life's a kick

“You guessed it right, it’s a baby girl; a girl, who has no idea whether she’ll go to live or not…” As she recites lines from a poem called ‘Why is a girl never wanted’, Devjani’s cheeks get inflamed with passion, her brows furrowed and eyes darting, hands moving to enunciate her point. The fiery delivery leaves her audience with a lump in their throats which doesn’t melt for a long time. Maybe this is why she won the first prize for this poem in a pan-Bhilai poetry recitation competition. Devjani Chaudhary, 9, daughter of contract labour Jyotirmay Chaudhary, fluent orator in Hindi and English, is one of the 295 other first generation learners of Bhilai Ispat Kalyan Vidyalaya (BIKV), an English-medium school catering exclusively to children coming from below poverty line (BPL) families. With an intention to alleviate families living in abject poverty by providing education to their children, BIKV was started by SAIL Bhilai Steel Plant in 2007. Every year, a new batch ...

There are some moments that sink in our minds through the chinks of time. Some words, some lessons that make way through the labyrinths of our sub-conscious, and lie embedded deep somewhere. It is only when we are shaken from our day-to-day reveries, by a long-forgotten fragrance...or a nostalgic song...or a blurred sense of déjà-vu that we get to sneak a peek into our own minds. One such occasion for me was visiting the steel plants of Bokaro and Durgapur, years after I first saw them.   I was among the five new Junior Managers (Communication) who landed in Durgapur way back in 2006. Even before we had officially joined the company, we jested about our choice of joining SAIL. Usually, in the career graphs of people, an ascent is marked by migration to a more developed place. And there we were – five fresh graduates from the Indian Institute of Mass Communication in Delhi, with ambitious plans and high dreams, travelling from the mega capital of India to some place people lear...

He: So we start with discussing the weather? He asks with utter impunity, their eyes meet, and both laugh helplessly like childhood friends. There is an uncharacteristic candour in the way they meet. Definitely not how people meet after years. They talk, picking up strands of conversation, as if they left it there minutes ago, and came back after a loo break or so. She smiles bashfully, eyes downcast, now looking up at him, shaking her head in the same ‘oh! You never change’ expression. He: In fact, I’d much rather talk about Whether. Whether I can kiss you, whether I should hold your hand and… She (almost jumping in): you really have to stop. Remember our treaty? He: High time you stopped me baby. In an uncanny way, she predicts most of his replies even before completing her sentence. As usual, he crosses the line. As usual, she disciplines herself to ignore. They’re meeting. She’s happy. He’s ecstatic. They’re euphoric. And that’s all that...

The farther i went away the closer i came running away from truth is after all, so lame in loud carefree chortles i heard myself cry unsurprising, how i failed the harder i'd try steeped in flesh and lust unscruplously promiscous all i saw in darkness laced in love was Us things people events nothing really touches me nothing's complete, nothing matters only We are meant to be.