Psychedelic Slippers

Come summer, the Gulmohar colours the world a striking shade of red. My wondrous heart, is often drawn to it. I instinctively pick the bounties strewn beneath it, reliving moments of the childhood. The Gulmohar is inseparable from memories of summers. Since both my parents worked, almost every summer my brother and I were packed off for a 2 month vacation to our native place. We'd reunite with our cousin and the trio would then hop across relatives for the next 2 months. The vacation mostly began with my mom's parents. They lived in a not-so-little house on the outskirts of Belgaum; which, for us excitable kiddos, was a huge place away from the city, with lots of space to play. A few feet from the porch, you would be greeted by this magnanimous Gulmohar with a chabutara (sitting platform) around it. We would play our games around the tree; my grandfather sitting on the chabutara, discussing the news of the day with his friends. My grandmother wove the days together; plucking t...

Image Credit: The Print It's been a while since I spoke about movies. This weekend the husband took me to watch this beautifully crafted piece, "Thappad", in the cinemas. A highly recommended watch indeed. If you haven't been following the promotions and the reviews, Thappad takes on the not-so-casual issue of casual patriarchy, that runs through any average Indian's life. We first see the protagonist, Amrita, through her every day routine, of a doting wife sustaining a man-child at home. We see her dorn in the adarsh-nari's kurta and chudidar's complete with the messy dupatta. (If it is by choice or by accident I am unsure. But it surely left an impression.) Her only flaw being she can't cook as well as the husband's mother. But in all other aspects she is the ideal wife, hovering over the husband in his presence, over his parents and the house in his absence. The next few minutes are spent building upto the event of the slap, and tha...

"Tum itna jo muskura rahe ho, kya gam hai jisko chupa rahe ho ankhon me nami, hasi labon par kya hal hai, kya dikha rahe ho" Nothing describes depression more aptly than this timeless ghazal by Kaifi Azmi. I was brought to it again today by some old photographs of some of the most terrible days of my life. I was smiling in them all. If the memories weren't there, I'd probably fool myself into believing they were happy times. Why talk about this now, after all these years? Well, because today I am at a place where I can look back without feeling the pain, the angst or even feeling terrible about myself; where I can handle talking to my near and dear ones about it, most of whom have had no clue (till this post) about these times or my mental state then. It feels like a cliche to say that depressed people do not necessarily isolate themselves from the world. More often they immerse themselves in it, all the more, in the hope of an escape. What is it like to be in a ...

A couple of us at IIT Kanpur, have an informal "Animal Welfare Group" where we cater to welfare issues pertaining to animals on campus. Considerable efforts are driven towards providing medical aid to ailing animals. The easiest way to get them medication is to mix it with food. On one such day, while we were getting medical aid to a dog, a well-dressed lady witnessing the scene, began a conversation, Lady: Why are you feeding the dog here? Me: I am trying to get him some medication. Lady: (Obviously ignoring what I said) You are not allowed to feed the dogs in the hostel. Me: (Not wanting to prolong the conversation) I am only trying to get him some medication. Lady: Why don't you do it outside? (pointing at the road). Me: (repeating again) I am trying to give him some medication. My friends are coming and we are taking him to a vet in the cage. It will be difficult to do this outside. Lady: What is wrong with him? Me: I don't know for sure, and so I am ta...

At the dawn of the year, as I saw myself walking into the thirties, I realised, that bound by the year, my mother and I could well be a childhood math puzzle. My mom turns twice as old as me, today. As a child, it is hard to write about one's mother beyond all the motherly things she does. For most part of my childhood, I grew up idolising my father, and finding him, in so many things I did. It is only as I grew older, I acknowledge, there's more of my mother in me than I realise(d); our cheekbones to begin with. My mother is the first strong-willed woman in my life. My parents were college sweethearts. Their  story began then. Love marriages weren't considered very appropriate in those times, and yet my mother, the eldest of 4 siblings, stormed her way into one. That draws me to say, my mother is a romantic. Aai listens. Not just in the way we all talk to our mothers, and share our woes. She has this way with people. She makes strangers pour out their hearts in fi...

