Of the roads and the hills !

Someone somewhere said "people are good everywhere, you need to know how to blend with the culture". This is correctly stated, and you unfold this well, on roads. Roads that are dusty, stony, paved, peached... roads that  teach you all the lessons unlearned inside those four walls of concrete. There is an interesting story behind travelling, you get to see sky that wants to talk to you, behind the shroud of smog, and the paleness that reminds of the weariness of the city and the people. The dusty roads and the film of smoke above blends together to bring about a cradle of hymns that remain unsung , they fade away with the hustle bustle of the metro trains that gush in and out with heavy ignorance towards life and people. The small food joint that has been standing still since 1896, talks the history that has floated by the river of yamuna or Ganges. The short bawarchi sings away to glory while preparing his pot of biryani, heavily loaded with ghee and saffron. The dingy room is filled with he haws of evening folks, that relishes over Mughal food and talks of the survival , talks of business.

Evenings turn into nights. Boarded into car, rolling across the states, wading through the harsh traffic, roads take you to meet new stories, awaiting to be weaved by a traveler in his own knitted kit.The favorite driver tells stories, the story of "pahar". The kumaon ranges that nestles his family, the apple orchard that blooms in the winters, the little girl that waits for her father to return from city after every month, the bliss around in a poor family over a cup of lamp curry  and bread.

The mosques that sing of peace and harmony from faraway town and the freezing cold waters of Ganges that cleanses dirt of people. Interestingly, the cold breeze that carries the words of Allah, do not know the difference of castes in the town, the water that is cold and swift , has no time to crib over caste ism. They purify, cleanse, teach people to live by, live for. The roads also take their turn upto hills. The hills that have given birth to coniferous trees. The tall and vigorous forest welcomes the  traveler with all their might. those pink crispy leaves and the beige colored flowers sway by the sides to spread happiness to the traveler that has come to search for peace.

The mountains that glow in the sunset hour purifies the traveler's soul. The little lantern hung by the hamlet and the thin smoke that blows up, the olive moss over the rocks, the green waters by the caves, the brooks that sprawls over, the merchant who returns from the market place, the violet wild flowers who shade their petals off, chants the hymns of peace, love, life.

The Garhewali cook comes to his duty, prepares rice and lentils and some fries. The cow boy takes his herd of mountain goats back to the shade, the temple bell rings against the winds in the mountains, the child with red ribbons on her hair rushes to her grandma's lap to listen to stories of "the princess who was sick and no doctors could cure her ...". The day closes to begin a new beginning, the traveler walks on.

The road takes him through the misty mountains, to a new destination. He collects the pebbles on the way, that know the stories of carts, the pine fruits that know of the love that has bloomed under the tree, he captures the sounds of chirping of birds that have seen the wounded deer resting under their nest... the waterfall that has been the witness of the false promises made by those two young lovers once in the hour of dawn ... traveler moves on !

One fourth of a century

How does it feel to have lived this planet for a good 25 years ? Well, a white paper and pencil would shrink that to a millionth time of how  a baby  transformed to a girl and a lady and on. This is a huge sack of experience that couldn't be described or jotted down. This is amazing how mid 20 crisis blooms in a life of a woman ( because I don't know how it would be for a man), That amalgam of sensing responsibilities and the desire of withdrawing oneself from the shack of life is interesting indeed. They say 20s is the best time to create memories, yes it is! Its the time to smell the soil when its dry and soon it gets wet by the seasonal rains. Its the time to go broke middle of a month and arrest oneself for rest 15 days. These are the days, one should abandon oneself to isolation to see what world looks like ? how the world survives in its own viscous lifestyle? How it feels to work more than 9 hours a day and walk back on tired feet home.

Living independent is a very interesting thing that I have come across. You know you can enjoy over a cup of latte or bowlful of tomato soup and enjoy a 2 am movie. Isn't it interesting to listen to the silence of the late night at city. The silent corridor with a pot filled with dry soil and a disturbed growth of a plant which smirks at my life, and those soggy odor of shoes that remind me I have grown up and life has embraced me with all its grace and it expects me to hug it back.

The nights that are so colorful when we do the town and the toxic drink that amazingly makes you forget the burden that life heaps on you every single moment. Those 3  am talks and the late night returns are the  best ways to dive  in 20s, and waking up early to work. The feeling of coming close to a man and realizing the grace in you to bring him closer , losing yourself to him and the beautiful cycle of moving away! The beauty of life unfolds in every single drop of tears and every he - haws at the roadside with fellow people. The wonderful art of trusting people, most probably the strangers in the world where we grow up.

The art of learning to cook because you are  hungry and that moment when it tastes good! Every single hour of discovering yourself makes it all! These memories that are created on those stony pathways, bars, on sunny days, cold nights, amidst fragrance of dragon lilies and the back coffee dates, make you learn life is  amazing and its just 25th year of survival! There is a fear attached as the change in phase could be difficult but there is excitement as that would be a change in routine life that we deal.

Growing up and surviving 25 years is like a basket of small and big talks that could weave a fabric of memories , which just aint meant to be cherished but looked upon to move ahead to our 30s. Amidst all those bunch of lilies, bars of chocolates, boxes of doughnuts, mugs of beer, tiff with the boss, getting late at work, earning every penny, being a spendthrift, fighting with parents, being cheated, acting selfish, trying to be pretty, travelling to see hills, tanning at beaches, late night movies, long drives, doing the pubs, doing the laundry, booking a flight to home.... we have grown up and we have survived one fourth of a century. 

