A Bouquet of Emotions

A short story is a love affair, it comes glancing by, like fleeting emotions. Ram Kamal Mukherjee’s first fictional work Long Island Iced Tea, is a collection of short stories that adheres to this myriad world of emotions and dreams. As one flips from one story to the other, a dream unfolds within a dream, capturing ephemeral desires, tears of betrayal and loss of trust. Having spent more than two decades as a celebrated movie journalist and editor of Stardust, Mukherjee brings in decisive moments of human relations with elan, probably ones he witnessed in real life, behind silver screens.

His female protagonists are bold, ready to break social rules. They challenge social diktats, yet at times die within confines of common female attributes of jealousy and betrayal of trust. Like his protagonist Madhurima of Madam, The Shot Is Ready is insecure, she is the silver screen diva and not ready to leave her throne even to a more talented daughter. A reader can instantly relate to a complex mother-daughter relationship through Madhurima. While, rebel Lopa ((On The Other Side) is ready to bear the love child despite resistance from family and even after being abandoned by the man she loved. But a woman’s heart can be emotionally vulnerable too. Mukherjee captures this vulnerability through Moushumi (A Broken Frame), a woman betrayed by all because she could not conceive and produce an heir.

The irony of a short story evolves and culminates in an unexpected twist. True to this trend, Mukherjee’s short stories create an almost poetic atmosphere, presenting a unified impression of temper, tone, colour and effect. If Madhurima’s daughter Naina forgives her mother and moves on, Lopa has a shocking news to face in the end, while Moushumi reveals a greater surprise through her death. Such spins and twists make Long Island Iced Tea stand out from the rest.

The cover page of the book by Pinky Roy is chic and happening, lifting the mood of the title.

Long Island Iced Tea; Ram Kamal Mukherjee

Jufic Books

SHE NO MORE FEELS THE PAIN IN HER VAGINA
(DIARY OF A GIRL RAPED BY HER OWN UNCLES REGULARLY WITH FULL SUPPORT OF HER PARENTS)


This post is a part of Save The Kids Campaign. About a girl from North India repeatedly raped by her uncles (maternal and paternal) within the family home with full support of both mother and father who allowed them to do so for money. She is now a young woman, who has left home, pursuing her career and about to be married to a man who has loved her beyond her body. The following is an excerpt from the interview taken by a reporter of that girl.


“It’s been years. I don’t feel the pain in my vagina anymore”.

“But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I was shocked. Ma used to see my vagina bleed, she never did anything. So, I thought it’s something to be done regularly. I was 7 then. I am 20 now.”

“Since then? Till you moved out? Every day?”

“Almost, till I planned to move out.”

As we were enjoying tea, I looked into her eyes. She had no expressions. She didn’t really care much about it. I grabbed her pack of smokes. We shared one. I noticed a faint smile on her face.

“You know, every man in that family tried to touch me. Mama, Kaka, Masa.
but Baba…”

“What? What did he do?”

“He didnt stop them!”

She opened her pursue to buy Candy Floss. I could see condoms in her purse. I didn’t ask anything, I knew she’d tell me everything. After all, she was going to be engaged with my brother.

“He didn’t stop them because he wanted to earn without working and I was the only option for him, even though he didn’t let any other man touch me BUT my relatives and he claims that with pride.”

“Why the hell didn’t you go to the police, Shruti?”

“Because when I tried doing something, I was asked how were my boobs grabbed and I was asked to demonstrate and then…”

“AND THEN?”

“I was asked to strip and show them the marks.”

I noticed tears rolling down her eyes. She is one of these over excited women you’ll ever meet. Always smiling and always jumping, and always smoking. Always with no gaps.

“And then?”

“Regularly hota aya hai na. Hota gaya. (It happened regularly). I crossed my puberty. My school was very strict and I had no friends. My own parents betrayed me. You think my school would have helped me?”

“Look, I am going to write for this site that’s going to publish this story. I want you to tell me everything so that we can stop another Shruti.”

She paused. Lit another smoke, gave one to me.

“I was 7 when I was raped. My mother served him tea in the very room. My dad took money from him, I was in pain. Something below my stomach was paining and I couldn’t understand anything.

Next day, mama had come over. I was so happy. He entered my room with Nutties and raped me just like kaka did. He held my breasts so hard and then he put fingers in my vagina, and it was hurting me so much.

I wanted to run away, I was crying and screaming, he penetrated something and I felt like I was dying and then I was lying on the floor, naked. My pet, Tito, licked my head and arms and sat there, without barking. This continued. Just because they wanted to derive pleasure, I was raped by Kaka and Mama on the very same day just before my Exams. My vagina bled, days after days. I didn’t feel the pain anymore. Their penises were so familiar and so friendly, yet so unwanted. I was always ready with my legs spread, with my clothes off my body. Baba and I hardly spoke then, I couldn’t tolerate them, in fact, I was pregnant and I was asked to choose abortion, obviously!”

“How are you now?”

“I am awesome. I am getting married which was something I always wanted to avoid. A man fell in love with this torn body which has been used in every way by many men. SEX, not love. Now, I am getting the love I deserve and that makes me smile. I have left them now, I live with my friends and I am happy.”

“Why don’t you file a complaint against them?”

“I can’t. Baba is involved. Let them be. I am strong enough to stop another me, Police kya karegi? Just like you are penning down and recording, others will too and this will spread. Laws in this country will not help you, you can help yourself, you can help others, and authorities will not do anything.”

“What are your plans in the future?”

“I am going to complete my degree here. Get married, continue my studies abroad and then work with Raj.”

“How many babies do you want?”

“I will never have kids. I have complications. I have been raped more than 30-40 times, I can never have babies, but I want to adopt so many dogs and so many cats and live happily”.