Maybe, maybe she stepped out too late, or stepped in too early. (Who knows! The truth's surly !) Maybe, she trusted to soon,  (Even the hand  that held the spoon?) Maybe, her clothes were revealing, (as he took it on him, to lay her bare, cried Mr. Curious: "Too Concealing!!" ) Maybe she called it on herself (" Hello Spooky guy, come hit me as I pass by ") Maybe she was wild !!!  (a mare to be tamed) Maybe she was vile !!! (and needed to be shamed) Maybe she was born with it !!! Marked at birth,  to carry his blame! 'Cause  ain't age just a number,  when you're born with  a vagina down under?  Everyone has their stories, do the numbers matter? do the stories matter? do we share enough? do we care enough? Most importantly do we act on it enough? Do we muster that courage to call out on eve-teasers/harassers/assaulters every single time? How often do we turn a blind eye. How often do we ...

Most of us are unanimous in our concerns regarding the threats posed by plastics to the environment in terms of air, water or soil pollution. But the ease and comfort in the usage of plastic products, often overrides this concern when it comes to daily stuff. It is often just one plastic bag, just this one disposable cup, but cumulatively they don't stay just outliers in our daily patterns. Yes habits are hard to change, and it takes a lot of self-discipline to really incorporate these changes. While many of us have switched to a cloth bag for groceries, or using more durable plastics, we, women need to take a moment to consider the recurring plastic waste caused by the usage of "Sanitary napkins". Several studies [1] suggest that sanitary napkins take a really long time to completely degrade (around 25 years). While they are often looked at as a more hygienic option than cloth pads which have been traditionally used in India, the issue of safe and hygienic disposal of...

Tonight, was a beautiful night, so i must write. I must scribble, about the stars, the bewitching ones, large and bright that hold us put, with their feeble might. And also the ones, wispy and faint, smudged in (light) noise, they hidden, await. Like so many things, about you that'd lose their bling, with time, averaged, thence in a poem, must they be caged. I must indite, the little gestures, the blink of your eyes, the grip of your hand the pat on the head, the heart in the sand. I must save, the stars of the moonless nights 'cause they fill the spaces, between stars, brightest 'cause they light up the sky, when the night's darkest.

There are some movies that make you shudder at the act (e.g. Happy New Year) and then there are other movies that make you shudder with the act (e.g. Udta Punjab). Pink belongs to the latter. There are scenes in the movie when the ladies make you tremble, and you can feel yourself walking in their shoes then. It brings to the forefront an important view on molestation,stalking that often goes unreported, for even in the minds of the victims it is not a "big offense" but something they believe they can get over. As long as there's no blood or bruise, it is passable. As women, (feigning strength and independence) we would advise our friends to file an FIR, but when it comes to ourselves, we often just let it go. Everybody wants justice, but no-one wants to take the laborious path to it. There's this scene, where Andrea flees with her friend when she sees the guys. At one point you think why flee from a public place? But you place yourself there, and you know you ...

Do you cry? over glaring tree stumps, of branches past; over fallen leaves, torn flowers imprinted, in a muddy cast. Do you shudder? at broken homes, wooden caskets; that lay beneath the rubble, crushed, li'l baby baskets. Do you wince? when axes slit, through carcasses; or when you see life lying, on streets, lifeless. Do you pray? for those who willed, but were bent, by might; or for lives lost on a stormy summer night.

The good thing about IIT Kanpur is the active student involvement in the administrative processes (at least those related to students). This, I have never had a doubt about. I believed that the average intellectual of the IITians would rise beyond shallow greed to enable this system to be progressive. But over the last one year or so, I feel saddened to have been proved wrong. Around a year ago, a proposal was received to hike the electricity charges to be borne by the students in lieu of increased electricity rates. A subsequent proposal was made to recover electricity charges from each hostel individually. The proposal aimed at generating greater accountability amongst the residents(students) regarding electricity usage. This system was finally implemented in the start of the present semester. Through all the back and forth discussions, the students remained silent about the new proposal, its shortcomings etc. until they received their first bill at the end of January. Then b...

