tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39030257765844842172024-03-13T14:05:34.101-07:00ALL ABOUT EVEMrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-80334540552187587542017-04-23T21:47:00.000-07:002017-04-23T21:48:06.474-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>STEVENSON'S BLACK DOG WAS MY HERO: WHY MOM SAID I CAN ASPIRE TO BE A PRINCESS AND NOT A PIRATE!</strong><br />
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<strong>(WOMEN PIRATES ON HIGH SEAS WHO PLEADED THEIR BELLIES)</strong><br />
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I would feel a rush of adrenaline every time that one-eyed lame man's picture flashed before me! BLACK DOG! The dreaded pirate of R.L. Stevenson's Treasure Island. Instead of dreaming about princes and kings of fairy tales, I forever wished to get married to a pirate on high seas, or a cowboy on the prairies. I even disclosed to my parents my choice, which they stereotyped and said a girl cannot be a pirate. You need aggression, which unfortunately I never displayed. Little did they know I had an inner strength that was far more resilient than any physical one. Well, I did not land up being either a princess or a pirate! But that doesn't deter me from reading about them and still fantasizing. And indeed there were women pirates who were dreaded even by men.<br />
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Anne Bonny of the 1700s was one such woman. An Irish by birth, she was often dressed as a boy by her father. who called her "Andy". Anne was good looking with flaming red hair but had a fiery temper too. At 13, she stabbed a servant girl with a table knife. She even set fire to her father's plantation as he disowned her from his property for marrying a poor sailor. Later she moved to New Providence Island, known as a sanctuary for English pirates. While in the Bahamas, Bonny began mingling with pirates in the local taverns. Here he met John "Calico Jack" Rackham, captain of the pirate sloop <em>Revenge </em>and fell in love with him and his profession! <br />
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Bonny met her accomplice Mary Read, another woman pirate who stole the ship <i>William</i>. Their crew spent years in Jamaica and the surrounding area and captured many vessels and an abundance of treasure. Bonny took part in combat alongside the men, and the accounts of her exploits present her as competent, effective in combat, and respected by her shipmates. While, Mary Read was the widow of a sea captain, whose ship was captured by Rackham while she was sailing to West Indies. Read joined Bonny in her exploits or may be she was forced to.<br />
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In October 1720, Rackham and his crew were attacked by a King's ship. Most of Rackham's pirates put up little resistance as many of them were too drunk to fight. However, Read and Bonny fought fiercely and managed to hold off Barnet's troops for a short time. Rackham and his crew were taken to Jamaica, where they were convicted and sentenced to be hanged. Both Read and Bonny were then pregnant and hence they pleaded their bellies as by English law any pregnant woman could not be hanged. </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-91770751065016449232017-03-07T06:51:00.000-08:002017-03-07T06:51:33.570-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>MILES TO
GO BEFORE I SLEEP</em>: ENDURANCE RUNNER SUMEDHA
MAHAJAN SPEAKS ON HER INCREDIBLE JOURNEY TO SUCCESS AND ABOUT <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BRAKEFREE</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>(WHY SUMEDHA CAN RELATE TO THE MOVIE <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">DANGAL</i>) <o:p></o:p></strong></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">She has fought asthma and a degenerating bone disorder.
She ignored a patriarchal society that finds it difficult to accept a girl as
an athlete. She challenged all odds and is a success story today. Sumedha
Mahajan is indeed an inspiration. If the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dangal</i> was an eye-opener to how women are treated and groomed by
their families in sports, Sumedha’s life is no less than a filmy tale. Though she
comes from a North Indian state which has one of the highest rates of female
foeticide, Sumedha’s parents treated their children equally, though they often faced
the wrath of their extended family for being ‘so liberal with their girls.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Like Geeta and Babita of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dangal, </i>Sumedha and<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>her
sister Mrinalini were coached by their father in tennis. Though her dad was a
great friend and loved his girls beyond words, he was a tough coach and showed
no sympathy even when asthmatic Sumedha would go breathless during her training
sessions. She had to take inhalers and again go for practice. Even her long
hair was chopped off and she had to get up every morning at 5am for her
training. But Sumedha feels her dad gave her immense strength and she owes a
lot to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sumedha’s health was a constant challenge. It is
really tough to believe that a girl who has been suffering from asthma could
even think of sports! But she did. She overcame any challenge by sheer tenacity. In her childhood she often had to miss her tennis tournaments
because of her asthma attacks. Next, came a degenerating bone disorder and SI
joint dysfunction in 2012. Her spine and hip joint malfunctions forced her to
take a break from running between 2013 and 2015. But she was unperturbed. She returned
to the tracks in November 2015 and won the 100km trail ultra in Bangalore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">By 2016, she gave up running and decided to launch her
own women sportswear brand called BRAKEFREE. Her 30-day experience while
running in the Delhi-Mumbai Marathon and her interaction with several female
runners from India, made Sumedha believe there is an immense need for quality
sportswear for women. The women sportswear brands in the market till then
were mostly international brands that were high priced and difficult to
afford for most Indian sportswomen. Hence most women in India were forced to
wear men’s sportswear. As she says: 'Quality sportswear for women is a basic
necessity for all women athletes. When I tried to talk it out with
international brands with which I was associated, I was told they can’t help.