A pack of smokes got over. We exchanged a very deep look. I hugged her and she left for work. She has grown up with men in her family exploiting her breasts and vagina in every possible dirty way. No, not that she isn’t raising her voice against them, she is doing the necessary by talking to people who are willing to share her experience but she doesn’t wish to penalize them because she loves her parents. She works with NGO’s now and studying Psychology.

She is smiling but do we really know the intensity of the “help stop, help me!” behind her smile?

WRITING THE WOMAN'S LIFE:

(DALLAS BASED AUTHOR AND POET LOPAMUDRA BANERJEE'S THWARTED ESCAPE TOUCHED EVERY CHORD WITH MY OWN LIFE AS AN INDIAN WOMAN)

When I first met Lopamudra at her book launch, I thought her latest book Thwarted Escape was more about the journey of a middle class Bengali girl from the suburbs of Kolkata to the grand dreamworld of USA that became her adopted home. I was expecting something of a Jhumpa Lahiri kind of memoir. In fact, the author herself told me so, that she was trying to fathom how far one can go away from her ancestral roots. I thought thus the book is all about the self identity of a woman far away from her hometown.

But once I started reading (and I must say the poet in Lopamudra has expressed herself in every word she uses, like a lyrical melodrama) I realised the book is more about an Indian woman's journey and her experiences on her way right from childhood to adulthood through the so called shames of puberty. I viewed the book from an angle that I could relate to. Kolkata of the '80s and early '90s when we were all in school and the various characters of an extended families, convent schools, the yearning to be convent educated, the child molestation from within the family. It's like the author takes us on a journey of flourishing womanhood and never forgets to shout and tell this world as a woman we indeed had to fight our way through at every crossing of our growing up years.
She explores the Durga, Draupadi and Sita in every woman. For her "Goddess Durga or Mahamaya is the Supernova created by the omniscient, omnipotent male trinity Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwar. Sita and Draupadi, the two pillars of epics Ramayana and Mahabharata, fuelled in me the desire to enquire the essence of patriarchy." What strikes a chord with me is her curious mind since childhood and how she questions every step of even subtle challenges that a woman faces in her growing up years through her puberty, through her first crush, her school days, even slapped by her father for faking the report card grade. Yes, we have all lived it at one time or the other. That's why Thwarted Escape is so real and brings forth emotions, that every reader can relate to.

And yes, Lopamudra is bold enough to speak out at last through her words against child molestation, a subject that was usually a hush hush in those days. How she was molested by some from within the Bengali community she had grown up in as a child, on a Kali puja night. And the trauma that still haunts her. Even the way a dark complexioned woman is treated in the marriage market and how the author keeps her heart above all these mundane happenings in life she had to go through, just by seeping in he splendours of nature and her love for words. She calls it the 'pretty looking prison of my blossoming womanhood.' That's where the rebel in the woman gets expressed. Lopamudra is undoubtedly a rebel. She not only questions what goes on around her, but she also tries to criticise it in her own words, bringing down the age old traditions of the Indian society that primarily aimed at awarding the woman a second class citizenship. "The sunlight sits tight, over my skin, my face, my arms, preventing me from being the coy woman, the forsha or fair maid." A typical example of how a woman is weighed in the marriage market.

So rather than calling Thwarted Escape as just 'An Immigrant's Wayward Journey,' I would surely love to call it the Walking Woman's Tale, a woman who has crossed continents, walked miles and miles through roses and thorns and yet a woman's mind that still loves, still cries for the loss.    

MOTHER TERESA IS A SAINT TODAY BEFORE ALL; FOR ME AND MY FAMILY SHE WAS MORE THAN A SAINT DECADES BACK

(SAINT TERESA OF CALCUTTA HELD MY HANDS IN 1995 AND SAID SAYAN WAS AN ANGEL AND YOU CAN'T HOLD ANGELS BACK. I BELIEVED HER. WHO KNOWS, MAY BE THAT ANGEL AND HIS SAINT ARE ROAMING THE GARDENS OF HEAVEN TODAY?)



I met her during times of utter grief. Sort of directionless was I then, a terrible void of losing one's dearest to a two-day fever, finding the family torn apart and leaving back higher studies and dreams forever. But one look at her, and those eyes that spoke of nothing but goodness, even an evil spirit would have shed his or her cloak and embraced peace. My turmoil put to rest as she walked out of her room each day and I met her as I went to work as a volunteer with Shishu Bhavan. She would just hold my hands, and say 'he is there, he was an angel, they don't live for long on this Earth. But he is there.' Being a student of science, I never believe in miracles, but I do believe in energy, and if not anything but Mother's soft wrinkled and fragile hands on my young hands itself was like a miracle. Flow of energy from within her, that touched me and made me brave. And yes, I could share my grief and spread my love amidst hundreds of children, some maimed, some born with abnormalities and some yearning for love. I became one of them. For years I took detours on way to office and to college, just to spend hours with her children and to have a glimpse of her ever smiling face. My grief was thus taken care of. I learnt what is life all about by 21.

And I believed her. I still believe her, though other than Christmas or birthdays I do not get the chance to go to Shishu Bhavan any more. Mother had held a special prayer for us in 1995, for she was so overwhelmed by Sayan's (my brother who left us at 12) works that she even decided to write the preface to his book that was published after his death. I do not know if saints exist, I do not know if there is a world beyond this, but I know there are humans who are beyond the parameters of definition. I met many sceptics later, who when heard of my association with her, would often say, :"Oh she was a missionary, her sole work was to convert people to Christianity." I had only one answer for them, if change of religion gives food and clothing to children and old people, to the diseased and the sick, then so be it. And I personally am ready to embrace a religion that will ensure I do not die of hunger on the streets of a city that sees expensive cars like Mercs and BMWs zoom past. But I have no hard feelings towards such people who even today are giving posts on social media trying to malign a saint, I just feel pity for those who didn't get a chance to meet her and still talk about her. For I met her, she held me, and even today as I write I can feel her gaze on me, her hands on my hands and her smile on my heart. I feel blessed and at peace.    

