CHOICES

I remember one day back in the 6^th grade, while exploring the library shacks, I came across the ‘Give Yourself Goosebumps’ series. I had read ‘Goosebumps’ previously, but this series was a tad bit different. Each book had a branching storyline which led to multiple endings. The readers could steer their own path throughout the course of the story. At least two choices were given regarding which page to turn to, depending on what the reader wants the main character to do.  

Let’s say if the protagonist is running away from a monster and there are two escape routes, one through the front door, the other involving a secret staircase.  (Or whatever. Let’s not get into details, it’s all hypothetical). So, we could essentially make the choice about how our story progresses. We were required to take our pick at the split-off point and on the bottom of the page was written something like this:
If you choose the front door, turn to page 48.

If you want to escape through the secret staircase, turn to page 75.

Whenever in school we had our weekly library period, I kept digging for more books in this special series. I loved the freedom it offered to choose our very own ending, vis-a-vis a taut and rigid storyline which we honestly have no option but to accept (either happily or grudgingly).

Yes, I used the word grudgingly. Well that's mainly because, personally, I do tend to get a bit sloppy and mawkish sometimes about certain characters of a novel. For starters, in the Harry Potter series, I felt betrayed to a certain extent by Ms. J. K. Rowling. Why did she have to kill Dobby? I mean, WHY? She could have killed Harry for all I care.

(FYI, I’m not the only one who mourned Dobby’s death. Apparently, there are Facebook pages and quite a few groups regarding the very same thing-https://www.facebook.com/pages/Dear-JK-Rowling-You-Crossed-the-LINE-BY-Killing-Dobby/207189572632967?sk=timeline)

Anyway, let’s come back to my (eccentric) liking for branched storylines. After I was usually done reading the book and reached a particular ending (out of the many possible ones), I always liked to wonder how the story would have turned out if I had made a different choice.  So I often re-read my Goosebumps book from a fresh perspective, by choosing a new path in comparison to the one I had previously selected.

 

Recently it struck me that our lives are just like that. Every once in a while we find ourselves staring at a fork in the road. It could be a crucial, yet highly complicated decision, which might just change the direction of the rudder of our lives.  Or a simple one for that matter. (refer to the picture)

(Pun intended.)

But the moment definitely comes for all of us, sooner or later. Life is all about the choices that we make. It offers us diverging roads (like branching storylines in Goosebumps) and how our life pans out is dependent on the road we choose.

And there might be times when we may want to go back on the choice that we made, that seemed so right at that point of time. After traversing a long stretch down that path, we might want to retrace our steps and instead just choose the other road and start afresh. But unlike the book wherein we need to flip just a couple of pages to get an alternative ending, life does not work that ways. It's much more complex and we cannot go back without causing some irreparable damage back on the way.

 

“The choice you make between hating and forgiving, can become the story of your life.”

- Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts

APATHY

 As time is passing by,

The world is turning sly.

In our wicked rat-race,

Who knows what we will be left to face?

That is such a disgrace!

We are writhing in pain,

In the thunderous rain,

Taking so much strain,

And pondering, will all the efforts of our ancestors go in vain?

With no one to pay any heed,

What is the current situation’s need?

Have we ever performed a selfless deed?

And we think of ourselves as ‘Driven to succeed’!

Together we shall weep,

The fruits of our deeds we have to reap.

With no time to sleep,

We need to think really deep.

Indifference to our own race is our heinous crime,

Nothing will change, even if we whine.

The situation is grim,

And our tolerance levels have filled up to the brim.

We need to be wise,

So that above the callousness, we can rise.

BROKEN

My article which was published in Yamuna : The Literary Magazine of SRCC.

Shanaya rubbed the Dettol-soaked-cotton onto the wide and gaping freshly bleeding cut near her lips. The cotton turned crimson red. She tore open a band aid and covered her wound with it. Gazing intently in the mirror, staring at her reflection, it dawned on her that it was time she reflected back on her life.

 *  *  *

Shanaya was beautiful: almond-shaped large brown eyes, perfect cheekbones and flawless skin. She could easily make heads turn, back then, at the very least. And this was how Rajeev had chosen her, in the first instant, when their parents had met each other to arrange Rajeev and Shanaya’s marriage. He came off as gentle and caring then, with his trademark broad, shining smile. And it was this smile that had won her over. If only she knew, at that time, what she knew now...