Instead, some sarcastically suggested I should launch my own brand if I was so
concerned about women athletes and their sportswear.' <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">'I took it as a challenge and risked all my finances,
took loans and severed ties with prestigious brands that I endorsed, to launch
my dream brand BRAKEFREE. As an athlete I realized every sportswoman needs
comfortable, sweat free and odour free clothes to help her perform on the
tracks or courts. That is the basic necessity, something that was lacking.' Sumedha also believes Indian parents must encourage their girls to take up
sports and this country should spend more on women athletes. 'Most sports
grants that colleges and universities receive are spent on male athletes, this
must change.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sumedha is so correct. Last Olympics was an eye-opener
where the medals won by Indians all came from female athletes. Her brand
BRAKEFREE is supporting a few female athletes too and trying to promote sports
among girls. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Like Sumedha has miles to go before she sleeps, so
does her brand BRAKEFREE has challenges ahead, to compete with internationally
established sportswear brands. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">But BRAKEFREE was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Reborn to Win</b> and<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>so
shall it be. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-56573501546796449512017-02-15T06:49:00.000-08:002017-02-15T06:49:06.052-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong>RAINS OFF A SMOKY SKY: TALE OF CONSCIOUS AND SUBCONSCIOUS </strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>PRITAM MANDAL</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong></strong>NOTION PRESS: Rs 300<br />
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I took an instant liking to the book the minute I received it. And why not? The cover says it all. Nostalgia, rains, romanticism and rediscovering oneself. Every page of the book reflects the tale of a woman who steps out into the world of her dreams, from the small village to the big cities of the world. With it she carries the tale of many like us, who harbour dreams of doing it big but in the end realises the ultimate is to rediscover oneself, rather than enjoy the fruits of a long cherished dream.<br />
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Pritam is an IITan and studied abroad. No wonder the protagonist Anurita, who calls her other personality as Rita, also comes from a village like Pritam does and pursues her education to become 'someone' in this world that runs on money and fame. She becomes that 'someone,' from her village life, she fulfils her ambition, goes abroad and starts working. The author pens down the village life with a lot of truth and passion. Anurita's growing up days is a tale of any woman. From her friends in school to the males of her locality and how their gaze towards a growing girl changes over years, her first kiss when 'Aviroop uncle' forces himself on her and how she even enjoys that infringement in her life. They are all vivid images of how a village or a town girl goes through as she aspires to be that 'someone' in life.<br />
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The best part of the book is the dual personality that probably all of us have. When we start speaking to and dealing with our own inner strengths and demons. Anurita does the same. She is lonely despite having a great group of friends at her workplace. Anurita is fit for this cut-throat world but her inner self Rita is not. Rita is a die-hard romantic, fantasises, and finally breaks down when she meets with an unexpected tragedy. Pritam is a great story-teller and a nature enthusiast. His depictions of fireflies and other minute details of the nature around Anurita is a proof of that.<br />
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A great read too as the style of story telling is pretty out-of-the box. <br />
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Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-39619293218119357422016-12-23T03:16:00.002-08:002016-12-23T03:16:49.558-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">A Bouquet of Emotions<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">A short story is
a love affair, it comes glancing by, like fleeting emotions. Ram Kamal
Mukherjee’s first fictional work <i>Long
Island Iced Tea</i>, 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 <i>Stardust</i>, Mukherjee
brings in decisive moments of human relations with <i>elan</i>, probably ones he witnessed in real life, behind silver
screens. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">His female
protagonists are bold, ready to break social rules. They challenge social <i>diktats, </i>yet at times die within
confines of common female attributes of jealousy and betrayal of trust. Like
his protagonist Madhurima of <i>Madam, The
Shot Is Ready</i> 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 ((<i>On The Other Side)</i> 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 (<i>A Broken Frame), </i>a woman betrayed by all
because she could not conceive and produce an heir. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">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 <i>Long Island Iced Tea</i>
stand out from the rest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">The cover page
of the book by Pinky Roy is chic and happening, lifting the mood of the title. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Long Island Iced Tea; Ram Kamal Mukherjee<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Jufic Books</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-71049772362116437872016-11-30T05:00:00.002-08:002016-11-30T05:00:46.946-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>SHE NO MORE FEELS THE PAIN IN HER VAGINA</b><br />
<i>(DIARY OF A GIRL RAPED BY HER OWN UNCLES REGULARLY WITH FULL SUPPORT OF HER PARENTS)</i><br />
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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.<br />
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“It’s been years. I don’t feel the pain in my vagina anymore”.<br />
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“But why didn’t you tell anyone?”<br />
<br />
“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.”<br />
<br />
“Since then? Till you moved out? Every day?”<br />
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“Almost, till I planned to move out.”<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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“You know, every man in that family tried to touch me. Mama, Kaka, Masa.<br />
but Baba…”<br />
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“What? What did he do?”<br />
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“He didnt stop them!”<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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“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.”<br />
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“Why the hell didn’t you go to the police, Shruti?”<br />
<br />
“Because when I tried doing something, I was asked how were my boobs grabbed and I was asked to demonstrate and then…”<br />
<br />
“AND THEN?”<br />
<br />
“I was asked to strip and show them the marks.”<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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“And then?”<br />
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“Regularly <i>hota aya hai na. Hota gaya</i>. (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?”<br />
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“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.”<br />
<br />
She paused. Lit another smoke, gave one to me.<br />
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“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.<br />
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Next day, mama had come over. I was so happy. He entered my room with <i>Nutties </i>and raped me just like <i>kaka </i>did. He held my breasts so hard and then he put fingers in my vagina, and it was hurting me so much.<br />
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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 <i>Kaka </i>and <i>Mama </i>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!”<br />
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“How are you now?”<br />
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“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.”<br />
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“Why don’t you file a complaint against them?”<br />
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“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.”<br />
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“What are your plans in the future?”<br />
<br />
“I am going to complete my degree here. Get married, continue my studies abroad and then work with Raj.”<br />
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“How many babies do you want?”<br />
<br />
“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”.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
She is smiling but do we really know the intensity of the “help stop, help me!” behind her smile?<br />
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Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-34872284642718512632016-11-15T03:10:00.002-08:002016-11-16T00:42:58.723-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>WRITING THE WOMAN'S LIFE:</b><br />