MR. TOURISM AND CULTURE MINISTER, I CAN ASSURE YOU RAPISTS DO NOT NEED TO SEE LEGS POPPING THROUGH SKIRTS TO ENCOURAGE THEM TO RAPE, IT'S RISE OF PERVERSION AMONG INDIAN MEN THAT YOU BETTER ADDRESS!

(WHEN WILL INDIAN MEN STOP BLAMING WOMEN FOR GETTING RAPED BECAUSE OF THEIR ATTIRE AND WHEN WILL MORONIC MINISTERS LIKE MAHESH SHARMA STOP GIVING DIKTATS AS TO WHAT FOREIGN TOURISTS SHOULD WEAR!)

Yes Mr Minister, I love wearing skirts and dresses as they allow me to walk and run far more freely as my work demands, than the authentic Indian attire, saree, that is far more of a titillating attire than a skirt or a dress can ever be!  So Mr Minister please stop sending diktats as to what foreign female tourists should or should not wear. India is truly a multi-ethnic nation that has never interfered into any dress codes. Ancient temple architectures are a true reflection of that, where we see choli clad semi-nude women depicted in style. For that's what they wore and how they celebrated their sexuality. Fortunately in those days majority of men were normal and appreciated their beauty with an artist's eye rather than thinking of using a female body to meet his perverted hunger. So by sending diktats please do not bring down the image of the average Indian men by stamping on the idea that majority of Indian men have become so perverted that just skirts can turn them predators!

India’s tourism minister Mahesh Sharma on Sunday said foreign women should not wear skirts or walk alone at night in the country’s small towns and cities “for their own safety”. Discussing tourist security in the north Indian city of Agra, site of the Taj Mahal, Mahesh Sharma said foreign tourists are given welcome kits that include safety advice for women travelling in India.
“In that kit they are given dos and don’ts,” he said. “These are very small things like, they should not venture out alone at night in small places, or wear skirts, and they should click the photo of the vehicle number plate whenever they travel and send it to friends.” The kit says: “Some parts of India, particularly the smaller towns and villages, still have traditional styles of dressing. Do find out about local customs and traditions or concerned authorities before visiting such places.”

Sharma however clarified that he didn't wish to set a dress code for foreign women. ”We have not given any specific instructions regarding what they should wear or not wear. We are asking them to take precaution while going out at night. We are not trying to change anyone’s preference,” he said. “It was very stupid, not a fully thought-through statement,” said Ranjana Kumari, director of the Delhi-based Centre for Social Research. “The minister doesn’t realise the implications of such irresponsible statements,” she added. Kumari said the remarks reflected “the syndrome of blaming women” for what they wore and where they were. She said: “But the problem is men and boys in India. They go for all kinds of misogyny and sexual acts, rapes and gang-rapes. It’s important to say how to punish the perpetrators of crime and stop the nonsense of ogling women and following them."

National crime statistics show 92 women are raped each day in India. 79% women face eve-teasing everyday. Tourists can be subjected to the same harassment and worse, most recently in July 2016 when an Israeli female tourist was assaulted by a gang of men in the Himalayan resort town of Manali. A Japanese woman was kidnapped and sexually assaulted in 2014 in Bihar and a Russian assaulted by an auto-rickshaw driver in Delhi in 2015, among other cases.

MAHASWETA DEVI: FOR US, THIS RENOWNED AUTHOR, WAS ONE OF THOSE WHO KEPT THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER ALIVE.

(FOR ME SHE WAS A WINDOW TO A NEW WORLD OF OPPRESSION AND AN UNDYING VOICE OF SUPPORT TO THE SABAR COMMUNITY)

I have been reading about Mahasweta di (that's the name we used to call her by) since last few days after she left us all, hearing about her on chat shows etc. Other than a very few close friends of mine, hardly anyone knows that me and my family were deeply involved with her Kheria Sabar Kalyan Samity and that she was a solid rock support to my mother after my mom lost her son way back in 1995. Several trips to Rajnowagarh, (a tribal hamlet in Purulia of West Bengal, from where  Mahasweta di primarily carried out her activities) in those years had opened up a whole new world to me and my parents amid all the grief and loss we faced.

I shall forever remember this humble lady not as a feminist, but as a humanist, who with all her love and affection could embrace anyone. What she said to a grieving mother (my mom) was phenomenal. "Madhugiti, I have seen many mothers lose their children, but I have seen very few who have donated all the money you earned and kept for your son to educate many other children in this remote area, where most kids have never even seen a book before, let alone know what a school is all about. I have seen mothers go mad with pain, or clasp on to their surviving child, (in this case me), but I have never seen anyone who overcame grief and carry on silently supporting those who are oppressed in this society." These were her words. Needless to say, my mom became very emotional and cried profusely before her. She had tears too, she was equally emotional and always spoke from her heart and not from her head.

Now that she is no more, our thread of acquaintance with her will forever be alive amidst those vivacious children who come to the school in Garasagma (another tribal hamlet nearby), a school named after my brother Sayan. A trip to that school which is located in a pretty remote area will bring to light the condition in which humans survive. For urban people like us its truly an eye opener. Some of the children have never even heard of a comb. They don't know they can oil their hair!  Their palm leaf-thatched huts often are not enough to save them from relentless rains during monsoons. They look dirty, some do not wash for days as even drinking water is scarce in this extremely dry belt with very little agriculture possible on the rocky laterite soil. Mahasweta di used to mix with these people like her own kin. She participated in their dhamsa madol (special drums used by tribals) dance beats, often bought them these instruments and also local wine to keep the lot happy in their own world. She would sit with them, enjoy their local wine and other delicacies and also participate in their festivals resembling that scene of Utpal Dutt enjoying a Santhal dance in Satyajit Ray's Agantuk. She is popularly called Sabar Ma by the people. 