 *  *  *

She couldn’t remember what the fight was all about this time. Maybe he was too drunk. Maybe it was about money, or food, or in-laws, or his joblessness. Maybe, his male ego. It could have been anything. She had lost count.

Her cut was aching really badly. She was bruised all over. As she sat down on the chair to soothe herself, the door opened with a thud, and closed with a bang. A shadow of a limping man came towards her. His bloodshot red eyes and unkempt hair sent shivers down her spine. He reeked of alcohol (or desi tharra, meaning cheap, local liquor, as they call it). It was Rajeev. He was drunk, again. He leapt towards her and reached into her blouse to grab the little money pouch she always kept with herself. As he was robbing the pouch of all the money it had, Shanaya asked him “Where are you going? I need the money to buy some groceries.” 

He grabbed her hair and pulled her ponytail. Shanaya shrieked. He gave her two deafening slaps, and reached for her neck. As she was choking, Rajeev heard his poker-buddy’s call for the next deal of cards in row, which was to commence right in 5 minutes. As Rajeev loosened up his grip on her delicate neck, and went out the door, Shanaya collapsed on the floor with a thud.

As she regained consciousness, she managed to pull herself up and sat back on the sofa. “That bastard, he’ll blow up all the money again. My savings are going down the drain, totally wasted. And we’ll have to sleep with an empty stomach for weeks, thereafter. I feel like lighting him up on fire, this time.” His brutality and repeated rapes had pushed Shanaya to the hilt. She couldn’t bear it anymore. Filing a court case seemed futile, as she was sure that she wouldn’t live long enough to see the judgement arrive. 

Frustrated by her rising helplessness and Rajeev’s brutal torture, she knew that she had only one way to escape the barbaric misery that Rajeev had been inflicting upon her since the first day of their marriage, so that she could finally live in peace. She was going for the kill.

Rajeev came back home, after losing away all the money in gambling, and began shouting for dinner, indifferent to Shanaya’s blue wounds and bleeding cuts. Forget, pain in the eyes. Shanaya had promised her own father to be a loyal and devoted wife, all her life. 

As Rajeev scrounged the kitchen for food, Shanaya tiptoed from the back, grabbed the knife in the vicinity, clutched it tightly and thrust it right into his chest. He started bleeding profusely. Tears welled up in Shanaya’s eyes. She started sobbing, right until she heard Rajeev scream “You bitch. How dare you do this?” Fighting back her tears, she kicked him onto the ground, and pulled back the knife, only to stab him again. And then again. Right till his moans, shouts and crawling stopped. She tried to feel his pulse. Just to make sure that he actually stopped breathing. She wanted him dead.

Death might transform a sociopath like him. Or so she thought. Wiping off her own tears, with her blood-stained palms, she felt numb. But not remorseful. She was not sorry at all. Not this time...

Saif-Kareena — A matter of choice?

One random morning as I flipped through Times Life (a supplement of ToI), I came across this beautifully written article by Vinita Dawra Nangia and somehow it has stayed with me till date. Every young single woman must read this. 

Even successful, beautiful Indian women cannot afford to pick the best men; at best, they do what they can do.

There was something about the Kareena Kapoor-Saif Ali Khan wedding that didn’t ring quite right! Much as I looked for a glow on the bride’s face and pride on the groom’s, all I saw was a ‘let’s just do this’ look! I was disturbed by an elusive, nagging doubt, an unreality to the situation. What was so disturbing? An age gap of 10 years is no big deal, and married men do go for younger, more beautiful women.

But there seemed a desperate edge to the situation, a kind of ‘have-to-will-do!’ A person as spontaneous and fun-loving as Kareena deserved a wedding as blissful and fairytale as Kate Middleton’s, but she seemed to have been caught in a situation! And her ‘Prince Charming’ Saif’s past loomed large at the wedding in the shape of his 19-year-old daughter Sara Khan.

Sara’s presence served to highlight the fact that superstar Kareena was marrying the father of another woman’s children, and the high-profile celebrations seemed much like dancing on a family’s grave. If it had been a quiet wedding like Aamir and Kiran’s, keeping in mind the sensitivities of Saif ’s grown children and his own age, it would have been a different matter; the high-profile event spotlighted issues one would normally shove under the carpet. Saif was revealed as a man who had turned his back on his own family, and Kareena a woman with little choice.