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(DALLAS BASED AUTHOR AND POET LOPAMUDRA BANERJEE'S <b><i>THWARTED ESCAPE </i></b>TOUCHED EVERY CHORD WITH MY OWN LIFE AS AN INDIAN WOMAN)<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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 <i>Thwarted Escape</i> is so real and brings forth emotions, that every reader can relate to. <br />
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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 <i>forsha </i>or fair maid." A typical example of how a woman is weighed in the marriage market.<br />
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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. </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-39197800398104463222016-09-04T03:38:00.003-07:002016-09-04T03:38:53.942-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>MOTHER TERESA IS A SAINT TODAY BEFORE ALL; FOR ME AND MY FAMILY SHE WAS MORE THAN A SAINT DECADES BACK</b><br />
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(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?)<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2SwnEiZDb0/V8v5m97eVkI/AAAAAAAAAWA/PTPLnMfncZYYUnPoCYsgYpEcsmI6IoUNgCLcB/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2SwnEiZDb0/V8v5m97eVkI/AAAAAAAAAWA/PTPLnMfncZYYUnPoCYsgYpEcsmI6IoUNgCLcB/s400/blog.jpg" width="220" /></a>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.<br />
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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. </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-8374536400670990442016-08-29T06:42:00.002-07:002016-08-29T06:42:58.379-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>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!</b><br />
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(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!)<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
“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.”<br />
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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."<br />
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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.</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-33150712907393608172016-08-01T04:11:00.000-07:002016-08-01T04:11:34.913-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>MAHASWETA DEVI: FOR US, THIS RENOWNED AUTHOR, WAS ONE OF THOSE WHO KEPT THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER ALIVE.</b><br />
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<b>(FOR ME SHE WAS A WINDOW TO A NEW WORLD OF OPPRESSION AND AN UNDYING VOICE OF SUPPORT TO THE <i>SABAR </i>COMMUNITY)</b><br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>dhamsa madol</i> (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 <i>Santhal </i>dance in Satyajit Ray's <i>Agantuk</i>. She is popularly called <i>Sabar Ma </i>by the people<i>. </i><br />
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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.<br />
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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. </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-85435231388950753552016-07-24T03:56:00.000-07:002016-07-24T03:56:01.418-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>POETIC FAIRY ANANYA CHATTERJEE : A COMPUTER WIZ WOMAN AND AN ANGEL OF WORDS</b><br />
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<b>(Meet the Oracle professional who writes bilingual poems to keep herself sane in an otherwise insane world)</b><br />
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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. <br />
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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.<br />
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.”<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.”<br />
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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.”<br />
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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.”<br />
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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.<br />
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.”<br />
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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.”<br />
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To round off this fairy’s poetic journey in her own words:<br />
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<b>I WILL SLEEP NOW</b><br />
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‘I will sleep now...<br />
Take my womanhood<br />
Off this flesh and<br />
Hang it on a corner peg<br />
For these hours of slumber<br />
I will lie<br />
Neither poised as a woman,<br />
Nor alert as a mother..<br />
But curled up like<br />
An unborn fetus<br />
I will snore, sexless<br />
And forget everything<br />
Even my gender<br />
Till the morrow brings<br />
More news of<br />
Writhing, shrieking women<br />
A severed umbilical cord<br />
somewhere.<br />
Elsewhere,<br />
a severed hymen.’</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-87629496469990653602016-06-18T10:15:00.000-07:002016-06-18T10:15:44.325-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO MY SINGLE MOM </strong><br />
<strong>WHO IS MY DEAR DADDY</strong><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0eiUfy-UuRg/V2WBb8f2suI/AAAAAAAAAUw/UP9wL7mpFwYMIIsVkS1AEd3umecwgzJ1QCLcB/s1600/single-mom-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0eiUfy-UuRg/V2WBb8f2suI/AAAAAAAAAUw/UP9wL7mpFwYMIIsVkS1AEd3umecwgzJ1QCLcB/s320/single-mom-11.jpg" width="248" /></a>(A LETTER FROM A 10-YEAR-OLD SON TO HIS MOMMY-DADDY)<br />
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Dear Mommy-Daddy,<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Happy Father's Day to you,<br />
yours sonny-boy.</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-48516187264274998042016-06-13T04:21:00.001-07:002016-06-13T04:31:03.164-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
(BE IT ISIS OR MAOISTS, SELF-PROCLAIMED GROUPS ARE GREATEST THREAT<br />
TO HUMANITY)<br />
<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-47505856089039172642016-06-06T02:52:00.000-07:002016-06-06T02:52:28.551-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
THE FARMER GIRL<br />
<br />
(SHE COMPLETED HER HIGHER STUDIES ONLY TO SETTLE IN A VILLAGE AND START UP HER OWN FARM)<br />
<br />
<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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?"<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-50207823540978721152016-03-02T05:04:00.000-08:002016-03-02T05:13:01.364-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>DO WE CALL THIS HELL?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>(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)</b><br />
<br />
<br />
When an eight year-old child bride dies in Yemen on her wedding night after suffering internal injuries due to <br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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. <br />
Human rights organizations have called for the arrest of the Yemeni husband, who was five times her age.<br />
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.<br />
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. </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-7984805344889517552016-02-07T03:17:00.001-08:002016-02-07T03:20:56.135-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>LEGALISING PRE-NATAL SEX DETERMINATION IN INDIA WILL NOT STOP FEMALE FOETICIDE</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><i>(WHAT WE NEED IS RESPECT FOR ANYTHING FEMININE, BE IT FOETUS, GIRL, WOMAN AND A WOMAN RESPECTING A WOMAN)</i></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ojNFQQ9QzHY/Vrcno-N9DeI/AAAAAAAAATs/Z1hm1c77iJw/s1600/child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ojNFQQ9QzHY/Vrcno-N9DeI/AAAAAAAAATs/Z1hm1c77iJw/s320/child.jpg" width="320" /></a>Recently, India's Union minister for women and child development, Maneka Gandhi, proposed to legalise <br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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!<br />
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? </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-76872589733614272312016-01-27T04:41:00.002-08:002016-02-07T02:32:29.846-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>ON REPUBLIC DAY INDIA FAILED TO GIVE HER WOMEN THEIR RIGHT TO PRAY</b><br />
<b>(1000 WOMEN ARRESTED WHEN THEY TRIED TO ENTER A <i>SHANI </i>TEMPLE WHERE ONLY MEN ARE ALLOWED)</b><br />
<br />
India is truly a diverse nation. Our 67th Republic Day saw members of an all women regiment performing <br />
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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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
Shani or not, Allah or not, what we women need for sure is our freedom and not our chastity.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-77481338515806324622016-01-25T03:59:00.000-08:002016-01-29T01:24:38.205-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>THIS IS WHY I HATE FEMINISTS: THEY WILL MAKE ANY STATEMENT TO PROVE THEY ARE SMARTER THAN MEN</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>(CELEB FEMINIST KATIE HOPKINS CALLS FOR EUTHANASIA VANS TO GET RID OF ALL THE OLD PEOPLE AROUND)</b><br />
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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?<br />
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.<br />
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?”<br />
She feels “it is ridiculous to live in a country where we can put dogs to sleep but not people!”<br />
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”.<br />
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.”<br />
