A Rosy Tale of Winter

This city has started taking place in my heart. With the green monsoon, here comes the winter!

There comes a day when the early rising Punekar will step out of his house, pause in slight surprise, and try to clear his eyes. When the blurriness remains, the he realizes that the light fog is to blame for the reduced visibility and that winter has arrived on padded feet.

Winter arrives quietly in Pune and is greeted with relief by the city. Pune has always lived, figuratively and literally, in the shadow of a metropolis that makes much of its monsoons. But winter is a season Pune can lay claim to as its own. Unlike the disruptive machismo of the Bombay rains, Pune's winter is gentle in both arrival and tenure, mirroring the  happy and laid-back ways of the place. A trip down the sleek Mumbai-Pune expressway through the misty Western Ghats more than amplifies this difference.

In the Pink The phrase that the locals use to describe the first month of the winter says it all. Punekars bask in “gulaabii thandii”, literally the “rosy cold”. During this time, citizens, in their light woolens, can be seen bearing a light rosiness of both cheek and demeanor.

Since Pune's winters are temperate, especially in comparison with the frigid bitterness of many North Indian towns, they can rouse residents to action rather than cause them to cower behind a thick quilt. Once the indolence of the early cold morning is defeated, a walk in the balmy ambiance is the best way to kick off a day. Given that parts of commercially booming Pune are sometimes be-deviled by smog towards the evenings, the mornings remain the best time to soak up the sun-kissed winter at the 'tekri'.

A favorite‘ tekdi’ or hillock. Pune is blessed with an abundance of these easy-to-climb hillocks, which offer vantage views of the city, especially in the late evenings. Many of these tekdis have a temple at the summit, providing the spiritually-minded with a reward for their exertions. For the more material at heart, tekdis also offer flat summits for exploration and the pleasant company of fellow wanderers.

A favorite variation of this is to walk up the nearest

Winter is also Avian Season for bird watchers. Many lakes in and around Pune receive several varieties of migratory birds. Pune has inspired many as amateur ornithologists.

Since winters in Pune rarely descend into single digit temperatures, the city is never hobbled by the weather. As January ends and the sun becomes less oblique, winter fades away just as gently as it arrived. Each year, the hard-to-impress Pune old-timer will insist that the city was not what it used to be. But come next November, this sentiment will be assuaged by the winters of Pune's content.

Rain in Winter

There were intrepid clouds, heavy nimbus, shades of violet, purple, greys and a peculiar orange circumscribing the skies. Fields of yonder, accustomed to the Sunshine, its dazzle and warmth... Wanted the soothe of the rain drops, the first mirth of the fertility awaiting the green grass and flowers of all colours... The scent of the earth and the song of the air on beats of thunder. And so it rained. It rained, clouds of the South Sky did pour. Drenched Soul.. Soaring spirits. Love, may be in Pune.

....before there was the first inflorescence, colours vanished away from the flower palettes. May be it rained too heavy. May be it din’t rain as much.

Charm, as it is, what goes around comes around...some molten shades, evaporated and amalgamated in the clouds that had decided to pour. They came with the show of glamour, lightening along to keep the Earth mesmerized  And like a magician, the clouds did spellbound the heart and soul, which were more than ever young this season. My dear city, happy with some rains somewhere, hopeful of the clouds that would come and pour unconditionally.

(Unconditional, has a clause yet of having no condition. Expectations seeps in, in form of being formless.)

And we, yearning and learning, passively. Praying some rains, though dismaying the clouds. Nature has its own plan, destiny its own. Dried up earth was soon to be sold.

And then it was to happen. Divinity into action. This time of the celesta, the darkest clouds, thick with hues of gravity, each shade conveying its own virtue. The smoked browns talked of the experiences carried along while floating till this patch of Land, blues talking of the depth the cloud had, the intensity it had, the rains it can cast. Grays telling the stories of the unexpected , the Blacks talking aloud of the ability to engulf, some White here and there telling of the silence that wisdom attains and that glistening violet, the unending enigma! This was it. The rains were to come... it had to pour. The bosom of the Earth had to be damp. It had to be damp to be off the enrapture of being barren . Be off the mirage of clouds. For this time it was real. It was to stay. Forever.

And it rained. There was a melody in the heart of the Earth, there was a poem in the rain drops, there was harmony in nature. A Love Song was born. Perpetual One. 

Kolkata Kaleidoscope

From Personal Achives

In the modern day of urbanization, most of the modern cities in India love to call themselves cosmopolitan and not just mere cities thriving around the periphery of an Indian state. Tell someone who lives in Mumbai that he lives in a Maharastrian city; he will immediately correct you as being a cosmopolitan. The same goes with people living in other parts of the country.

