life's a kick

Years ago, a friend of mine committed a professional blunder. There was a printing mistake in a piece of collateral involving the corridors of power. The mistake was such that it rendered the whole project useless. Worse, some of the printed material had been distributed. Which meant that along with wasted money, we were now dealing with a reputational blemish.  Since the stakes were high, the matter escalated in no time. The department head was summoned to task. A fearless and frank professional, this person was widely respected for her sharp acumen and transparent dealings. And as is the case with calmly confident people like her, she was a perceived threat to several insecure co-workers. The latter, therefore, jumped at this opportunity to magnify this mistake and make it bigger than it was.  The news was as much a shock to her as it was to the stakeholders. She had, of course, signed the final bill and given the final go-ahead. She had assigned the work to one o...

With my original Durga This story dates back to 1997. I had turned 13, the year my periods began. Flashback: It had been four years since we had moved to Delhi. Coming from Bokaro, we’d still not warmed up to the national capital. The summers were too hot, the winters too cold, and no rains in between. There was no Bokaro Steel City Club to chill at. The parents of colony children were too strict with playing hours. Open spaces were too few and far between. English was too common, and the city’s fashion standard too pompous for our tastes. And then, as a 9 year old, I finally discovered something I liked about Delhi – the Kanjak Puja . Back in (the then) Bihar, there was no Kanjak Puja . There was only Dushehra, but it was celebrated with inimitable fanfare. We knew of only one Navratri that was celebrated in autumn, and all nine days were days of Durga. Of Kali, the eternal Shakti. The all-powerful goddess with 108 names. In my childhood memories, Dushehra, or...

Not-at-all-dear Patriarchal Society, I know that I’m a huge disappointment to you. I couldn’t have been happier with myself for that. You’re right when you say that women like us have imbalanced the societal order. We indeed have. And we will continue at this noble task till the time that gender balance is restored. Till the time that personal interest, and not gender, determines what we do and what is expected out of us. You’re right when you say that we have corroded your ‘value’ system . According to your values, women are paraaya dhan. Therefore, a lot of you nurture your daughters believing, and making your daughters in turn believe, that marriage is their end goal. And that the daughters’ actual family is the conjugal home, and not the natal home. Naturally, the sons grow up believing that they are the real inheritors and only care-takers for ageing parents. Hence, you forever prepare your daughters to adapt to a new home when they grow up. You ask them t...

 14 साल की शोभा एक संवेदनशील युवती है. अपने उम्र की अन्य किशोरियों की तरह वो जितना स्कूल से सीखती है, उतना ही परिस्थितियों से. उम्र की ढलान कहिये, पुरुष-स्त्री के रिश्ते में आजकल शोभा विशेष रूचि लेती है. दो दिन की छुट्टी में दिल्ली आई है - एक शादी में शामिल होने. विस्तृत परिवार के सदस्यों के भेंट के पुनः बाद शोभा का परिचय नयी भाभी से होता है. शोभा इनकी शादी में शरीक नहीं हो पाई थी, इसलिए पहली बार मिल रही है. भाभी ने शोभा को बड़ी आत्मीयता से गले लगाया और बताया कि उनकी छोटी बहन भी उसी की आयु की है. शोभा ने जाना की लड़की शादी के बाद अपना तन लेकर ससुराल तो आ जाती है, पर उसका मन निरंतर अपने स्वजनों के लिए कचोटता रहता है. …………………. शादी से एक रात पहले की कॉकटेल पार्टी है और ड्रेस कोड वेस्टर्न वियर तय किया गया है. लम्बे काले गाउन, चमकीले स्कर्ट, टिमटिमाते स्कार्फ़ में औरतें फब रही हैं. यहाँ तक की मेरठ वाली चची ने भी कुरता-पैंट पहना है. बस एक भाभी है जो इस अवसर पर भी पीली कांजीवरम की सड़ी पहने डोल रही है. जब शोभा ने पूछा तो भाभी ने हंसकर टाल दिया. मस्ती और डांस का माहौल है. सभी ठुमक रहे...

“Auntie, where did you learn swimming?” Standing at the shallow end of the swimming pool, I was vigorously shaking my head to get rid of the water in my ears when this girl, around 10, approached me. “Sorry? You said something?” “Yes auntie. Where did you learn swimming?” “Umm…in a swimming pool in Dwarka.” “How long did you take to learn all the strokes you do. Especially butterfly?” “I took long. Almost two full seasons. Breathing and butterfly took the longest.” “So they taught you all the strokes there?” Asked the mother of this girl, inching closer, who was hitherto standing a few feet away. Her curiosity was piqued by now. On her shoulder clung her younger daughter. I had an audience of three. “My girls admire you. The way you swim non-stop. And also your butterfly and diving. So we wanted to find out about your trainer,” the mum added. “Beta, introduce yourself,” she chided her older daughter who looked at me with zero interest in personal introduc...

My mind has followed your words, to the last possible letter, from you I became this, for you I will become better. There doesn’t exist a dream, that doesn’t stem from you, it’s you who helps me be, to myself and others – true. Your art, your passion, your wholeness; your mindfulness and peace, you’re a treasure trove of wealth, I was born with Paradise’s keys For every good done by me, for every acknowledged deed my praise, my prize, my promise; belongs to my Papa, indeed.

Everything was okay in the life of 8-year old Prerna. Until her younger sibling was born. As an ebullient child with big eyes and continuous chatter, Prerna was a charmer, most of all for her Papa. As the first-born of her parents, Prerna was as much a mission as a gift. She obliged them as much as they doted on her. She did well at studies, at sports, and at general socializing with other children and adults. Her mom often complained about Prerna’s ‘endless’ energy to her father and others. “ So what’s wrong in that? It’s lack of energy that should be a concern, isn’t it? ” Papa would remark. Filling Prerna with a secret sense of pride. “ Stay like this ,” he whispered in her ears, hugging and cuddling her at the same time. Papa was her ‘bestest’ friend. Prerna and Papa were the centre of each other’s universe. When Papa was around, she cared for nothing and nobody else. Not her mom, who was in any case always busy with cooking and housework. Not for her maid Aparna aunti...

They are everywhere. Slavering with stories and theories on women. They are found among both sexes. Gossiping about women is their chief pastime. Like herds, their thoughts on the subject are all the same. That women envy each other. That women can never be true friends with other women. That women are poor drivers. That women nag. That women are family breakers. That parenting is a woman’s responsibility. That women are born to be homemakers. That career women are social threats. Etcetera.    “You know what, when we men become friends, we barely care about each other’s wealth or assets. We simply chill out. But when women are together, all they notice is the jewelry and clothes of other women.” I’ve heard self-appointed social commentators explain. Let’s ask them – do you remember the cars and official positions of your male friends? Yes, you do. Because you take interest in cars and designations. People remember what interests them. Social conditioning is a si...