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?<br />
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.<br />
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. </div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-66001061039318282202015-11-30T04:25:00.000-08:002015-11-30T04:25:03.183-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
MY STANDING OVATION TO THE 'MENSTRUAL' MAN<br />
<br />
(Here comes an Indian man who wore sanitary pads himself to understand the menstrual cycle, its needs and came up with a low cost sanitary pad for Indian women across rural India)<br />
<br />
<br />
Well, he had seen his wife Shanthi hiding something behind and leave the bedroom one day. He was curious <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RRnSOIUwoi0/Vlw__IAUIbI/AAAAAAAAAS8/lC-fqzUEhKc/s1600/pad.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RRnSOIUwoi0/Vlw__IAUIbI/AAAAAAAAAS8/lC-fqzUEhKc/s320/pad.png" width="320" /></a></div>
as to what she was hiding and then realised it was a piece of dirty cloth that she would have to ‘wear’ to take care of her periods. More than 80 per cent of women in India still don’t know the use of sanitary pads during menstruation or the pads are too expensive to be bought. Hence majority of the women both in rural and urban areas still rely on the cloth that they get around. This practice is indeed utterly unhygenic. But it was not a woman who thought of doing something to stop this practice. On the contrary it was a man who realised a woman’s sufferings and decided to come up with a low cost sanitary pad that every woman across India could make use of.<br />
Arunachalam Muruganantham, who worked at a workshop and came from an economically backward class was someone who was ready to research, experiment and innovate for a woman’s cause.<br />
<br />
He realised most sanitary pads in India are made by multinational companies and hence the cotton used in the pads as a soaking material though costs less than 10 paise, each pad is sold for not less than Rs6-8. That shows what a huge profit the companies were making and how the Indian women at large suffered because they couldn’t afford the pads.<br />
<br />
But it was pretty surprising that in his entire effort Muruganantham didn’t get the support of any woman. Take the case of his wife and mother. The wife separated and asked for divorce, while the mother thought his son has gone insane when she saw one day he was experimenting with various sanitary pads on his table and trying to find out exactly what material they were made of. Even the medical college girl students whom he took as case studies, either filled in the feedback forms writing wrong things or were frightened to speak to him thinking he was a pervert.<br />
<br />
Still, Muruganantham was undaunted. While he tried to make his wife and later his sisters the test cases for his sanitary pad trial run, they deserted him thinking he has gone insane. So he had no other alternative but to wear a pad himself regularly and using liquids as viscous as blood to realise how much absorbent his pads are. Thus started the trail run. A man wearing sanitary pads to support women hygiene.<br />
<br />
He understood that though the raw material was cheap, the machines where the sanitary pads were made ran into crores. That was the biggest investment which could not be done on a small scale. So he thought of designing his own machine. And he did it. He sent his model to IIT and his innovation got the first prize in a competition.<br />
<br />
Now its a successfully running self-sustaining sanitary napkin business, called Jayashree Industries. It has 2003 units across India, including the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, employing 21,000 women, from rural areas making them self supporting too. For his innovation and efforts, he was named one of Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People in 2014.<br />
<br />
So for a man who was just a meagre worker at a workshop, it was a daunting task to make the cheapest sanitary pads and reach it out to lakhs of women in India who were so long forced to give up their hygiene at the cost of ‘Mesntruation’ a biological phenomenon that is still considered a taboo.<br />
<br /></div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-67536128077939116382015-11-27T05:33:00.001-08:002015-11-27T05:33:48.690-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<b>MY RED LETTER DAY</b></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">To all you ignorant Hindu priests and so called Hindutva leaders, my religion happens to be one of the </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R-Fc8jxxCX8/VlhawBmwoAI/AAAAAAAAASs/XnDq6b_q0r8/s1600/rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R-Fc8jxxCX8/VlhawBmwoAI/AAAAAAAAASs/XnDq6b_q0r8/s320/rose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
most inclusive religions ever on earth, like many I call Hinduism a philosophy of life, not just a religion, so stop maligning it. It's probably the only religion on Earth that worships 'Nari Shakti' or goddesses as a symbol of woman power. Since Vedic age, my country has given highest seat of power to women who had the right to choose their husbands, where men attended 'swayamvar' to prove their worth before a woman before she chose, where women participated in ruling a kingdom and were not just producers of children.<br />
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">Even when India was under British rule, there were social reformers like Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar and Rammohan Ray who with the help of British implemented laws to stop evil practises against women like 'Sati', 'Child marriage.' </span></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">So now, when my country claims to be one of the decisive powers in the world how come Hindu priests go back to the middle ages and bring back the dark era of suppression? You will not allow menstruating women from entering temples? You will make women go through body scanners to check if they are menstruating? The head priest of Sabarimala temple forgot if his mother didn't menstruate he would not have born. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">Kashi Viswanath temple of Varanasi, where i loved to visit I will not see you again. I am not ready to wear a saree to enter you. I<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"> would prefer to wear a revealing <i>choli</i> and <i>blouse</i> that Hindu women in Vedic age wore. I am not ready to cover my arms and legs for the priest's satisfaction. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: #990000; display: inline;">I am <a class="_58cn" data-ft="{"tn":"*N","type":104}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/happytobleed?source=feed_text&story_id=10208247681495304" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;"><span aria-label="hashtag" class="_58cl" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">#</span><span class="_58cm" style="cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">Happytobleed</span></a> and here goes a verse in favour of that.</span></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">RED LETTER DAY</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">And then the drops of scarlet dews trickled down her singed thighs declaring the fertile her.<br />Not the crimson blaze of the setting sun<br />Nor the red lights of a traffic snarl or rose petals carrying lost dreams<br />Strewn on her sleepy eyelids.<br />Not Scarlett O'Hara gone with the wind in search of her Rhett.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">The cunning wizard turned the wand of crimson shame between her legs.<br />Throbbing head, aching limbs,<br />Cleaning the stains in vain on her innocent skirt.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;">Why cringe in shame?<br />Why hide your stains?<br />You are the fertile land prepared for the seed to be sown.<br />Rejoice another month of life with Venus whispering his charms.</span><br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-65204421215424387602015-10-19T04:24:00.000-07:002015-10-19T04:24:43.792-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">WHEN WOMEN SWAYED TO
DRUMBEATS</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">(ALL WOMEN </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">DHAKI</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> TEAM THIS DURGA PUJA)</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dmrcrB9IzX8/ViTSlg2i3wI/AAAAAAAAASc/xREacnLz3EE/s1600/drum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dmrcrB9IzX8/ViTSlg2i3wI/AAAAAAAAASc/xREacnLz3EE/s320/drum.jpg" width="320" /></a><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Dhak</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> or the Indian
drum has always caught on my fascination. Its throbbing elusive rhythm swaying
the inner me every time it plays on. Unlike the African or the tribal
drum-beats that create an aura of a haunting charm, <i>dhak</i> happens to be one instrument that flows with ease and a
pleasure that kicks you to a new height. But what this year’s Durga Puja has to
offer is the all women <i>Dhaki</i> team,
playing on their beats at a Kolkata puja pandal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Durga for me is an epitome of female
power, where a Goddess has been given the power to put an end to all evil
forces when even the Gods failed. In a country where a regular woman has to
fight her way through, since childhood to even earn her basic needs, its
definitely a welcome change when women are allowed to take up a profession that
has all along completely been a male domain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">In India gender bias has percolated on
and off even in the arena of performing arts and instruments unlike the West.