Add to that the fact that never after Raj Kapoor and Nargis has one seen the kind of sizzling chemistry that Kareena shared with former beau Shahid Kapoor; it’s the stuff dreams are made of; a connect that happens once in many lifetimes. Of course, you move on and life moves on, but there are some things that just cannot be replicated.

Let’s face it, a formerly married man with grown children is hardly any single woman’s dream dish. Yes, Saif is rich and belongs to an illustrious family, but he comes with a lot of baggage! And ideally, a successful, beautiful and talented woman like Kareena should have had the pick of the best. However, the question is, if not Saif, then who? Kareena’s choice is a sad comment on choices that lie before every young, successful, beautiful Indian women — she did not have a pick of the best; she made a compromise, and was compensated with status and wealth. In Bollywood movies, the heroine never marries a divorcee, nor does she chase a married man. However, the desperate reality is quite different. It’s certainly not true that the sexiest and most beautiful Indian woman will get the best pick. If she wishes to remain in the reckoning and carry on with her profession, she needs to choose an equally successful man who will let her follow her dreams; this itself narrows down the choice so much as to make it almost impossible. So then you forget the man of your dreams and just do what you need to do — whether it is to settle for second best or break up a home!    

It is now many years since Dream Girl Hema Malini made her desperate choice to marry an already married man with grown children, but we don’t seem to have moved on at all! Sridevi walked into Boney Kapoor’s marriage and went into hibernation herself, only to emerge years later with a grown daughter and a hit that showed us how much we missed her. Another successful iconic woman, Sania Mirza, also had to make her own compromises to get a man. Priyanka Gandhi too could have done much better for herself.    

Comments a single friend, “So, successful, beautiful Indian women are not the epitomes of ideal emancipated womanhood after all. A person like Kareena seems to be as desperate for choices as I am. The pity is she was gutsy enough to go for a non-entity as boyfriend, but for whatever reasons, has ultimately settled for the beaten path.”    

A LOVE LOST.

Pensive sadness filled the room.

He looked at her, his eyes radiating the glumness that engulfed his heart.

The only woman in the world who filled his heart with joy, back then.

Her enchanting beauty, faded away.

Her infectious laughter, lost in the wheels of time.

The spark in her soul, extinguished.

  

A flower plucked and destroyed.

That's all that remained of her now.

Daryaganj Sunday Book Market

Earlier this month, I decided to head out to one of the oldest book markets of Delhi – the Daryaganj Sunday book market. After having read some rave reviews about the place and of the insane discounts, I knew that I had to visit it, being the bookworm that I am.

So earlier that morning, I grabbed a large oversized bag with me, so as to accommodate all the novels that I had planned on buying. I had spent the entire previous day making an elaborate, well thought-out, meticulous list, that I had pondered over for hours on end. There were around 25 books that I had finalized on. A friend of mine even told me that the “banned” books often find a way in this Sunday market. So, I was all excited, happy and good to go.

And the place was honestly a bummer.

It turned out that battling Delhi’s sweltering heat was the easiest task amongst everything else that ensued.  

The dingy lanes, the whole pushing-and-shoveling-rumpus, vagabond-ish men whistling and singing Honey Singh’s rap while leering at you. (FYI, I was in my T-shirt and palazzo pants – for those of you who don’t stay updated on fashion trends, palazzos basically look like loose pajamas. The point being, none of it warranted any cheap ogling. So MCPs should find another excuse to blame women, because the fault definitely does not lie with their attire!)

As for the books which I so dearly love, it was heart breaking to see novels splattered all over the road. (Because, for me, novels are not just printed pages bundled together. When I buy a novel, it becomes almost a part of me. I read it in the metro, in the college corridors, in between lectures, and I even read myself to sleep, on many days. Moreover, I have skipped meals to complete a really interesting book! And the smell of a new book instantly brightens up my day.) 

So, to see novels splashed across the pavement, with sellers actually standing on them with their dirty feet was honestly appalling.

The entire road was flooded with vendors selling books, some of them on per-kilo basis. Yes, you read it correctly. Per-kilo. Like vegetables being sold. For me, it was almost blasphemous!