Gopi babu (descendant of the local zamindars) gave away his lands to Mahasweta di to set up this organisation. He is again a trendsetter. Unfortunately, Gopi babu has lost his voice and cannot speak anymore. But other relentless workers of the area like Jaladhar Sabar look after the activities. Speaking of activism, Mahasweta di was completely dedicated to these oppressed people. I still remember way back in 1998, the famous Budhan Sabar case. She called my dad and said : "Alok, you have to fight this case. And you will not be paid. They have killed the man in custody." My dad fought this case and many others later, obviously free of cost, against the atrocious legal provisions made during the British era branding tribes like Kheria and Sabars as criminals, which was never scrapped by the central government after independence. As a result police could pick up anyone belonging to these tribes, without any criminal charge and put them behind bars.

Mahasweta di had fought relentlessly to abolish this act and give these people a decent human livelihood. Every time we shall go to Purulia henceforth, we shall miss her, even that Ballygunge Station Road home where my parents often went, or her voice on the telephone even a year back saying: "Ei Alok achhe?" asking for my dad. But I shall never miss her undaunted spirit, that taught me to fight against all challenges since an early age. She will live forever among those tribal kids who can still laugh their hearts away at the sight of painting books that our children would probably not even look at.  

POETIC FAIRY ANANYA CHATTERJEE : A COMPUTER WIZ WOMAN AND AN ANGEL OF WORDS

(Meet the Oracle professional who writes bilingual poems to keep herself sane in an otherwise insane world)

Well, I met this ever smiling, somewhat eccentric Ananya at a poetic meet and instantly could see a part of myself in her eyes, in her enthusiasm and her smile. What I later realised is she dons many a crown, juggling between kids, a high profile IT job and of course her poems that flow mellifluously off and on in both Bengali and English. I wait for them to pop up on that Facebook screen every night. She also happens to be an active member of Poetry Paradigm, the group of elitist poets who made poetry popular in Kolkata.

Being a working mother myself, I was pretty surprised as to how she manages all. Well, it was because poetry comes to her naturally. Writing is a sort of release for her.
She has been working as a software professional for the past 12 years at Oracle India Pvt Ltd. She had to start off remote working after her son was born. Luckily, her company gave her an option of working from home. But that too wasn’t easy. “I admit I have had my crazy moments when I wanted to shut out the entire world, tear my hair apart and just disappear.”
 Ananya remembers when her son was a few months old, he would wake up in the afternoons, howling to his heart's content while she had a deadline to complete and the code just would not compile. She would take him on her lap and work. But her son, and later her daughter, gradually got used to their mommy working in her small corner and let her do so. And with an amazing husband, who is a wonderful hands on father, when he is around, thankfully Ananya never had to worry about anything in the house.
After marriage and child birth Ananya had briefly stopped writing. But somewhere inside, there was this gnawing sense of incompleteness that would not let her rest. One night, her mother asked her why she did not write anymore. She said, “Your creativity is the only thing that will stay, it is the only part of you that is yours in the truest sense of the world.” And Ananya opened her heart and soul, till the burst of emotion flooded into her, words started to follow and a verse was formed.
To Ananya, writing poetry is an amazing feeling. It starts off with an idea making circles in her head. She actually savors them, keeps stirring and cooking them , till they sound perfect. “In fact, after I write a poem down, there is almost always an emptiness which I can faintly relate with the pangs of postpartum depression. Not only my own experiences, very often a simple sight triggers an imagination that is quite involuntary. Which is why, most of my poems have a fair share of fantastic elements.”

Poetry Paradigm was a dream come true for Ananya and was born out of her friendship with Joie Bose, a stellar poet and a superb human-being. The team went from strength to strength when Ashoke Viswanathan,  Saira Shah Halim and Arthur Cardoze became a part of their vision. Ruchhita Kazaria and Devdan Chowdhury joined later. “Our movement got a big upheaval with the support of a large number of University students who joined us because of their love of poetry, and here finally, was a group that gave them the platform they needed to voice their passion. They now proudly call themselves the Youth Brigade of Poetry Paradigm.”

Despite her supportive family, Ani, as she is popularly called in poetic circles, has faced bitterness too. Poetry and bitterness! Quite surprising, but well that happens too. She met with deceit , and hypocrisy and she blames her own naivety to a large extent for that. “When such incidents pulled me down, I always got a lot of support from my family.   But, everything seems worth the pain when a message from a complete stranger pops up at the dead of the night. A message that tells me how my poem told his or her story and made him or her feel a little less lonely. Though I write for myself, when these creations act as a source of  inspiration for fellow human-beings, it indeed is a special feeling.”

Ananya’s first solo collection of poetry titled The Poet & His Valentine was published in 2014 . This was followed by a joint anthology Another Soliloquy where she teamed up with the very talented Shruti Goswami . Her last book The Blind Man's Rainbow got published in winter, last year. She has translated Bengali verses of veteran thespian and poet Soumitra Chatterjee, which appeared in a coffee table book of his paintings, titled Forms Within. “Translating his poems was a matter of pride for me.
I have had the honor of being published in various international e-zines and anthologies. Seeing my poem in the august company of splendid poetry from poets all around the world is a humbling experience.”

While writing bilingual poems, Ananya never consciously tries her hand in any particular language. She gives in to her impulses. “English and Bengali are two very different languages, and I have tried never to think in one and express in another. The nuances of a language, its beauty, richness and distinctiveness can be best appreciated, if and only if one thinks in the same language one finally puts into words.”

To round off this fairy’s poetic journey in her own words:

I WILL SLEEP NOW

‘I will sleep now...
Take my womanhood
Off this flesh and
Hang it on a corner peg
For these hours of slumber
I will lie
Neither poised as a woman,
Nor alert as a mother..
But curled up like
An unborn fetus
I will snore, sexless
And forget everything
Even my gender
Till the morrow brings
More news of
Writhing, shrieking women
A severed umbilical cord
somewhere.
Elsewhere,
a severed hymen.’