How many of us have seen women playing <i>tabla</i>
or <i>ghatam?</i> Very few. Same with <i>dhak</i>. I have even heard men saying it’s
a heavy instrument that has to be picked up on one’s shoulder and played. It’s
too much for a woman! I knew such men had never known thousands of rural Indian
women who carry greater loads than the <i>dhak
</i> when they fetch heavy vessels of
water from distances while carrying their kids on backs or side laps. A <i>dhak</i> should have been easier to
handle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">And that’s what Uma and her band of five
women are doing this year at a city pujo <i>pandal</i>.
They had started playing in 2011 but none took much notice. It was only after
they performed at a TV talent hunt reality show, that they earned the typical
hype and publicity that such shows usually bring along. At least in whatever
form, Uma and her girl gang of <i>dhakis </i>got
their due share of recognition in a typically masculine instrumental
world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Since the earliest documented puja was
organised by Raja Nabakrishna Deb of the Shobhabazar Rajbari in Calcutta in
honour of Lord Clive in the year 1757, the men have heralded Bengal’s most
important festive season. Coming from rural Bengal with both her father-in-law
and husband being well-known <i>dhakis </i>themselves,
Uma was encouraged by her father-in-law to start playing after he visited a
pujo in the USA as a <i>dhaki</i>. He saw a
woman in a New York shop playing all kinds of musical instruments. He thought
he should give a chance to his daughter-in-law as well and even made a special
light-weight drum of fibre glass to lessen Uma’s burden and help her to
play. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Then some of her neighbours joined. As
it’s always in Indian society they got a stiff resistance from the villagers
who tried to point out that women performing before <i>Maa </i>Durga is against scriptures. Little did they realise almost all
Hindu scriptures have always celebrated women power. But Uma was hell bent to
learn and so was her father-in-law who felt if all over the world women can be
performing artistes then why not in India. Now they have more than 25 women who
are taking <i>dhak</i> lessons from Uma to
become full time <i>dhakis</i>. For women
like Sumita it is also a source of sustenance after she was abandoned by her
husband with two sons to raise. Music and empowerment has surely come hand in
hand at last. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-54563616048355008862015-07-13T05:42:00.000-07:002015-07-13T05:42:28.256-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">THE FALLEN WOMAN</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">(SAIKAT MAJUMDAR’S RIVETTING
NOVEL </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">THE FIREBIRD </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">IS NOT</span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> </span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">JUST ABOUT CRIMINALISATION
OF A YOUNG BOY, BUT ALSO ABOUT A WOMAN DEMONISED FOR PURSUING HER ARTISTIC
PASSION)</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-guxQilF8eLw/VaOx9139r3I/AAAAAAAAAQE/j1o3E6F_QvQ/s1600/firebird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-guxQilF8eLw/VaOx9139r3I/AAAAAAAAAQE/j1o3E6F_QvQ/s320/firebird.jpg" width="320" /></a><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The boy who
was the future. His mother didn’t matter. She could go if she wanted to. Nobody
cared. But she could not take the boy away. He wasn’t hers.</span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> Saikat Majumdar’s
exceptional novel that dwells partly on the darker aspect of human psyche has
not only opened up the means that force a child of a well-educated aristocratic
family to turn into a criminal, but has undoubtedly reflected the helplessness of
a married woman who wanted to pursue her passion…theatre. As I glided across
the wonderful play of words and emotions intricately woven by the deft author,
I as a working woman and mother of a teenaged son could feel the pain of Garima
Basu. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If Ori is the protagonist of <i>The Firebird, </i>Garima Basu is the befitting underdog. Everyone in
the family, in school, in the <i>para</i>
were concerned with the boy’s future, so much so they were ready to ostracise
the mother who had produced him. Nobody just cared whether Garima Basu ever
felt the pain of leaving her son back home to attend rehearsals, or while
staging meaningful plays. She was after all a woman. Had her husband been a
stage actor, none would have questioned his late night attendance at home.
