Good girls get married…

Good girls get married.

They go from one house to another,

Coyly smiling with their bright red lips

and mascara stained  eyes,

because only shameless girls

don’t cry during vidaai!

Good girls get married.

They never speak loud and

Always cover up their heads

With a saree,

They apply red bindi, sindoor

And a chain around their neck

To be a sanskari naari.

Good girls get married.

They don’t date random men

they meet on the internet.

They wait for their parents,

to set them up with strangers instead.

Good girls get married.

They remove the tattoos of past lovers

 from their shoulders,

And dye their hands with henna,

they tame their curls and tie them up in a bun,

They keep fasts on Fridays,

Praying for a son.

Good girls don’t swear,

complain or question

old, illogical  traditions,

they follow rules-

neither love nor lust,

without permission.

Good girls don’t laugh out loud,

Or write out poems on their oppression.

Good girls just get married.

Alas, I am not a good girl.

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Image from here.

P.S. Well… Hello People!!!

Being (not) Beautiful

Eight year old me washed her hands,
Several times a day…
In the hopes of making them,
A few shades lighter….

Sixteen year old me, cursed the pimples on her face,
for making her invisible to the cute guy,
The one she had a crush on…

Twenty four old me,
is still struggling with scars…
Both on the body and mind,Looking at her imperfections,
Wondering what beauty really is,
And if she would ever fit into this perfect world
With its glorious perceptions of beauty.

Years have passed but the standards have been unchanged..
From the red-cheeked , long-haired girl in school,To the tall, fair,kohl-eyed girl in the metro…
The world hasn’t stopped making her feel (not) beautiful…

The Independent Girl

Past

She was an ordinary girl with ordinary dreams, aged twenty one, she faced each day with a smile on her face. She was the prettiest and the eldest among three sisters.

He was a rich, spoilt brat and a college leader. With a property worth millions, there was nothing he was deprived of. He was a budding politician and with his political links and his money he had the power to get anything he wanted.

He liked her the day he saw her and in spite of announcing his love publicly, following her everywhere and showering her with compliments and gifts, he was unable to convince her to marry him.  She was the only thing he couldn’t get in life. She was a challenge and he took a vow to make her his wife someday.

He attempted suicide and wrote her name in his suicide letter. There was a police case and they were the talk of the town, the matter was discussed in colleges, in every house hold, and with his political influences, even in the local newspapers. Fearing he might attempt suicide again his family contacted her parents and fearing the society and that no one will marry their daughters ever, they accepted their proposal.

She married him, accepting her fate, ready to face life without a smile on her face.

He married her, proving it to everyone that there’s nothing he can’t get in his life.

Present

I am walking down the road with my mom as I see her strolling in her garden. Her daughter, now two years old, is sleeping peacefully resting her head on her shoulder. She greets my mom and they start talking. She doesn’t know me but I know her story. She looks happy today, I’ve never seen her smiling before. An arrest warrant has been issued against her husband in a murder case and he is presently absconding. If caught, he would be jailed for a minimum of seven years; I’ve heard people talking about the case.

In my thoughts, I equate his arrest to her independence, and I pray for it. I look at her daughter, she is her exact replica. I wonder how different her fate would be from her mother’s fate. She is the sole owner of the entire property; she’ll live her life like a princess but with a regret of having a criminal as a father. I cast away the thoughts of her father from my mind and pray for her better future. Suddenly, she wakes up and gives me a warm smile, as if saying amen to my prayer. I smile back at her and then, we walk away.

Symbol for a change…may be!

Image from here.

Making A Choice- Love or Family???

Recently I saw an advertisement in a newspaper about the upcoming sale in a jewellery store. I asked my dad to check out the advertisement, you know in case he wanted to make some jewellery for me, he could do that in cheaper rates. I was actually fooling around but my dad took the advice rather seriously. He declared that he has gone bankrupt after the marriage of my siblings and has nothing left for me. He then said that I should find a suitable guy myself and he’ll only come to the wedding to bless me.

OKAY, my dad said this. I mean MY DAD!!!!

To find a guy myself- matlab a love marriage!!!

I pinched myself just to make sure that it wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t. He said that for real.

I asked him again, ” Are you serious?”

And he said, “Yes.”

Just when I was busy imagining my till-that-moment-almost-impossible wedding, my dad said, ” But…

(Here comes the BUT in between)

But…

– He must be a Brahmin.

– Just not a Brahmin, but a Kumauni Brahmin. Brahmins from other regions are not allowed.

– He must not be from our Gotra.

– Our horoscopes must match and for that,

-He must be a manglik.

Lo, Ho gayi meri shadi!!!

Matlab what am I supposed to do? If ever i find a guy, am I supposed to give him an application form, listing the eligibility criteria for falling in love with me? I’ve heard about family planning, Now am I supposed to do love planning? And can love be planned? Isn’t it supposed to be a coincidence, a mutual acceptance of one’s assets and faults?

Does the matching of caste,color,creed,class or planets guarantee a successful marriage? I don’t think so. I am not a pro in the subjects as crucial as marriage but i do know that love, understanding, and mutual respect are essential for any relationship to succeed. Unfortunately many Indian parents fail to match these aspects.

I am myself in a relationship with a guy from another caste. We are too young to think about marriage but we do hope to spend our lives together if our relationship succeeds. But for that to happen I’ll have to make a choice and by far I am not strong enough to choose him. And I don’t know if I’ll ever have the strength to do that.

All my close friends were in relationship with guys who either belonged to different castes, region,religions or same gotra, blame it on our education, our so called modern beliefs, the freedom we got or whatever. But eventually they all gave up, some tried, some remained mum. Almost no one among us, decided to fight for love. Is it because our love wasn’t strong enough or are we all a bunch of cowards?

