannot for sure decide as to what makes me more excited when someone remarks “Why, you haven’t changed one bit!” or “You look completely different!” While the first

We tried tracing the where-abouts of anyone and everyone we had known. And I noticed that we were talking of things and people in a way which while in school would never have come to us. Though you have to keep mentioning your age at so many places, you hardly play witness to your own growth. Flash meetings like these which take you back in time, show you that you have changed, a lot.

Poster personalities

I was passing by Daryaganj for the first time on a non-Sunday. The place sure does look very different without the books that line the entire stretch every Sunday and with all the shops open. The only familiar things that I could spot from the bus window were a few of the poster stalls. Now, I am not one to buy posters of any kind, I’d rather have the walls nice and clean. But, if the bus gets stalled due to a heavy congestion, I do not mind looking at the play of personalities that these posters displayed.

It is common knowledge in this country that if you aspire to become an Indian Idol, you can try the following things:

• Become a God: This will prove a difficult thing to do, because by and large all religions are happy and saturated with their share of Gods and Goddesses. But if you still insist, then in this age of no-innocence, you will really have to be one great marketing expert cum spiritual guru cum inventor of a new trendsetting cult, in that order.
  
  
  
• Become a movie star: Not a very difficult one really. Cinematic talents (acting, dancing, looks) can be helpful at times.
  
  
  
• Become a sports star: Again, not very easy. Some real hard work is required.
  

Anyways, what I noticed about the posters was an interesting phenomenon. There were the the regular posters of dieties of all religions and filmstars of all seasons. However when it came to sports personalities, I noticed a lot was missing. Besides an occasional Sachin or Yuvraj, Sania Mirza is the one ruling the streets right now. And talking of our famous leaders, there was undoubtedly the expected Gandhi, Nehru and Bhagat Singh but the surprising entry was that of President Kalam. Finally, after about five decades Indians have a national leader they can ideolize and seek inspiration from. Three cheers to him.

Delhi, as I see

Normal people do not care to write. It is largely the work of idle human beings.
Actually it is a simple cause and effect cycle:
You are idle --> You have time in life to do nothing --> You tend to think and invent philosophies of your own --> Birth of an article.
Now, holidays mean a lot of time to think, read the newspaper inside-out and to devote to radio. All of it done for lack of anything else to do. Hence this writing.
[ "I think therefore I write" should qualify as a maxin just as well. Anyways.}
To start with I won't go into what the city has taught me- it is pretty much all that you learn as youth and independence come by. (Though I have to mention that I owe it to Delhi to have introduced me to the art of dancing away to madness and relishing parathas with butter cubes).
Let's see how much I have learned.
I know Delhi not so much from having seen the city too much or interacted with the crowd here. My trips to the city, besides the sorrounding Rohini and Bawana land, have been restricted to few selected locations, and the number is countable on fingertips. As far as interaction is concerned, I am yet to have talked at length to anyone not related to any technical curriculum. So, that pretty much confines my network to the type of people generally found in engineering colleges. To sum up, my impression of the city is largely media influenced, the newspaper and radio playing major roles here.
I probably have got too used to the journalistic style of The Times of India. Tried switching over to the much revered The Hindu, but in vain. It was so plain and mostly boring. Though I appreciate their concern for quality and the standards they have maintained since ages, I had become addicted to the vibrancy of TOI. They have a way of sharing information which makes it all so alive. If you take the TOI, you cannot have missed it's Guest Editor editions - the President's being their most recent offering. It goes to show that they are a newsgroup which is concerned and is seeking to be the best by taking tips from those who matter. I mean, it really takes courage to let a teenage tennis sensation to be your Editor. Cynics will point out that it is all a marketing gimmick, still I will happily pay Rs. 2 to buy it.
Also the Delhi Eleven team selection etc. has greatly improved my know-how of the movers and shakers of Delhi. This matters because it makes you feel a part of the city. Newspapers or rather The Telegraph (which we subscribe to back home) in Calcutta are great, what with all their fine literary quality and everything, but they do not undertake to promote the belonging-to-the-city feeling. They give you more food for thought.

I guess, that it then what this capital city of ours somehow lacks- time to think. The newspaper (The Times of India) therefore is an accurate representation. It is as on-the-surface as most of the busy lives here. As brand conscious. As party loving. As food indulging. As cinema crazy. As extravagant. As politically correct. As power driven. As fast and happening. As hot and as cold.
I am not saying anything's wrong, but unconsciously I tend to compare it all with the humble and peaceful hometown of mine.