After all man is the provider. A woman is not. She is easily and automatically moulded as
the fallen woman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Hounded by the society, abandoned by a husband who
had once been proud of her acting prowess, Garima dies a miserable woman who
lost both the worlds that she so dearly loved – family and theatre. The novel
definitely brings out how very guilty a mother is made to feel when she cannot
give enough attention and care to the child she produced due to other priorities and compulsions. Though Ori had his
grandmother, <i>pishi</i> and other female
members at home who took over the responsibility of rearing him probably
because he was the only male heir to the family, Garima did feel the pangs of
helplessness that every working mother feels even today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That helplessness rises to a crescendo when Ori runs
away to his aunt’s house in Hooghly without informing his mother who was right
then due to perform on stage. Garima’s self-accusing sigh: <i>“Right then I wished I could do something to myself, hurt myself so bad
that they couldn’t push me out of stage.”</i> Her relief that the stage got
burnt and she wouldn’t have to go with the play anymore, instead could look for
her son, despite viewing the destruction of a production that she so seriously
and passionately endorsed, she was relieved. And when she loses the custody
battle at court, tagged as a destructive woman and struggling stage actress,
she loses the last straw, her child, her 13-year-old Ori whose uniforms she
pressed every morning and caringly packed his lunch boxes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And how very devastating it must have been for a
woman who realises in the end that her son had done things deliberately, taken
out his angst for the lack of a mother’s daily care through the dark lanes of
acts that the society brand as criminal. Garima vanishes. <i>She was a playhouse with silver streaked hair and skin beginning to
wrinkle. A playhouse ready to vanish.</i>
And with her vanishes a woman who could have been a famous actor had she
been a man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Thank you Saikat Majumdar for exposing the pain of a
woman subtly who wanted to pursue her passion and her dreams. We have many
Garima Basus among us for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-17153416367189901912015-06-19T05:18:00.000-07:002015-06-19T05:18:12.531-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-style: solid none none; border-top-color: rgb(167, 179, 189); border-top-width: 0.75pt; padding: 31pt 0cm 0cm;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">STORM CHASER
CHIRASREE ON CLOUD 9:</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">AN AMAZING
PASSION OF A CITY GIRL AND HER DARING GROUP </span></b><b><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">KOLKATA CLOUD CHASERS</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9.5pt;"> <br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Chirasree surely reminds me of Hollywood actress Helen Hunt,
who played the role of University Professor Dr Jo Harding, who chased one of
the greatest storms of the century along with her under-funded team of students
in <i>Twister.</i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Chirasree might not have the
sophisticated devices like the Westerners, but she has a burning passion that
match the divine fury of the storms and the clouds that bring along the message
of an incoming cyclone or a storm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8xK9qNDIkgY/VYQIZlpTP6I/AAAAAAAAAMo/O7yPFYJhmzM/s1600/all%2Babout%2Beve1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8xK9qNDIkgY/VYQIZlpTP6I/AAAAAAAAAMo/O7yPFYJhmzM/s320/all%2Babout%2Beve1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN" style="background-color: #990000; font-size: 14pt;">Since childhood
Chirasree has been passionate about clouds and their different shapes and
sizes. Their haunting mystery always attracted her. This passion of cloud
gazing became more intense when she chanced upon <i>Meghdoot</i> of Rabindranath Tagore and Kalidasa's <i>Meghdootam</i>, while in college. Both these famous literary wonders
carry the message of clouds and the stories of the thousand lands they float
across. The need to know their stories and capture them through lens gave birth
to Chirasree’s out-of-the world passion and she started chasing clouds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN" style="background-color: #990000; font-size: 14pt;">Since 2012, she started
viewing weather apps on smart phones. She teamed up with friend and fellow
chaser, Debarshi Dutta Gupta, and the duo regularly used to check the weather
apps and started tracking clouds, storms, cyclones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; padding: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="background-color: #990000;">In March 2014 her group <i>Kolkata Cloud Chasers </i>was born with a
few photographers who preferred cloudscapes/stormscapes. Debarshi’s craziness
about clouds was a sheer encouragement. Today, the group follows live
streaming, photos, Vblogs by US Tornado chasers. But India's weather pattern is
more interesting than USA. So Chirasree took up the task of studying reports on
tropical supercell, monsoon, tropical cyclones in the Indian weather
perspective. <br />
A typical cloud chasing exercise begins with IMD satellite images, IMD Radar
Images that are regularly checked to see if there is any storm brewing.
Tracking work begins when there is a chance of system formation - how it may
form, direction, height etc. There are Spotters who are supposed to look at the
sky from the office balcony, windows, house terraces etc to find out if there
is a chance of storm formation. Then comes the Navigation part and finally
Storm Chasing. All memebers of the group may not go for chasing at a time. But
they provide guidance. Successful tracking is indeed an act of joy, pleasure
& excitement and Chirasree doesn’t feel being a woman has been a limitation
in this crazy pursuit of clouds ever. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Cloud chasing has its
own dangers and rewards. She has individually and successfully chased different
systems at places like Pedong, Puri, Shillong, Bolepur, Bakkhali and many other
locales. Chirasree relives a particular chase in Puri where she experienced one
of the best formation of supercell and shelf clouds. The system arrived from
the opposite side of the sea. She had focused her camera and took considerable
danger of being knocked off by the waves as the sea turned pretty rough.
Besides such heavenly experiences, she has often been chased by cows while
clicking at muddy fields, snakes passing by, other hostile flora and fauna
threatening her ar every step.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Funding a passion like
this is indeed another challenge. It’s purely arranged by the members of the
group from their own pockets. Basic instruments are smartphones, laptops, good
software, camera, lenses, filters, tripod and GoPro camera. KCC members
are not full time storm chasers. There are IT Professionals, businessmen, and
freelance photographers.<br />
Chirasree’s encouragement is none other than Tagore’s song <i>Jhor ke aami korbo mitey, dorbo na taar bhrukutite.. dao chhere dao ogo
aami toofan pele banchi </i>(Nature’s fury is my kin, storm is my companion, I
will dare its fury, not get scared off and will live for all the storms to
come). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt;">Those who are
interested to follow the group can log on their their FB page and Twitter for
exciting weather updates, photos, Vblog and documents.</span></div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-87626231475159942172015-06-14T06:55:00.000-07:002015-06-14T06:55:09.444-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">SINGLE DADS ROCK!!!</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">AN AMAZING SINGLE DADS’
GROUP IN KOLKATA SPEAK ON THEIR CHALLENGES, INSECURITIES AND BONDING </span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jcx0fWer9Kw/VX2Hge9JUcI/AAAAAAAAALI/L6oJBf1vCLI/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jcx0fWer9Kw/VX2Hge9JUcI/AAAAAAAAALI/L6oJBf1vCLI/s320/blog.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Well,
they are not like Tom Hanks of <i>Sleepless
in Seattle </i>or Will Freeman of <i>About A
Boy,</i> hunting down the town or joining single parent’s groups to get their
daughters a new mother. Instead, an amazing bunch of single dads in the city
have set up a group that meets once in a while to help them become the great
daddy-mommy combo to their doting daughters.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Arnab
Dasgupta, Tirtha Chatterjee, Gaurav
Sengupta and Randhir Gupta, quite often kick up a storm over a plate of fowl
cutlet at Mitra Café or at a Coffee Shop round the corner, not to discuss about
job life or pretty women, but to brainstorm on issues impacting their teenage
daughters and how to tackle the problems if any. They are
a bunch of single dads who chose to remain single instead of getting new
mothers to their daughters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">They
