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Rahul Gandhi: A Man the Future May Understand Better

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Aag Ko Paani Ka Darr Bane Rehna Chahiye ------- When Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated, I was eleven years old. I still remember where I was standing in the house when I heard the news. I remember the strange heaviness I felt as a child. It was the kind of heaviness children are not even supposed to fully understand. But I felt it. Deeply. I remember standing quietly in a corner and telling myself something dramatic and childish: that one day there would be justice, that one day I would do something about it. Children often make silent promises to themselves like that. Life moves on. Politics changes. Governments come and go. You grow up. You forget the exact words, but not always the emotion behind them. Years later, like millions of others in this country, I developed strong opinions. Political too. Very strong ones. I argued, judged, reacted, concluded. And somewhere during those years came that famous interview of Rahul Gandhi with Arnab Goswami. I remember watching it with sho...
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सुनो द्रोपदी शस्त्र उठालो, अब गोविंद ना आयेंगे

Suno Draupadi, shashtra utha lo. Ab Govind na aayenge by Pushpmitra Upadhyay  छोड़ो मेहँदी खड्ग संभालो खुद ही अपना चीर बचा लो द्यूत बिछाये बैठे शकुनि, मस्तक सब बिक जायेंगे सुनो द्रोपदी शस्त्र उठालो,  अब गोविंद ना आयेंगे कब तक आस लगाओगी तुम, बिक़े हुए अखबारों से, कैसी रक्षा मांग रही हो दुशासन दरबारों से? स्वयं जो लज्जाहीन पड़े हैं वे क्या लाज बचायेंगे सुनो द्रोपदी शस्त्र उठा लो अब गोविंद ना आयेंगे कल तक केवल अँधा राजा, अब गूंगा बहरा भी है होंठ सी दिए हैं जनता के, कानों पर पहरा भी है तुम ही कहो ये अश्रु तुम्हारे, किसको क्या समझायेंगे? सुनो द्रोपदी शस्त्र उठा लो, अब गोविंद ना आयेंगे -पुष्यमित्र उपाध्याय
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India's Children

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(Originally posted on LoudST ) She was raped, and when she threatened to tell, the perp burnt her alive. She was a child, a class-V student, looked a lot like that niece of yours. #Assam She was raped, repeatedly, by seven people. She was held captive, and finally killed. She was only eight years into this world, looked a lot like that child you met at the park the other day. #Kathua She came distraught, telling the world she was raped. She lost her father thereafter, as he was beaten and then taken into police custody only to never return. She is sixteen, a child, just like that cousin of yours preparing for her boards. #Unnao I refuse to identify these children with their community and region today. They are just children. Our children.  I refuse to attribute any identity to those perpetrators, for they are mere excuses for humans, only rotten souls. And we support them – for they may share our regional, political or religion identity. Time to seek justice for our ch...
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What’s the Fuss about Gender Equality?

A woman is human. She is not better, wiser, stronger, more intelligent, more creative, or more responsible than a man. Likewise, she is never less. Equality is a given. A woman is human. I believe these words by Vera Nazarian resonate with most of us. Is this true? Yes. Is this how the world feels? No.  _______________________________________ Twenty four years ago, the day the foundation of my house in Dhanbad was being laid, my young-and-naive eyes opened up to an interesting fact: women labour came cheaper. While I cannot recall the exact difference in wages, I remember it was significant.  Is this distinction limited to the worker class? _______________________________________ Once, 25 years ago, on-board a state-run bus in a remote village in West Bengal, our family was looking for a seat for my 65-year old ailing uncle. The women occupying the ‘reserved for women’ seats refused to part with theirs. One of them offered a seat to my then 48-year-old mom who ...
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Ek Maa, Ek Beti (एक माँ, एक बेटी)

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बबुनी, झूली थी मैं भी कन्धों पर सोयी थी सीने से चिपटकर खिलखिलाकर ऊँगली थामा था कई बार दुनिया देखी थी लाड़ में लिपटकर तेरी आँखों में देखा है बचपन मैंने मेरे माँ बाबा की बुजुर्गी मासूमियत उनका प्यार, उनका लाड़, उनका अभिमान मुझमें मिलते देखी है उनकी शख्सियत वो उनका बिना शर्त शह देना मुझे घर आते मेरा दौड़ के लिपटना उनसे झेंपना अपनी शरारतों पर और जा चूमना उनके गालो को माफ़ी के तौर से बबुनी, कल तक जो मैं भी बबुनी थी आज तेरी सरपरस्त, तेरी माँ हूँ तू मिल गयी तो और ये लगता है किस तरह मैं आज भी उनकी जां हूँ 
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Getting inspired and gathering courage

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You may have the best of intentions, the greatest of virtues but if you don't have the courage to forward it (sic), you are a lost cause. I read this as a teen and this has stayed with me since. Today I am here to tell you a story - a story I became privy to about a month ago. It was a couple of years before 1920. A young woman, aged about 17 or 18, joins her husband's family at his ancestral village for Durga Puja a few days/months after her wedding. This Puja, she is told, has been nothing sort of a family heirloom for centuries. While she joins the family in the preparations and celebrations, she learns of several customs of the family and the village. One of those makes more than a mark on her. As a rule, all men of the village eat first at the puja mandap and then the women follow. While this was absolutely normal for those days (and well, even now), she is repulsed by something else: the women eat on the plates left by the men. These plates are made of shaal leave...
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Bringing Freud and Floyd in the same place

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Earlier, only my mom and brother were privy to my histrionics. Years later, A joined the club. As a child, I managed to give my mom a hard time, especially with eating, as my mom recalls. In order to put a morsel or two into my mouth, she had to tell and recount numerous stories: from mythology, freedom struggle, anecdotes from her life and the ones around her family and any famous, er, great person she had read or heard about (Though not explicitly told, my bro and I soon picked up the difference between the famous and the great). I was fed with food and stories. My meals could not start without a 'kahani'. Growing up, I always had a 'kahani ka kitaab' alongside my food plate. My mom would call it the most important 'sabzi' of my meal. While my mom's efforts had nurtured a curious soul and, of course, a reader, the world outside home made me realize my childhood was different. Not privileged, not deprived, but different. The difference caught up with m...
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