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO MY SINGLE MOM
WHO IS MY DEAR DADDY

(A LETTER FROM A 10-YEAR-OLD SON TO HIS MOMMY-DADDY)

Dear Mommy-Daddy,

                  My friends were laughing at me the other day when I said I was born from my daddy's womb, that I was fed on the milk that daddy produced and mommy-daddy as I call you happens to have the most beautiful mind I have ever come across. I also made a card for you, with your perfect dreamy eyes that often looked at me when you rocked me in the cradle. Little did I realise, those eyes had been shadowed with clouds of sorrow that you covered up so well with your love for me. You were the abandoned wife, weren't you? The man they all call daddy had left you for another woman. I was only a few months old then.

My friends said their fathers do plush jobs, provide them with luxurious cars and trips abroad, but you too earn a lot and give me all the comforts that I could ever have. Mommy-Daddy I never missed a male figure in my life, you were stronger than a man and you always say I am the man of your life. Hence you never needed to remarry or find solace from any of your male friends. But I am not jealous, if you wish you can marry again, but I shall call that man uncle. You will always be my dad.

The day you had cut your finger in the kitchen knife while cooking and blood streamed off from your wound, I almost thought you would die. But seeing the horror in my eyes you were so calm despite the hurt and bandaged off the finger yourself. I realised not just mentally, physically too you were stronger than any daddy that my friends would ever have. Can you imagine Satyaki's daddy almost fainted the other day when we put a rubber lizard in the driver's seat. He squealed and shouted and it was almost like meeting a ghost. I told him my daddy is the strongest, even live cockroaches cannot frighten my Mommy-Daddy.

Piu told me the other day in school that you do not shave and hence you cannot be a daddy. But I said you do, when we go for swimming you often use the razor, and I have seen so many men staring at your lovely smooth legs. I told Piu you are a black-belt in karate and when she was trying to scare me off by saying if we had robbers breaking our home, you cannot save me like her dad can, I told her you can ward them off single-handedly. You had taught that auto driver a good lesson the other day, who tried to overtake you and then use foul language because you protested his rash driving.

However, you are not as tall as other daddies are or not so muscular, but who cares? I know you can carry me on your shoulders, just like I shall carry you someday when you grow old. And best of all you can sing so well, and put me to sleep when most other daddies sit up all night watching TV or movies and ordering their kids to go to sleep alone in their rooms. You are always there with me till I get into a dreamy sleep so that I do not feel frightened of the dark.
Yes, you are the daddy with a very soft heart. you never scold me, you try to make me understand if ever I do anything wrong, or play a mischief, you don't forget even the most minute details of my school needs, be it the tiffin I wished for or the homework I forgot to do. I am so proud of you Mommy-Daddy, and hence I made a card and bought a lipstick for you with the money that grandma gave. I know fathers do not wear lipsticks but Mommy-Daddy you have such wonderful lips, they look lovely on you.

Happy Father's Day to you,
yours sonny-boy.

YOU BURN ALIVE GIRLS WHO REFUSE TO BE SEX SLAVES IN IRAQ, YOU RAPE 12-YEAR-OLD RECRUITS IN CHATTISGARH, AND YOU SAY YOU FIGHT FOR A CAUSE!

(BE IT ISIS OR MAOISTS, SELF-PROCLAIMED GROUPS ARE GREATEST THREAT
TO HUMANITY)
 

As we mourn those killed in the Orlando gay club shooting, that reflects how unpredictable and unsafe the world has become, another news of terrible human brutality caught my eyes. The story of 19 Yazidi girls caged in an iron cage and burnt to death alive infront of hundreds of onlookers just because they refused to have sex with the jihadis. May be the news did not make waves like the Orlando shooting did for it was a routine violation and torture of women that take place in the war ravaged ISIS controlled states of Iraq and Syria. But just to think a group of men fighting in the name of Islam and calling themsleves jihadis cannot be put to task is a disgrace to the countries around the globe that proclaim themselves protectors of Human Rights. And well, that refers to USA too. And even to think how 19 pretty girls who had the guts to stand up against the torture and refuse to bed the men despite knowing they would be killed, shudders me.

It’s believed that the gunman in Orlando was inspired by a radio message sent by the ISIIS spokesperson calling all Muslims across the globe to ‘Kill Anyone, Kill Anywhere, Kill Anytime’ during Ramadan. It thus seems this very ideology made these so-called fighters burn down women who refused to become sex slaves. The Yazidi are an ancient group who have lived on the Ninevah Province, in Iraq, for hundreds of years. They are followers of a religion that is a mixture of of Christianity, Zoroastrianism and Islam. A a result, Islamic State militants consider them to be devil-worshippers. Most of the Yazidi population, numbering around half a million, remains displaced in camps inside the autonomous entity in Iraq's north, known as Kurdistan. Though the Human Rights Watch has repeatedly warned the world leaders that 'The abuses against Yezidi women and girls documented, including the practice of abducting women and girls and forcibly converting them to Islam and/or forcibly marrying them to ISIS members, may be part of a genocide against Yezidis,' no one took notice.

Just like we have Maoist sympathisers all across India, but hardly any to protest against the repeated torture that even the girls and women recruited as comrades face. They all represent a bunch of pervert menfolk whose prime objectives seem to be spraying bullets mindlessly or having forced sex. The story of the 12-year-old girl Jhumpa (name changed) who fled a Maoist camp of Chattisgarh recently is unnerving indeed. She was sent to the camp by her parents who were convinced by Maoist leaders of the region that she would get money and good education if she joined the camp. Poverty stricken, as the family was, they were happy to part with their 12-year-old. But the chilling confessions of this tribal girl shows how she was passed on from one leader to another and was serially raped. In pain, she was once hospitalised too. She spoke of how a comrade had her throat slit and killed as she objected to the serial exploitation that women in the camps face.