had all met by chance and by a twist of fate they became the best of buddies,
starting off the Single Dads Group more as a necessity. Arnab first met Tirtha,
fondly known as Tintin at the gym and while interacting, realised they both were
single parents. While, Tintin came across Gaurav hunting for a decent creche
for his daughter and the trio became a team. Gaurav bumped into Randhir or
Randy on a business trip. Small world, but the great dads met and decided to
start off meeting on and often as a means to cope with the various
problems that a dad single-handedly raising a kid in India might face. It was
like buddy bonding, it was like sharing your insecurities, like tying a bond
where least it was supposed to be. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">All
the dads have demanding sales jobs. So finding time to meet, itself is a
challenge. “We meet mostly once a month usually on a Friday evening. We have
been out along with our children too a couple of times, when they are free. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Over
the years, these dads have realised that being a single parent is tougher than being a single dad. The whole dimension changes when one is a
single father specially to a growing daughter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">As
the Single Dads Group puts in: “Things are more edgy for single fathers as men lack
the suave competency of a mother at large. We often discuss daily challenges
and their innovative solutions. We are at a threshold where our daughters are
going through emotional and physical changes, they are growing teenagers mostly
and as a male counterpart to a ‘mother’, we keep on rapidly adapting ourselves
to those changes and make ourselves better parents.” The discussions mostly
include educating each other about the approach to train their daughters on
subjects like ‘good and bad touch,’ explaining their financial limitations
so that they can cope with peer pressure, substance or other abuse, abstain
using profane language and most importantly trying to educate them with their
limited acquired knowledge to get ready for the first step into womanhood which
the four of them term as ‘The various stages of changing diapers.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">But
well, every household needs a woman anyway. And the single dads do get the
support of their mothers who are a sort of default mothers to their grand
daughters. “But definitely they are old now and what should we do when they
pass away is a big question these days!” adds one of the members.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">The
group members also have another challenge, financial insecurity. Despite being
eligible professionals, all of them had to make a lot of adjustments (they
don’t use the word sacrifice, as they believe it demeans the entire purpose of
parenting) in careers and settle for jobs which would enable them to give more
time to groom their daughters and try and be physically present with them as
much as possible, a work that is usually done by mothers in our society. In the
process they had to give up lucrative jobs and fat salaries, something that
daddies out in India living within a complete family circle hardly have ever
done. When the purse strings tighten, the basic lifestyle has to remain the
same. At times, it's a big challenge trying to explain to the kids why their
dads can’t give them an expensive holiday that their friends so often enjoy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Insecurities
also include getting prepared for behavioural changes of their daughters, coping up with endless
questions on uncomfortable topics including sex, getting prepared as better
mentors, to tame the rebellious streak of budding teenagers without losing
cool, playing the Fragile Mother's role and lastly getting prepared to accept
the blame that if their mothers were around, they could have been better
trained and counselled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Indian
Society took centuries to accept the concept of Single Mothers. Single Father
is a rarity because most of the fathers are considered as epitome of
achievement by virtue of being a male child and taught by the society that a
man's job is never to rear a child. The very thought of rearing a child by a
man alone sends shivers. But if one has the conviction like these dads have
that 'its my child and it’s my duty to rear them,' then they can definitely
handle a child better than their counterparts in the West. Infrastructure
support is however lacking in our country at large in terms of creche, day
boarding etc.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">And
yes these dads have given up their desires for the sake of their daughters. As Arnab
puts in: “I expect my child to be a normal sane human being who would possess
the capability of judging what's good or bad for her. I would like her to be
independent to take appropriate decisions for herself. Relationships
didn't work for any of us although we did give our best shot trying to give a
complete family to them. The four of us have lived our life at 40 and have no
regrets. If being single, brings solace to our daughters and they feel secure,
we are happy being so. We just want our children to be happy and will never
allow our desires to come in the way.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">But,
they will not hold their children back at old age. “Our job is to prepare them
to fly high, to meet their aspirations in life rather than cage them.
Personally, I have no regrets in life. I have hugged loneliness & celibacy
long back as my lone companion. A priest long back told me at a church in
Athens <i>Had God given a fair chance to your daughter, she could have
chosen better parents on her own. The least you should try is to prove your
worth as a parent.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">And that’s what these single dads are doing for
sure. </span></div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-28224437915680770992015-05-23T04:41:00.000-07:002015-05-23T04:41:34.069-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">THANK GOD I AM
NOT A WOMAN FROM THE LANDS OF BOKO HARAM OR ISIS, I AM NOT SOLD IN OPEN
MARKETS, PASSED FROM ONE MAN TO THE
OTHER, REPEATEDLY RAPED AT 12, SUBJECTED TO BEAR CHILDREN AT 14 TO CONTINUE THE
SAVAGE IDEOLOGY OF CREATING A MUSLIM STATE! </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nLkLT3DSETg/VWBl2V0bvjI/AAAAAAAAAJo/PG7NJeB9-Pk/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nLkLT3DSETg/VWBl2V0bvjI/AAAAAAAAAJo/PG7NJeB9-Pk/s320/blog.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“They have already killed my body. They are now killing my
soul.” That’s how the 17-year-old Yazidi girl held captive by the ISIS
terrorists spoke to an Italian journalist from one of the prisons in Iraq.
Pretty that she was, she could have been signed off for a role in Hollywood.
Instead, she was a sex slave to men who in the name of religion are plundering
women in the 21<sup>st</sup> century under the very glare of the Western media.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">She is Mayat, the voice of hundreds of girls from the ISIS
and Boko Haram states of Iraq, Syria or Nigeria. Subjected to brutal sexual
attacks from different men daily, she still speaks. Probably that’s the
resilience of a woman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="background-color: #990000;">Sexual violence on
women has always been a favourite tool of torture by the victors since time
immemorial. Be it the plundering Huns or the Mughals in India or even the
educated erudite British force on women freedom fighters, we have always been
subjected to savagery in times of war. But its unthinkable and beyond our
imagination that in the 21<sup>st</sup> century women in certain nations
ravaged by civil wars can still be subjected to inhuman torture, sold at
markets in the open, kidnapped, raped, forced to bear kids at a tender age of
11-12, subjected to sexual slavery and passed on from one man to the other.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="mol-para-with-font" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="mol-para-with-font" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Last
week, Nigeria marked the first anniversary since more than 200 girls were
abducted from a secondary school in Chibok by Boko Haram militants. Nigeria's
new president, Muhammadu Buhari, now says he doesn’t know if they would ever be
found. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Boko Haram leader Abubakar
Shekau claimed responsibility for the kidnap of the girls. A report has found
that the terror group has kidnapped at least 2,000 women and girls since 2014
and they have pledged to impregnate these girls fresh into their teens so that
as many as children they bear, they can herd them into believing the ideology
of an Islamic State. That’s how the world will be taken over by their ideology!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="mol-para-with-font" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="background-color: #990000;">Hats off to their
ideologies. Wonder if they were born from the womb of a woman! Only last week a
BBC documentary aired real life tales of young girls herded into a small hut.