Would you sacrifice your love for your family?

What would you do if you’ve to make a choice?

[ While trying to write a funny post I ended up getting all serious about it. Why can’t I Laugh over Love? To compensate for that, I am adding the following pictures ]

True Story!!!
True Story!!!
Not Quite sure about that!!!
Not Quite sure about that!!!

I Won’t Rest In Peace

There are no tears in my eyes as I leave this place,

Nor do I feel any pain, no emotions on my face.

This soil now smells of my blood,and

The air is mixed with ashes of my existence.

All my dreams lie shattered on the floor,

My life has ended, destiny has closed its doors.

I wanted to live, wasn’t given that right,

I was silenced even before I could fight.

As my soul rises above, I could see people out on the streets,

Why didn’t they come out to cover up my battered body, at that time of need?

It wasn’t just me who was tormented that night,

Each mark on my corpse depicts a woman’s plight.

Whom should i blame is the question on my mind,

The government,culture or people, they are all the same kind.

The moment you demand justice for me, raise your voices in a protest,

A girl somewhere meets the same fate as mine, her voice is supressed.

And my soul wanders along with those who were snatched the right to live,

We were killed just for being women, none of you can we forgive.

We won’t rest in peace if you just hang a person or two,

You can’t change the world, until you bring a change within you!

courtesy:indiatoday.in

courtesy: indiatoday.in

When Humans Turn Into Devils

A medical student in her twenties, who was traveling with her male friend in a whiteline bus from Munirka to Uttam Nagar area in west Delhi, was allegedly gang-raped by a group of men inside the moving bus and thrown off the vehicle near Mahipalpur in south Delhi on late Sunday night. Read the full news here.

The girl lies in a critical condition in an ICU battling for her life as her male friend lies in another, as he too was beaten up by the molesters. A movie night turned into a nightmare for these two young souls. The girl, a medical student and the boy, a passed out engineer and a civil services aspirant wouldn’t have thought to witness such a night in their lives. But, it happened. The girl was gangraped by five men in a moving bus, after beating up her boyfriend with a rod. The girl has been hit with a blunt object and besides injuries from the sexual assault, her whole intestine has been damaged.

As i read this news, however hard i tried to forget about it and focus on my studies, i just couldn’t. What i did was read more about it, and while doing so i came across many comments below this news. Comments by fellow Indians, blaming Shiela Dixit, Delhi Police, Hindus, Muslims ( a rape can instigate communal riots in our country), bus drivers, education, hormones, the list goes on. What no one thought about, was the condition of that girl. The news channels got a new thing to discuss, bloggers like me got a new post, police got a new job in hand,but what about the girl. What did she get? Lifelong scars, fear, or probably death. Soon enough we’ll also get few people questioning the girl over what she was doing with a male friend at 11 pm in a bus. A certain sect of people in our country believe that modernisation, mobile phones, television, and even chowmein are responsible for the growing crime rates against women. To clarify the doubts of such people i would like to write about one such incident that i can never forget. Infact whenever i read or hear about rapes, the same incident come across my mind.

It is a really old incident, probably in the late 1990’s or early 2000’s when i was around 10-11 years old. I lived in a really small town not a modernised city like Delhi. There were no cell phones. The only channel we watched was Doordarshan. Like everyday i was reading the newspaper and in the front page  was the news of a women who was raped at her own house. Her son was first murdered in front of her eyes( hit by an iron rod) and then she was raped by 3-4 men who were hiding beneath the bed in the daytime. As soon as it was dark, they came out and raped her. The lady here wasn’t a modern(in indian dictionary) girl who could surge the hormones of these innocent men by wearing provocative dresses but a married young woman with a 5 year old kid. She was infact the wife of a man working in the Indian army, who was posted elsewhere during the time of the incident. I read this news and i didn’t understand anything, though i knew that ‘hatya’ meant murder, ‘Balatkaar’ was too difficult a word to understand at that young age. I was a kid, i didnt knew what happened. I understood all those terms when i grew up. Why this incident is still so fresh in my memory is because, i saw those 2 dead bodies. The mortgage was very close to my home, i just went nearby to buy something and saw those two bodies wrapped in white cloth. And i instantly realised that those are the bodies of the people i read about. I still can’t forget that, not even after all these years.

This incident is about 12 years old, but as i thought about it and about this Delhi girl today, i can’t help but cry, cry for their loss, for the pain they went through. They were punished for no fault of theirs.

The police can find those suspects, there could be court cases, they could get Death penalty for this heinous crime ( which i don’t think they will in our country) but could we ever make them feel what this girl felt last night. No, we can’t. Though i strongly believe that rape is the cruelest crime, i don’t think that death is the ultimate punishment. Death means freedom. It won’t help anyone of us to make that girl feel any better. If somehow we accept or digest the thing that a single person raped a girl, i just can’t believe how could five people turn into devils at the same time. Why didn’t their conscience stop them, not even one of them? How on earth can someone be so brutal?

As i write about it here, that girl is fighting for her life. Last night when all of us were securely sleeping in our rooms, that girl was getting raped in a moving bus, in front of her boyfriend. What could be more terrible. Death? I don’t think so.

I could have been in place of that girl. It could have been my friend, or my sister. Or you. I am scared, i am crying, i don’t know what to do about it? I just can’t take it off my mind.

Can she really live again? I don’t have any answer.

http://mtv.in.com/blogs/general/just-in/national-capital-region-of-shame-50154671.html?india