And it’s indeed suprising that these leaders who claim to fight for the downtrodden and exploited tribals, themselves turn into oppressors. Many tribal women who joined platoons attached with the Jharkhand regional committee of CPI-Maoist narrated multiple cases of sexual exploitation by senior Maoist leaders and how many of them underwent repeated abortions. And who doesn’t know of Kundan Pahan, a dreaded Maoist leader of Jharkhand Regional committee, who brutally raped women cadres.

To all you revolutionaries aka terrorists, yes, you are bringing in revolution undoubtedly, you are teaching how to turn humans to beings worse than animals, you are teaching young girls that men are nothing but sexual predators, you are tearing buds and throwing them on graves of your so-called jihad and freedom movements. Wish you will someday be wiped off from the face of this world, else humanity will be wiped off soon.

THE FARMER GIRL

(SHE COMPLETED HER HIGHER STUDIES ONLY TO SETTLE IN A VILLAGE AND START UP HER OWN FARM)

I learnt about Dehradun and its adjoining landscapes through the pages of Ruskin Bond.  When the birds sing in the sleeping valleys, and children trek down slopes to their schools with an occasional flower peeping through branches or a sunset sending its hues around, this Himalayan heaven somehow used to turn my adrenalins on. They still do. And it did to another woman, originally from Pune. Entamologist Preeti Virkar, who does not wish to settle with her PhD in some plush cityscape, but amid the hills and valleys of Dehradun, where she came as a student and work on her own farm. Preeti is on of those rare Indian women who chose a life of difference.

Yes, she wishes to be a farmer and uplift the farmers around by educating them on organic farming. Dehradun is famous for Basmati rice. But she wishes to teach farmers to grow fruits and vegetables and make them the primary crops too. On the outskirts of Dehradun is Ramgarh, a small village in the Doon Valley, home to a farm called Navdanya or 'Nine seeds.' A narrow road with a hand-made board that you may easily miss, ribbons past trees covered with mangoes that touch the ground. The landscape brings out the romantic in you and also the hidden child. Trees lie on either side of the road. Often one comes across someone picking mangoes that have fallen on the ground, or climbing on branches that hang tantalisingly low. They remind you of your own stormy days when the onset of a summer norwester would unleash the wild child in you and make you run for those fallen mangoes.

All around are different kinds of vegetables peeping. Ladies finger, millet, bottle brush hang artistically outside a thatched roof, that one would find at the entrance of rural homes in Kumaon and Garhwal. Even dairy farming is done and farmers are hired to plough the fields. The best thing that Preeti has thought of is the seed bank. Her experiences in studying Biology has made her understand that a famer's most precious jewels are seeds. Preeti believes if a small farmer has one cow, a patch of land and saves his own seeds, he can cultivate his own land and sustain his family. The Navdanya seed bank has 2,000 varieties of seeds. Farmers that come for training here are shown how to store them in cane baskets lined with a mixture of cow urine, dung and soil that is used as green manure too. Seeds stored in this way will never get infected by pathogens and thus harmful chemicals are not needed.

Over decades India has lost its traditional methods of farming to the Green Revolution. The thought was that you can't do farming without chemicals if you have to feed the masses, actually backfired with a host of diseases caused by pesticides and fertilisers. I often realise and so do my parents that even the taste of seasonal vegetables that were a favourite with every Indian dish have somehow lost their tastes too due to overuse of hybrid seeds and chemicals. But what we were growing traditionally was so much healthier. Studying for a degree in wildlife science at Dehradun's Wildlife Institute, Preeti, first came to Navdanya as part of a study project. She then started giving sessions to interns here and joined full-time last June. She believes "The Green Revolution brought in mono culture. Organic farming on the other hand, has everything to do with diversity. Look around -- nature is so diverse -- have you seen a jungle with a single variety of trees?"

Farmers and interns share and learn from each other. They live on the farm where they clean their rooms, wash their dishes and eat simple vegetarian food. The solution to wash dishes is made of reetha (soap nut), that is soaked in water to make a shampoo-like liquid that generations of Indian women have used for their hair. The dining room has mementos left by farmers and visiting interns -- sculptures, paintings, baskets, lamp shades made of dried grass and leaves. Even you can encounter Pahadi cows here. India has 37 varieties of cows, though we mostly have a fascination for cows like Jersey, not native to India. These cows may produce less milk, but are drug resistant and provide good labour. Then there comes the concept of natural manure like the vermi compost, made of tiny earthworms who are considered as natural soil tillers.The natural manure made from kitchen and farm waste like used tea leaves is a wonderful nutrient for the soil. Everything that comes from the 60 acre farm is recycled. Most of the food served comes from the farm itself. Navdanya has a staff of over 35, has 122 seed banks in 18 states and has a large community of farmer members.

Organic products are more expensive because they need a lot of hard work, cannot be grown out of season, but the flip side is that they have long term health benefits. Preeti believes: "Large companies have alienated us from what we actually grew. We have been doing organic farming since our civilisation began." Indians are not eating a proper diet because we have forgotten what is good and that is resulting in either malnutrition or obesity, she feels. Hope more women like Preeti from cities will use their higher education for farmers and well might be turn into farmers themselves. That will bring in not just a new kind of green revolution but even a social revolution to India.

DO WE CALL THIS HELL?