Its February and it's not a surprise that suddenly everyone is preaching about love. Why love, or its expression should be bound by a month or even a date, is another issue altogether, we will leave that for some other time. Today lets talk about unconditional love. Often Facebook posts, quotes, shares and stories revolve around this idea of unconditional love. Which is further propagated by a millennia of literature propounding stereotypes of the said kind. Open any chic-flick, or anything in the romance genre and there you have them all over. In contemporary conversations and literature alike, the youth of today is often derided for having ephemeral emotions. We are supposedly , "the hook up - break up generation" . Can we pause and ponder over the constant bombarding of this statement? On one hand we talk of empowerment, of leaving stereotypes behind, and on the other hand here we are trying to make a generation conform to conventional ideas of love, its expre...

This is "chotu". And I was his human, till today. We handed him over to a lady willing to adopt him. So this post is written in the midst of a void left, when you say farewell to a loved one. We picked him up to be a part of our lives a couple of months back, and he is been there ever since. From being so tiny, we were scared to even pick him up, to this big tom-kitten that he is now, it feels like forever. It has been so long, that I now forget how it was like before him. Raising him was a black-hole. I have no track of time i invested in him. When we first got him, me and a couple of friends had to take turns baby sitting him (and his litter-mates, which are no more). The first night I had them with me, I remember I had barely slept, and had to feed them and clear after them every 3 hours. After those long hours, and numerous other eventful so many things, chotu had today integrated to be so much of my life. My day would start with a wet lick on my face or a playf...

Its been over a year since I have been trying to put this post together. I am prompt with my travel posts, especially the ones that have touched me more, so why did I take so long for this one I wonder? Is it because Kaza is so close to heart, that its almost a sacred place inside me, and I secretly loathe to share it?  Well, those thoughts apart. We are finally here. And I am writing. I started writing a detailed Spiti travelogue in my diary like 10 months back. (It’s yet to be completed and I am only half way through). This is a succinct version of the same. This is an unplanned post, in the sense that I haven’t really planned out where I will start and where to end. So bear with me. It had been like over a year, me and spiffer had been planning a trip to Kerala. We wanted to do a monsoon roadtrip. And Kerala seemed very appealing. We hadn’t really set a time yet. When we got to the details, we narrowed down on July. Then most friends we consulted advised against heading...

"श्रावणमासी हर्ष मानसी हिरवळ दाटे चोहिकडे , क्षणात येती सरसर शिरवे, क्षणात फिरुनी ऊन पडे " माझा कवितांसोबातच्या आठवणींचा प्रवास इथून सुरु होतो. बालपणीचे कित्येक " Family weekends " आम्ही कवितांसोबत घालवलेले आहेत. "सुवर्ण नौका" अणि "सौंदर्य कुंज" असे  कधी काळी आई-बाबांना (बहुदा) कुठल्यातरी वाचनालयात मिळालेले दोन काव्य संग्रह आमच्यापाशी होते. त्यातल्या कविता बाबा आम्हा सगळ्यांना वाचून दाखवायचे . सहसा जेवणं उरकल्यावर आमची ही मैफिल रंगे. बाबांचा काव्यप्रवास कुठून सुरु झाला नाही ठाऊक पण बाबा कविता फार सुंदर वाचतात . वाचतात काय, बाबा कविता जिवंत करतात . त्यामुळेच हिरव्या गालिछावर डोलणारी फुलराणी मीच आहे , आणि "छानी माझी सोनुकली ती, कुणाकडे ग पहात होती " म्हणत तिला चिडवणारा वारा म्हणजे बाबाच आहेत असे नेहमी वाटायचे.  बाबांनी  उभा केलेला , मर्ढेकरांचा "गणपत वाणी " माझ्या भावाला आणि मला खूपच आवडायचा . ती कविता आम्ही बाबांकडून अनेकदा वाचून घ्यायचो. बालकवींच्या संगे आम्ही  दूर डोंगराच्या पायथ्याशी वसलेल्या पिट...