Ah, the radio. I like everything about it apart from the very obviously irritating commercial advertisements. It still remains a wish though to meet, in person, any one of those millions who take time off while driving to inform these guys of the traffic conditions, or those who waste money sms-ing answer to (mostly) silly questions of their's. Anyway, when I like the music, I dont have a choice.
These radio guys have taught me quite a bit and most importantly that public opinion can sure turn a few things around. Reading civics books is another thing.
I love its pervasive nature and inherent potency. It is the medium for the masses. The mess-bhaiya, the moongfali wala, the RTV, the Mother dairy counter... you name it, they all have their version a radio. It is amazing to think of the Phoenix rise that this technically simple instrument has seen, in usage and popularity. And, it has been for the good.
If used judiciously, the radio can be made much more than something which gives you good music, hilarious jokes and shayari, cricket updates and social messages. And ofcourse a more living source of city-info than anything else and all for free.

Seems like I have deviated from my intended topic a bit, but it doesnt really matter.

Christmas Greetings

Merry Christmas to all you folks !!

Of winters, society, dreams and movies

I detest the winters in Delhi. They cripple me to unlimited extents.

Every morning it is a fierce battle between the mind, the body and the heart. The body clings to warm quilt as it were glued to it. The mind, inspite of the hard work and fatigue resulting from a good 10-hour dream-show, knows at the back of itself that if I do not make it to the Electrical Workshop by 9.30 am, attendance will be doomed for that day. The heart meanwhile tries to play the good guy, cajoling the body to follow the mind’s commands. It has also to motivate the aching neck and shoulders to arise, the pain resulting from the burden of tonnes of woolly blankets.

Alarms, I must mention here, are out of my good books, at least for the winters. They have disappointed me; useless mechanisms- do not as much as cause a slight disturbance to my slumber.

Gear up I must, for, the Herculean tasks for the day have just about begun.
The tete-a-tete with chilling waters is what I dread most. Toothbrush in hand, I keep contemplating endlessly- to be or not to be. Somehow, with a valiant stroke of sheer impulse, I manage to thrust the brush into the mouth and then finish off the exercise with jet speed. Daily, about 67% of my will power is consumed thus, generating impulse reactions to the bucket of bathing water or the glass of icy drinking water. In short, water becomes a necessary evil- can’t live with it, can’t live without it.

I am thankful however, to our department for their strict attitude towards our attendance. Otherwise I would have to stay in the abandoned hostel, feeling all forlorn and dejected.

You see, loneliness bites - dramatically increasing the effect of the cold. Society meanwhile, soothes- its effect being comparable to the relaxing effects of the balmy winter sun.And I realized this only recently.
True, that I sometimes use societal gatherings to get away or rather forget myself, but the benefits of society, irrespective of other factors, are many. Though I love the sense of solitude, but within the confines of a 10 by 30 hostel room it only leads to hopelessness. Whereas, meeting people every morning and working with them refreshes the soul, gives it new sources of inspiration and reasons to rejoice or lament.

A little more thought in this direction brings us to the importance of an individual’s family in her life. Infact, at the stage where I am right now, home and hostel (or equivalently- family and friends) are two extremes of a situation.
Whilst the family gives one security and affection, it at the same time binds and sometimes curbs her individuality. Campus life on the other hand gives an individual unrestricted freedom, but there is also the constant pressure to perform and impress.

Returning to my chronicle, I cannot take too much of society and its interference. After the day’s work, I long to retire to my solitary confines. The day’s newspaper or a book is the idle way to unwind. After which it is time to do my own stuff.
But as Nature would have it, an automatic mechanism works to make me gradually unfold the blankets to escape the chill. And soon enough I am deep within the warm, albeit suffocating dark covers.

I am a little tired for the day now- will probably do the part about dreams and movies tomorrow.

Another girl, unnamed.

A girl, all of fourteen and unnamed-
Daughter of Ashiq Hussain, a villager from Rajouri district, Jammu-
is kidnapped one day by Lashkar terrorists;
three locals and six foreign mercenaries.

Headed by Abu Hamza, the terrorists gang rape her,
for over a month.

She is then forced to marry
Zulfikar Ali, one of the gang.
Iqbal, a moulvi at Buddhal is beaten
to execute the nikkah.

On a certain Friday, when the terrorists are busy praying,
the girl manages to escape.

Along with parents, she sets off for the local police station.
The police station incharge, she recognises,
is the one who regularly assisted the terrorists.
She has to flee again.

The whole family, of the girl, for want of help
Goes up to the deputy commissioner of police, Rajouri.
He says, “Sorry, no funds for such a case”.

Jammu city is where they land next.
Advocate A K Sawhney there, takes the girl to meet the Chief Justice.
The Chief Justice however, refuses to oblige.

Meanwhile,
The Lashkar-e-Taiba terrorists paste posters of the gang raped girl,
whom they failed to detain.
Rs 50,000 is the reward,
for information to help hound the hunted child.

Narratives like these, I read everyday.
And everyday,
They become stories of yesterday.

Scares me,
To think that I might become
Another story someday.

Till then, every other day, the pain and anguish last
Only as long as the story does.

Wish I could put a handsome price,
on the heads of these men, turned into beasts.

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The original article may be read at:

LeT men rape girl, put reward on her head