 Not the case with Calcutta. The city is essentially Bengali and leaves no stones unturned to preserve the Bengali culture. Surprisingly, people living in Bengal are proud about the fact that Calcutta hasn’t lost its old world charm. If you delve deep into it, you’ll find that the city’s weaknesses and strengths that echo a unique Bengali character.

From Personal Achives

The city has its own drawbacks, from the sudden bouts of passion through cheerful pandemonium to fiery reaction to a smallest provocation.  However, these flaws are strengths in disguise.  Calcutta incarnates the Bangalee love in the name of culture, the triumph of intellectualism over avarice, the warmth among people, disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects.

This gives ‘the city of joy’ uniqueness and it is not meant for everyone. You want your city green and clean; go to Delhi. You want your city to be impersonal and rich, stick to Mumbai. You want your city to be hi-tech – Bangalore is the answer. But you want a city which has soul – come to Kolkata.

Calcutta grows on you.  It’s just not the lush Maidan, the grandeur of Victoria Memorial, the hustle-bustle of Burrabazar or the brilliance of second Hoogly Bridge. It is more than the usual bricks and mortars; it’s about the ‘people’. And no one can replicate the essence of the city’s dwellers.

From Personal Achives

Calcutta is about subtle emotions, art, culture, passion and ideas. Here, people don’t talk about stock market, but about the latest political gossip reported on a newspaper. They talk about Robi Thakur and Mamata Banerjee with the same exuberance. Each evening,  a true-blood Bengali will want fish on his table, his children will be encouraged to take up a new form of art, he will appreciate good book – something that still bind every Bangalee with his culture. For him, religion and culture will be in inextricably bound together.

From Personal Achives

Talking about religion, tell anyone about Pujo in Kolkata and they’ll scoff. Puja is religious they’ll say. Contrary to the belief, the world-famous Durga puja is just not about chanting hymns or worshipping the Goddess. It’s about the varied emotions of the city – like a grand carnival. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity. The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge: emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride inartistic expression and yes, the cult of the goddess. There’s no place you’ll find where children cry on Dashimi as Maa Durga bids farewell to the lesser mortals. Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country - is so much about food and pandal hopping?

To understand Calcutta, you need to understand the very essence of Bangla.  It’s not easy, but as time goes by you start falling in love with the city. And after a while, you’ll realise that the city has stolen your soul. Wherever you go, you’ll carry a bit of the ‘city of joy’ with you. Such is the essence of Calcutta – a feeling that never fades away!

The dawn of A Nation Without Women

‘All women actually want is you to fuck the shit out of them.’

‘Women have always felt lust for rapists. It’s a fact that is easy to back up.’

‘Is it possible to rape a girl in a respectful way?’

Pic: Behance

These are just some of the shockingly vile statements I've seen online this week, as I delved into the world of so-called Men’s Rights forums, where young male users come from across the world. The horrifyingly aggressive face of modern misogyny, which appears to have taken root among our young men and boys, and the fact the internet not only provides a forum for such deep-seated loathing but increases the likelihood of it spilling over into real life.

Before I even attempted to look at these vile sites, I needed a crash course in a language that was entirely new to me. For starters, the ‘manosphere’ refers to the blogs, message boards and various sites where men specifically go to vent their resentment against women and/or learn how to successfully attract them or ‘pick them up’.

Like the latest smartphone or designer sunglasses, sex is increasingly viewed on these sites as yet another commodity there for the taking. In this warped world, young men believe themselves entitled to have sex with whomever they choose. The objectification of females is such that a girl who’s ‘up for sex’ with one person is necessarily ‘up for it’ with everyone. The sexual liberation of women has become distorted into something terribly dangerous.

My daily chores starts with reading newspaper and shockingly, there’s always something or the other about violence against women all throughout the globe. Even in the wake of 21^st Century, it’s the women who face the maximum outrage from the society. The actions of some of my fellow 'men' makes me sick.

Pic: Google Images

Whether she is a college student travelling in some train, a working woman returning home or a housewife walking on a road, from a child of tender years to a lady 65 years of age, no one is safe. My personal experience as an independent working woman staying in a different city seals the fact more. We talk about women liberalization, independence, equality et al. but one of the main reasons of violence against women is the mentality which deems women inferior of men and merely limits their importance to the maintenance of the household, the upbringing of children and pleasing their husbands and serving other members of the family. Every woman you meet, know or related to has been a victim of gender inequality – be its home, workplace, transport or just, anything! You will say not everyone feels the same. Yes, time has changed, yet attitude towards women have never been changed. To understand better, one has to get to the root cause of the problem. It has all started ages ago, where men are thought to be gods and powerful and women to be just like slaves for household works.