 

Yes, the discounts were pretty crazy. But, most of the books were second-hand. And novels accounted for a small fraction of the whole market. Mainly, there were academic books and the sort.
 

 

The sellers had no idea who Jeffrey Archer or Dan Brown were. Or for that matter, even Salman Rushdie, Vikram Seth, Anita Desai or Leo Tolstoy. 90% of them were clueless about the name of the authors or the books they were themselves selling. Well, I kind of expected that part. 

The only novel which I spotted with almost each and every seller was ‘The fault in our stars’. When I asked them why it was so, they said that this book is the latest fad among people and it sells like hot cakes. Thus justifying their stock of a dozen copies of it. So much for literature. And there I was, hoping I might be able to lay my hands on Salman Rushdie’s ‘Satanic Verses.’(It’s a banned book in India.)   

But one thing for which I’m content is that I actually went and saw the place for myself. For if I hadn’t done so, I’d have never known that it definitely does not live up to the hype. That, and the 4 novels I bought from there :)

The subliminal elections!

It’s been almost a month, since the Lok Sabha elections have ended. The chanting of the NaMo mantra, countless spoofs on RaGa, repeat videos of the infamous slaps Mr. Kejriwal had to suffer and the voracious poll predictions, all of it has ended, thankfully.  

A first-time voter(for the Lok Sabha! – I have voted in Delhi elections though :P). I remember my dad commenting the previous night of the elections about how I never wake up before 12 in the noon on Sundays and holidays and how I sleep through most earthquakes. He kept joking that this time I’d sleep through the entire Election Day and wake up the next day after that, having missed my chance to vote. Well, that could have been a possibility since I currently boast of a 24 hour sleep record. But thankfully my dad’s predictions didn’t come true and I woke up and proudly went to cast my vote.

My index finger still bears the indelible sacred ink mark. Though these elections were nothing short of dramatic (as expected!), but there was something I noticed and it left me baffled - most of the people in my college did NOT vote!

And we’re talking about the country’s best commerce college – a place filled with people who score more than 97%! The best minds, the future generation, the so-called educated youth of our country. And they did not vote.  Clearly, being educated and being literate are way different things. They can update their Whatsapp statuses conveniently “Abki baar Modi Sarkar”, or “Har haath shakti, har haath tarakki” but they don’t actually go out and vote. Meanwhile, people are stuffed in trucks and taken to the voting booths. A bottle of liquor, a blanket, that’s all it takes. Payment in kind. It seals the deal. And you know what, it’s just heart-wrenching. 

I also agree with the fact that most of the people in my college are outstation students, and a ticket to their hometown, where they are enrolled as voters, will probably cost them a lot, especially if they live in north-east India or south India. But what about those who live in Chandigarh, Mathura, Agra , Sonepat or Rohtak? They comfortably catch a train or bus back home, every month to see their family but they don’t go back home to vote, once in 5 years. I know of people who live in really far-off areas and who go and visit their ailing mothers, even if they have to catch a flight, but they don’t go back home to vote. So much for the ailing country.

Next time you buy VIP tickets for a David Guetta and Avicii concert or shell out money for the north-central stand tickets of the IPL final, or take a Europe tour and slide a vodka shot down your throat, remember that you didn’t save any money by not voting that day. You were just being irresponsible and pathetic.

People don’t realize that by not voting, they are probably subjecting themselves to a much greater cost in the long run, both socially and financially. Think of it the next time your family member has to slip a 500-rupee note for their monthly pension, when your parents have to ‘buy’ a seat worth some lakhs in a B-grade engineering college for your brother, and when your grandmother has to spend a bomb for her open-heart surgery. Those moments will remind you of what you lost out on, by NOT voting. Because another leader, another government might have done things differently, something you wouldn’t have fathomed. Something which could have made your life brighter. Something. But you’ll never know what that could have been, because you just did not vote.

Oh, and if you think all parties are just the same, and your vote wouldn’t have made much of a difference, then you could have pressed NOTA – none of the above. Atleast that could have earned you the ‘right to complain’. Yes, it is a right. And you have to earn it. So, before you can even think of criticizing any political party, remind yourself to zip your mouth shut.  And remain like that for the next 5 years, right until you vote in the next elections.