I wish to parent a daughter !

As we grow old, we change our bucket list with age, with time and life experiences. I stand to become a mother of a daughter someday. I am no feminist, neither I support women empowerment in every aspect of life. I want to raise a girl child, because I want to see how it feels to parent another woman. I have seen my mother raising me in a surrounding of a mid occur mentality. Where an Indian girl has to abide by several regulations.

 She has to learn and have a good command of English language, she has to secure the top in education, yet she needs to grow her hair long. She needs to maintain her glowing skin and care of her complexion and fight every day to lighten it. She cannot meet any person who belongs to male gender and even if she did, she cannot fall in love. Love is a crime, and only those who has shattered future falls in love. If her friend who happens to be from male species , texts or calls her, she is asked a plethora of questions, just to understand the fact if she is in a relationship with that person. Yes,  relationship takes a subjective viewpoint. What is actually a relationship? Well it means she has not only attached herself with the person emotionally but physically too. And if her hormone was not in control in her puberty, then she might be thrown away of the society that strictly forbids conjugal relationship before a ritual celebration called - marriage. She has to marry a person that belongs to her caste, yet financially strong enough to support her needs. If she has loved a man, she needs to get married to that person irrespective of what he turns out to be in future, If she gets pregnant before marriage, then she is no less than a sex worker in the society and that she can burn her face or drown herself but not live in the society that is so pure !She needs to fear rape, death, man, and the patriarchy. She cannot step out without covering herself to safeguard her body from being exploited !

I want to give birth to baby girl someday and raise her as a human and not a woman. I want to push her out of my house right from her young age, to understand what it means to be in the world and not just family. I would expect her to make friends with all communities and caste and make her understand that this is a hierarchy that we have designed and can destroy as well. That if her friend's father earns his living by selling groceries, he deserves the similar respect from us. She needs to swim, run, hop, walk and drench in rain, get tanned in sun and go through a painful path of life that 70% of Indians do everyday. I would want my daughter to have bad relationships. So that she breaks her heart , cries, understand what it means to be with a person that cannot support the meaning of love. She would grow again like a phoenix and would go out there and make better choices. I would want her to take bad decisions in life, so that she understands what it means to spoil time and lose value. I would want her to study the subjects she wants to and not force her to take up something that the world puts a value of ! She needs to travel, travel alone  so that she knows what it means to be diversified. She needs to know how to protect herself and not just cover her breasts from the eyes of a man. I would encourage her to stay up till night and still go to work next morning to live in the reality. She should go out and booze and let know what it means to take a toll on her health !I would not want her to get embarrassed about the fact that she menstruates and hides sanitary napkins inside her pocket. She needs to earn hard for survival yet let her know she is pampered by her parents:that she can fall back to her parents in the hour of need. She needs to know what it means to fight a life, the world full of struggle. And most importantly she needs not to put up a banner and screech for women's rights, she needs to follow her mind and not the one that framed by her society.

I want to parent a girl child, so that she understands the real meaning of living a life of a human and not a woman or a man. I want to tell her, she is a woman and she needs to do things that a man cannot do and not what man can do. 

My old Summer

Summer has always been my love. Summer comes with colors and beauty. There is a beauty in dried brown leaves and greenish pond that sits still by a scorching summer afternoon. Summer in the town glistened on the asbestos of the grocer's house.The pumpkin creeper lied on the bamboo fence, tired and disturbed by the heat. I looked at the courtyard, to the flapping wings of those lazy pigeons. They splashed within the bowl of earthen pot. I envied their peaceful life and couldn't accept the fact that they do not get homework to complete. Grandpa played cards with his mates, his wrinkles relaxed once he won a match.

The lane that passed by our old house, left isolated. It awaited for a man to pass by, a woman to escort her child back home, but alas! summer has censored the clamor of the busy lane to seclusion.The wheels of the rickshaw stopped by a huge mansion, the puller took a quick nap under the shade of a banyan tree. Children ran towards the sugarcane cart, to sip over a glass of cane juice. The juice tasted  yummy with a tinge of lemon and ginger. 

Men talked about their hardships through out the day over a puff of cigar, while women took bath before evening comes down. We would spend the afternoon at our attic, and watch the birds return to their nests at the day close. My sister would play with crayons while I would do pot painting.The sky would turn rusted as the sun would sleep by, the cooler evenings would invoke laughter and giggles. Evenings would lit the town up to good spirits.Girls would pleat up their hair and wait by the window to take a glimpse of her love pass by, women would light oven to prepare supper. My mother would call us to help her with chopping onions and ridge gourd. Girls engaged themselves to help their mothers, and whispered to each other about their crush who lives next door. We sat on the floor to have supper and laughed our hearts out as we spoke about the maid who fought with her ferocious lady and denied service for her, or we would speak about the man who bargained his wallet out for a half kg brinjal in the market.

Nights would not call slumber. The dampened humidity would keep us awake, when we would sit on the terrace to gossip about life. Father would discuss about what happened in the world where as mother would talk about her world that she weaves day n night. The express train would pass by whistling away, and we would suggest an idea of vacation. Mom would water her plants and get excited about a trip, which probably never happened. Giggles and laughter would embrace the terrace till we fell asleep. The jasmine grove would smell like seventh heaven and the breeze would call us to bed. Our beds were just beside where the jasmine creeper grew and the master window whispered the stories of red and blue fairies to our ears, and dreams ? dreams would just fall in place !!