Everyone asks me to carry a pepper spray, some even suggested to take some martial art classes and others simply instructed me to carry knives in my bag. My question is why? Why do I have to carry so many things to remain safe in MY country where I pay my taxes and adhere to other norms just like any other MEN? Why I can’t smoke in a public place but a man can pee on the roads in a broad day light? Why can’t I wear shorts and go to my local grocer’s shop and not a single man will look at my legs salaciously? Why can’t I go for a walk late in the evening? Why should women or feminists have to fight this battle? This isn't a feminist battle this a battle of HUMANITY. Granted, it is women who are being humiliated, but in essence their tormentors are both, men and women. Carried out by men, but assisted by other women's silence and acceptance. The depravity is nauseating. As for “boys will be boys”, it sums up the prevailing attitude towards females.

Pic: Behance

Police don't care, bureaucrats are indifferent, politicians find women seductive — it's the entire regime. Every time, I read some attacks on women I think thank God! It’s not me. I often ask myself, am I safe in my own country? Why do I need to extra careful while dressing up, walking across the streets or lighting up my cigarette? Is it really an offence to be a woman? No. I AM a woman and proud to be one! But those myriad questions still haunt me whenever I step out of my house and read about obnoxious attitude towards us. Enough of Women’s Day and all that jazz. Give women what they need the most – respect, love and equality.

The actual need of the hour is a revolutionary change in the mindsets and conscience of every men around the world and just not in India, so that they stop seeing women as objects of sexual pleasure. Don't teach you daughters what not to wear, rather teach your sons how to respect women of all ages.

A Farewell Note

On a day like today even few days back, I woke up with your call / text in the morning. Half asleep and half irritated, you made an abrupt Sunday plan! I was little hesitated and perplexed, while you smiled all along the way...

And now, its today ! the phone remained mute, it did ring in the morning and I with my sleep starved eyes looked at the mobile and never replied. That is the beginning, the beginning of the time when there will be none who will color my hard-core practicality with a dash of dreamer's eyes! I shall be the same, irritated and hot headed.

There are plenty of time while walking in the smokey alleys, or while humming a song carelessly, you asked me - "Do you ever dream? Is it so bad to fall in love?" then I say, "Grow UP ! *tsk tsk* what would I do with you! " with a deep, sordid sigh! With ever beguiling dimpled smile you say, " Wet paint! You ask me not to sit on the stool but I still sit. Its not bad! Its only wet paint. It will spoil my pants and leave a mark, but its fun...I always fail to understand that even that fossil of dry paint is an unnecessary trouble in life...I know why you shout at me!
promise me, you will never stop shouting at me!"  then we exchange songs, poems and pictures thinking a networking site to be a part of our lives. We remember conversations, we remember the last secret joke that we shared. I never felt that you will leave this city about which I crib the most and you compensate that with your love! you talk about the Mortician, Maya and the heartless Casanova!

Coming back to the same fantasy land you ask your invisible lover, " Can I call you Puspa like Rajesh Khanna and you will call me Ramesh Babu,
Sometimes may be Raj and I will call you Simran....
We will dance on the moving trains; make it in the pouring rains,
Run in the tulip fields, sing on helicopters and make love on fire...
We will sing inside the elevator and live on the roads...
We will name our home Basera..."

I frown and scream at you ! I stop you from drinking the poison called love, I ignore your pain and force you to smile, with those moist dark eyes. I have never been so cruel, may be I want you not to suffer anymore, may be I was too scared to let you go, or may be I was just protecting you from the gnashing ravages of human life! Everything halted as you left. The Sunday mornings, sauntering in the by-lanes with cheap cigarettes, sudden gush of rain or even my eternal conflict with the famous 'Rabindranath Thakur'...

...and then you leave with a note saying, "Many a times we have called each other up complaining about the over cast sky or the traffic on the roads or the hiking up of the prices of cigarettes.And then consoled ourselves with the thought of there is always a tomorrow. It’s just that this time the night would be a little prolonged before tomorrow comes.

I promise to come back as soon as possible. You just promise me to be the same Mortician you always have been to this Dreamer.

Don’t get distressed when I cry, let me sob some and feel sorry for myself... I would just be a phone call away.... and yeah I am sure dirty Santa’s would not sleep switching off their mobiles this Christmas.
love as always :)"

For the Dreamer of my dreams

Yes, with love always and forever, my stupid Dreamer !