Most of them were pregnant, many falling victim to the HIV virus as their
rapists infected them. They looked like those pregnant cows tethered to posts
in village meadows. At least the cows are fed and taken care of by their
owners, these girls don’t even get two square meals. They look tired, defeated,
lost. Yes, lost in the game of life even before it had started to flower. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">The plight of these young African girls are similar to the
Yazidi girls held by their<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>ISIS
captors in a secret prison in Mosul, Iraq. As Mayat went on to describe the
three “rooms of horror” in the house, where she and her fellow victims are
taken several times a day and raped, I asked myself : ‘Do we still live in
pre-historic times?’ I would have better born an animal than a woman in such
parts of the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Mayat was first forced to call her parents, who had somehow
made it to safety in<span class="apple-converted-space"> Kurdistan. </span>She
said her captors made her place the call “to hurt us even more. They told us to
describe in detail to our parents what they are doing. Part of me would like to
die immediately, to sink beneath the ground and stay there. But another part
that still hopes to be saved, and to be able to hug my parents once more.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">“They treat us like slaves. We are always ‘given’ to
different men…they threaten us and beat us if we try to resist. Often I wish
they would beat me so hard I will die. But they are cowards even in this. None
of them have the courage to end our suffering.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 15.9pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">A few women and girls have managed to escape, reporting that those who
agree to convert to Islam are being sold to Islamic State fighters for as
little as $25. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Those that do not face never-ending rape, are subjected to
beatings and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>death. Some of the
young girls are so traumatized that they have stopped speaking, while others
have tried to commit suicide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Yet, the fight for
territory continues, remains of old civilisations razed to the grounds,
destroyed by the terrorists, but who hears the cries of those young captive
girls behind prisons and closed doors who are dying day in and day out? Will
the Western World do anything for them, or will it only react if their own
women are assaulted ever?</span></div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3903025776584484217.post-61547013995472697852015-05-13T02:11:00.000-07:002015-05-13T02:11:13.327-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<b><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD PRIYADARSHINI'S TRIBUTE TO HER 'MANLY MOTHER' ON MOTHER'S DAY</span></b></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<b><span style="background-color: black; color: red;">(AWE-INSPIRING LETTER OF A YOUNG GIRL WHOSE DAD IS HER MOM)</span></b></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RvptncF-G3c/VVMTLDfRrYI/AAAAAAAAAJU/QlQ7upqTKo4/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RvptncF-G3c/VVMTLDfRrYI/AAAAAAAAAJU/QlQ7upqTKo4/s320/blog.jpg" width="222" /></a></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: #ea9999;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<b><span style="background-color: white; color: red;">A SHORT ESSAY ON MY MANLY MOTHER ON MOTHER'S DAY</span></b></div>
<div style="display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: red;">Hi, I am Priyadarshini Dasgupta, 11.11 years old, studying in class 7, section A, Roll No 28, at DPS Newtown, Kolkata. Today, I have been given the opportunity to write about my DAMS who's my Mother too.<br />My Mother's a Manly Person who has a strange relationship with his alarm clock which never ceases to croak at 5 am round the year. My Manly Mother has a very FLAT HAIRY CHEST unlike other Mothers' & to make it flatter, he unnecessarily goes to the Gym to waste an hour there & is quite appreciated by some people there who do not have flatter chests & whom I don't like hovering around him.<br />" FAST" is the only word which my Manly Mother uses in the morning once he's back from the gym. " Eat Fast", " Drink your Milk Fast", " Bathe Fast"» Potty Fast" & even makes me Run Fast to catch the school bus., My Manly Mother has learnt to cook only one dish from his Mother, KD, to give me for my lunch box & it's called Sandwiches, hence, my friends tell me that I have a SANDWICH MOM at home.<br />My Manly Mother talks well but in the mornings & in particular with me, his dialogues are like " TRAGIC B/W MOVIE HEROINE " which are like:-<br />1. I like to keep it very quiet in the mornings.<br />2. You are trying my patience.<br />3. I am not listening.<br />4. Time out<br />5. It's time you come out of Ape Mode or else you'll land up in a jungle or zoo for the rest of your life.<br />6. If you cheat, i'll never play with you.<br />Like many Adult Women as seen in the Television Series & Movies, my Manly Mother also has a list of Boyfriends & they occupy a special place in his heart. They are :- 1. Mr Davidoff 2. Mr Ken Follett 3. Mr Eric Clapton & in particular one Mr Bose whose Headphones stand in my way whenever I wish to tell my Manly Mother something about his Grumbling Mother, KD, which he doesn't wish to hear. My Manly Mother is very GOOD IN BED &. He doesn't need an occasion to SLEEP. It's called POWER NAP & most of my demands are fulfilled when he's in a mood to HUG THE BED & I come in his way.<br />I love to go out with my Manly Mother & we go out with an Agenda which he calls BUDGET. Everything in my life is BUDGETED FOR including ICE CREAM & CHOCOLATE which I hate at times. My Manly Mother insists that we belong to Lower Threshold of a Special Class called Middle Class, I don't understand the Logic but I don't ask him why.<br />But, I Love my Manly Mother as deep down he's very quiet, lonely & sad. I feel for him because he has to give me all his spare time & buy me good things & that's why he doesn't have time nor Money to go out with any GIRLFRIEND. I am saving from my pocket money to GIVE HIM A LOAN FOR A COFFEE DATE IF HE FINDS A GIRLFRIEND.<br />I feel so proud when my Manly Mother stands out amongst all other Mothers' during PTM as he doesn't need to impress anyone or ask for attention. My teachers are very impressed with him & some show extra attention which makes me jealous.<br />The best part about my Manly Mother which I really really love is he still Adores my ACTUAL MOTHER " SUD"& never stops to say good about her to me. THAT'S. WHAT MAKES HIM A VERY SPECIAL MUM.<br />I shall end writing now as I seem to have crossed my word limit of 1000 words for this short essay but I would like to thank all the elders who have voted in favour of me to write this essay about my DAMS & allow to be posted on FB & I have two more requests. 1. Please vote again for me to write about DAMS on Father's Day &<br />2. Kindly let DAMS know about the spelling & punctuation errors in this essay so that I take a note of it.<br />Thank you<br />Your loving<br />Priyadarshini ( Mithi)</span></div>
</div>
Mrs Panic Buttonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01626467160546621096noreply@blogger.com0