They tell you the 20’s are good years. Freshly out of college, you are all set for the world. That’s where everyone starts anyway. Then work –life happens, or post-graduation happens, or something such. For the first two years, (of whatever you choose), you live with a gusto. You are an adult, (by almost everyone’s standards) and you have this new sense of freedom. The responsibilities haven’t yet clouded your dreams. You are hopeful, still. Some have just cracked out of their shells (called home) and they are experimenting. Others turn more reckless with their experimentation. Everyone’s still searching though, looking for that niche where everything feels in place. You try a lot of new things. It’s not like college any more where you had to look over your shoulder each time you wanted to try something new. And before you know, in a frenzied rush to make the best of your times … bammm!!!  You hit the 25 mark. And then life changes… (almost overnight). You are bogged down b...

Gargo is a 2 week chapter in our (me and Charlie) life. An innocuous little pup walked into our door, almost dying and freezing to death.  It was convulsive and severely dehydrated, and we felt it wouldn’t live through the night. But force feeding ORS helped. We got some medicines for it. It took 3 pairs of hands to get them down its throat. Thankfully it lived. And it was as grateful as a loyal dog could be. For the next couple of days, it kept trailing us everywhere. We were forced into an ersatz motherhood. We had a crawling 3 months old, that every couple of hours would nudge either one of us available for food, and then rush to crap and pee.  He wouldn’t let us go out of sight and would start jumping the moment he saw us in the corridor. I must admit, it felt nice to have someone waiting for you at the end of the day, and greet you ever with the same excitement, every single day.  When we headed for breakfast, he would crisscross between our feet happy and gay ...

It’s been a really long year, and we have just started with 2015 and I guess it’s still not too late to jump into a retrospective post about the year. This year has been crazy at many levels. It all started with a bang, an eventful bang that changed a lot of things for me. It started with a lot of hopes. Like for the first time I had almost half the year planned out in excruciating detail. I should have known better, for like most things planned so carefully it didn't work out that way. I now have a list of resolutions that I never got to strike out (maybe I could carry them forward  J ).  To begin with, I lost someone really close to me. And despite of all my claims of having mastered the art of losing, I realised I was a novice again. I had thought years of experience of getting close and letting go of people might have now made me more adept at handling such delicate matters, but as I learnt, it really doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if it’s the first time or...

The counter is ticking away The beloved twenties… are fading There are too many things too hold to seal, to freeze Spurting out of control Vaporizing. All you are left with, is a whiff Mixed odours, sweet, pungent, soothing, heavy You wish it were possible to trace them back into their whole’s You wish life didn’t change its meaning, not now, Not when it already feels like its falling apart Not when it feels like you are going down the coaster You are falling, You hold your breath to catch a glimpse And before you know, it has changed Its changing, you are falling. Falling forward. ~~found this stashed somewhere in the documents.

An accidental movie plan led me to search for Fanny. Finding Fanny took me home to the tiny offroads lined with fields, the riversides, the grilled wooden facades, the Three Kings church. There are some neatly done pieces esp Dimple Kapadia's "Ot" and "Poperly" in the first few minutes of the movie, but then the consistency to stick to the accent is lost over time. I wish atleast one actor in any movie would get the Konkani accent right, I wonder if its that difficult, coz in many places, the konkani conversations feel like they are read off a script (They aren't too long, just one or two lines strewn here and there). The characters are regional stereotypes, but Pankaj Kapur breaks out of it and sounds no where like Don Pedro. Deepika Padukone maintains her angelic divinity throughout the movie, (and yes she didn't get on my nerves). The movie transports you to another time, where time ceases to be. Its like those Amol Palekar movies of yore. T...