(8-YEAR-OLD YEMENI CHILD BRIDE KILLED ON HER WEDDING NIGHT DUE TO SEXUAL ASSAULT BY HER 40-YEAR-OLD HUSBAND AND STILL MUSLIM NATIONS HOLD MARRYING WOMEN BEYOND 17 YEARS IS UNISLAMIC)


When an eight year-old child bride dies in Yemen on her wedding night after suffering internal injuries due to
sexual trauma, one wonders if I am witnessing Hell on Earth itself, or if Heaven and Hell are utopic ends of a myth. Child marriages were legally banned in India even before my mother was born thanks to some visionaries like Raja Ram Mohan Ray and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar who along with the British rulers had the good sense to abolish many such inhuman practices against women that plagued the society. And though in many Indian rural areas girls are married off before attaining 18 years of age, (the official age of getting married in India), atleast they are not married off to men five times their age.
However, in Mulsim countries like Saudi Arabia, Yemen, such practices are rampant and their law and society is bound by the same with not a single sane voice to be heard anywhere from the often rich oil producing nations. It is reported that over a quarter of Yemen's young girls are married before the age of 15. Not only do they lose access to health and education, these child brides are commonly subjected to physical, emotional and sexual violence in their forced marriages. A law was created in Yemen that set the minimum age for marriage at 17. Unfortunately, it was repealed after more conservative lawmakers called it un-Islamic.
I first got a taste of the Hell as I mention when a few years ago I chanced upon Sultana, a book that delves into the life of a Saudi Arabian princess, a woman born to fabulous, uncountable wealth but who in reality rebels against the practices where girls as young as five are raped repeatedly by older men of the family who wish to have sex with virgin girls. Sultana cries for freedom, she had private jets to enjoy, jewels, mansions all across the world, but when her own brother and his friends rape young Egyptian girls as young as six for just fun and pleasure, when her own sister is assaulted by her husband who was five times older to her on her wedding night, she decides to break free. However, to little avail. And as I went through the pages, gripped by the tales of thirteen-year-old girls forced to marry men five times their age, young women killed by drowning, stoning, or isolation in the women's room, a padded, windowless cell where women are confined with neither light nor conversation until death claims them, I realised behind the veil of religion, and a secret society there still are nations in this world where sex, money, and power reign supreme. And for me that’s Hell for a woman.
Human rights organizations have called for the arrest of the Yemeni husband, who was five times her age.
Al Nahar, Lebanon, reported that the death occurred in the tribal area of Hardh in northwestern Yemen, which borders Saudi Arabia. This brings even more attention to the already existing issue of forced child marriages in the Middle East. According to the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA), between 2011 and 2020, more than 140 million girls will become child brides. Furthermore, of the 140 million girls who will marry before the age of 18, 50 million will be under the age of 15.One of the main issues is that there is currently no consistent established definition of a "child" that has been agreed upon worldwide.  This leaves various interpretations within countries and little protection for those who are affected.
And as we are short of days celebrating another International Woemn’s Day, I wonder at times, have I already known what Hell is? Thank God I never witnessed it, as I was born in a nation and in a society where women atleast have a voice that can be used to protest against atrocities. 

LEGALISING PRE-NATAL SEX DETERMINATION IN INDIA WILL NOT STOP FEMALE FOETICIDE

(WHAT WE NEED IS RESPECT FOR ANYTHING FEMININE, BE IT FOETUS, GIRL, WOMAN AND A WOMAN RESPECTING A WOMAN)

Recently, India's Union minister for women and child development, Maneka Gandhi, proposed to legalise
sex determination of the foetus which was so long illegal in India unlike the West to stop the practice of female foeticide, that is particularly rampant in North and West India. So much so that the male female sex ratio has gone down to 550 girls to 1000 boys in states like Haryana and Punjab compared to above 950 girls to 1000 boys in states like West Bengal and Kerala. Once made legal, the government will be able to keep a track of cases of female foetuses till they are born ensuring they don't get killed in the womb. It's more like exposing you to porn sites at an early age to teach what you are supposed to see and what you are supposed to censor. Such a proposal will also help doctors to shrug off responsibilities, who for all these years had earned large sums by helping patients abort female foetuses.
Even if we consider Ms Gandhi's proposal will help the government in tracking the abortions and will be easier than punishing the doctors and laboratories that illegally carry out such practises, one wonders what happens when these female children are born.
Apathy alone can kill female newborns who have been forced down a family by the government allowing them to be born instead of being killed as a foetus. Every newborn needs lot of care, nutrition and love while growing up in the initial months. Which obviously many girl children do not get in India.
In the west, pre-natal sex determination has worked because it's a society where men know how to respect women, fathers are happy with both sons and daughters, such practises of aspiring for a male heir was evident in 17th and 18th century Europe that in India we still practise in the 21st century. It's surely a shame on us but what's more shameful is when such practises are found to be more rampant in urban than rural areas where the so-called educated rich and middle classes thrive.
What is even more alarming is the way women (mothers and grandmothers) either keep on giving birth if the first few children are girls in hope of having a son, and how they also participate in the illegal sex determination practice. I have personally experienced a female classmate of mine who was married in Delhi long ago calling me and saying how her mother-in-law took her to have an ultra-sound test to find out if the foetus was a boy or a girl. Thankfully it was a boy! When I gave birth to a boy I have seen women in the nurseries who had girls welcoming me and literally crying at their misfortunes for giving birth to daughters. And that too I had my baby in one of the costliest leading hospitals of a city that is considered to be utterly progressive in ideas compared to the rest of India. When my so-called progressive and USA settled brother-in-law once mentioned that my husband's income is vital despite my earnings as Man is the Provider!
So when shall we change? We shall change only when our fathers not only give us their sperms to shape us but also their respect, when our husbands will not return home and ask for a cup of tea and snacks perfectly knowing that they themselves can make their own dishes and that wives too are working in offices and tired at the day's end, when we stop stereotyping the responsibilities, when we teach men since childhood that Man is not the provider, when men will voluntarily become stay home dads and allow their wives who are talented enough to earn what they earn themselves and become the provider instead, when women learn to respect women and mother-in-laws rise up to daughter-in-laws' causes and stop allowing the family from doing sex determination tests, when women defend themselves against atrocities instead of asking brothers and fathers to accompany them on streets to protect their modesty and ofcourse when we respect the birth of a healthy child instead of asking "What's the news? Girl or a Boy?" We should instead ask "What's the news? A healthy child or not? Is the baby kicking, is the mother keeping well?     

ON REPUBLIC DAY INDIA FAILED TO GIVE HER WOMEN THEIR RIGHT TO PRAY
(1000 WOMEN ARRESTED WHEN THEY TRIED TO ENTER A SHANI TEMPLE WHERE ONLY MEN ARE ALLOWED)

India is truly a diverse nation. Our 67th Republic Day saw members of an all women regiment performing

daredevil shows along Rajpath that was so long in India considered a male domain, while in another part of the country, a few hours from the hip and happening business capital of Mumbai, a group of 1000 strong women was barred and arrested by the Maharashtra government when they tried to enter a Shani temple that has closed doors to women since ages.
The protest was led by Bhumata Ranragini Brigade which had announced to worship Lord Shani at the sacred platform as a symbolic gesture to break the gender barrier at the shrine.
The president of the organization Trupti Desai had earlier threatened to use chopper to enter the temple if stopped by security forces. And Maharashtra government was prompt in arresting the protesters, who had squatted on the streets after being prevented to proceed to the temple. Only if they were this prompt enough when Dalits are murdered or children in slums are raped.
What was more amusing is the manner in which ministers and Hindu sadhus and sadvis maligned a religion that has forever been considered as a philosophy rather than religion. They went on to say Hindu scriptures bar women from entering Shani temples just like Islam bars women from entering mosques.
Shani Dev is one of the Navgraha devtas for the Hindus. The Shani temples are considered as a home without doors that has no restrictions for his followers and visitors to his temple. The devotees are considered to acknowledge fear but not of enemies. The fear of the wrath of Shani Dev is what keeps the devotees away from sins and evils.
The priests have come up with hilarious reasons stating legends unable to quote one single scripture that might suggest only men are allowed to put oil on Shani Dev in the temples. They tried to put in illogical explanations as to Shani idols being swayambhu idols, meaning that they regenerate on their own from the Earth, which incidentally many Shiva idols are too. The oil can be put only by men as the effect of Shani Dev’s wrath is considered to be less on women. The wrath of Shani Devta destroys the life, health, wealth and reputation of a man. Women are largely unaffected from the effects of Shani Dev.
In a bid to relate to women, it is believed that since women are not affected by Shani Dev’s effect, they need not get close to the Shani idols to pour oil.
Many in the patriarchal temple and worship sites in India assert the chastity of women is very delicate. It can be maligned even by the moonlight Women prefer to stay away from Shani Dev’s idol as a mark of respect, just like the Indian women have for their elders.
It’s not that women like me are interested in entering the Shani temple or for that matter any temple. But what surprises is a country whose Constitution provides equal rights to all its citizens irrespective of caste, creed, gender and religion has temples and mosques barring women from entering and worshipping at their free will. Some maulvis even supported the ban on women from entering the Haji Ali Dargah stating its a part of the Islam law, something that is not practised in a democratic republic called India.
Shani or not, Allah or not, what we women need for sure is our freedom and not our chastity.

THIS IS WHY I HATE FEMINISTS: THEY WILL MAKE ANY STATEMENT TO PROVE THEY ARE SMARTER THAN MEN

(CELEB FEMINIST KATIE HOPKINS CALLS FOR EUTHANASIA VANS TO GET RID OF ALL THE OLD PEOPLE AROUND)

Here’s a woman who says ‘People with Dementia are blocking beds and there is no point to their lives.” And when that woman happens to be celebrated feminist, British television personality and newspaper columnist, Katie Hopkins, then one wonders is feminism a word defined beyond the boundaries of humanity?
I have occasionally felt curious to know why many women deliberately try and need to prove they are superior to men just by doing and saying things that they otherwise do not believe in or are definitely shocking and negative to the society at large.
Do they need to prove they think different, they are forward, they are superior to men by making explosive statements like the one Hopkins makes? Else, how could Hopkins at the age of 40 even be “super-keen on euthanasia vans” and say there are “far too many old people around?”
She feels “it is ridiculous to live in a country where we can put dogs to sleep but not people!”
Her comments come shortly after she admitted regretting some of the extreme language she used against migrants in a column she wrote in the Sun entitled “Rescue boats? I’d use gunships to stop migrants”.
In an interview by Michael Buerk in Radio Times magazine, Hopkins says: “We just have far too many old people.” When asked for a solution, she goes on to say: “Easy. Euthanasia vans – just like ice-cream vans – that would come to your home. It would all be perfectly charming. They might even have a nice little tune they’d play. I mean this genuinely. I’m super-keen on euthanasia vans. We need to accept that just because medical advances mean we can live longer, it’s not necessarily the right thing to do.”
Hopkins prides herself on never having apologised for anything she has said. Well, that’s exactly what most so-called feminists believe in. Making sensational statements that have little standing in this world and theoretical solutions that have little practical needs. Hopkins is definitely a mad woman and she says stuff undoubtedly to get a bit of publicity that she is looking for, in whatever form it is. But doesn’t she join the bandwagon of feminists who have over the years tried creating more of a male-female divide, rather than putting forward rights of women as rights of citizens of a civlised world?
I would love to give more points to my cook and maid who have worked hard all these years to raise their respective daughters and have finally sent them to colleges. They have stuck to one girl child. They didn’t produce any more so that they can give education to the daughter and she gets a chance to study and join a proper job in a country like India where in many states a girl child is killed in the womb.
To Katie Hopkins I can just say, she is 40 now, just my age, and I would hopefully wait to watch her turning old in a decade or two and taking help of an euthanasia van to end her life. And anyway, even now at 40 we really do not need women like Katie Holmes. They are a sham and a shame to the human world.