slightly drunk........
im still digging for muy soul.
im still deciding on muy character.
im still sorting out muy mind.
im still figuring out muy life.
im still looking forward to "satisfaction".
i still have faith in obstinacy.
im still searching for strength of the mind.
im still waiting to witness a miracle.
im still listening to invisible silence.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
sanitary napkins.
every being with a uterus has a right to them.they really cant be considered as a luxury commodity that only a ceratin people can afford....every girl,every woman needs one.
hadnt ever thought of it before.... but on a rapid small scale investigation,i learnt that the people in the villages and them who live in the slums do not use sanitary napkins.not that that is criminal....but its startingly unhygienic that they should use "cloth", that is actually scraps of their discarded clothes.these rags are washed and reused.... day by day,and month after month.the choice and effect of the detergent is of course questionable.the method of laundry...washing and drying hastily so tht "people dont see.." and the half damp and more stained scrap is folded and kept away for the next time.
infection,sanitation and general awareness is cheerfully denied.
i wonder why all the sanitary napkins ,specially engineered and designed to suit the female shape,to last longer,prevent side staining,to make you forget, and to keep you feeling dry... and waht not...for all for the young,urbane,smart women who need to multitask at every front and needs the vital package for those 5 days....
once again.... how about those girls who arent so well off.... go to the local municipal school.... or her in of those small town places wehre education for the girl child is another government moves.....when they distribute and encourage using condoms.... and when they introduce the mid day meal scheme in the rurals.. and when they send medicine etc in the name of womens health.....does sanitary napkins feature ANYWHERE????
is it a challenege for some one to come up with a zero technology and low cost variety.... that could just serve the purpose...and will the govt ever think of promoting sanitary napkins... or is it still too embarrasing to talk about.....
and till then.... we shall continue to wear cute pink outfits and dance to impress the boys... all thanks to our sanitary napkins.
every being with a uterus has a right to them.they really cant be considered as a luxury commodity that only a ceratin people can afford....every girl,every woman needs one.
hadnt ever thought of it before.... but on a rapid small scale investigation,i learnt that the people in the villages and them who live in the slums do not use sanitary napkins.not that that is criminal....but its startingly unhygienic that they should use "cloth", that is actually scraps of their discarded clothes.these rags are washed and reused.... day by day,and month after month.the choice and effect of the detergent is of course questionable.the method of laundry...washing and drying hastily so tht "people dont see.." and the half damp and more stained scrap is folded and kept away for the next time.
infection,sanitation and general awareness is cheerfully denied.
i wonder why all the sanitary napkins ,specially engineered and designed to suit the female shape,to last longer,prevent side staining,to make you forget, and to keep you feeling dry... and waht not...for all for the young,urbane,smart women who need to multitask at every front and needs the vital package for those 5 days....
once again.... how about those girls who arent so well off.... go to the local municipal school.... or her in of those small town places wehre education for the girl child is another government moves.....when they distribute and encourage using condoms.... and when they introduce the mid day meal scheme in the rurals.. and when they send medicine etc in the name of womens health.....does sanitary napkins feature ANYWHERE????
is it a challenege for some one to come up with a zero technology and low cost variety.... that could just serve the purpose...and will the govt ever think of promoting sanitary napkins... or is it still too embarrasing to talk about.....
and till then.... we shall continue to wear cute pink outfits and dance to impress the boys... all thanks to our sanitary napkins.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Ive often wondered about poverty...or rather... about being poor.of being deprived of what i thought was basic non material comforts.Ive thought of them with the innocence of a 9 year old,I've tried to find answers to poverty with the passion of a 13 year old.i found poverty colorful when i fell in love with O'Henry at the age of 17.... and i was repulsed by it all when as a 19 year old... i thought i couldnt get any wiser.
And the Nithari case makes me think again.
What are the parameters of being able to be a part of the rich,affluent and elite??What are the criteria for being albe to fit into the groove of upper middle class... or lower middle class.
What is a slum?Does a colony or society or a bong para consisting of a cluster of bunglows with various levels of maintainence and assorted scraps of lawns seem like a slum of sorts.
What would it be like to have a lifestyle which is a product of improvisation?What do they eat when they have "nothing to eat"?And what type of medical help can they avail of?Can a father walk into a bank and apply for an educational loan of "rupees seventy only" when he cant pay his childs school fees some month?Against what....?His 8 ft by 8 ft shack with a tin and tile roof....???
How ironical is it that they are expected to have a voters id card as proof of id ?Why mock at their disadvantage and expect such documents from them when they are denied basic recognition for being human beings??
How come the police can be nonchalent towards one distraught parent,but will return another child to his "affluent" home?
How come we are so biased that we think that missing children and runaway daughters or wives can only be products of bad parenting or unhappy marriages?What about celebrity sons and daughters who are victims of drug and alcohol abuse or can run another man down with his car,or can abuse someone less fortunate... or whatever.
Not that visiting politicians made a difference....but the stubborn refusal to even attempt to express sympathy WAS surprising.
We proudly call ourselves "society".We make and modify the rules to make "socially acceptable norms".Yet we fail to ensure social security to those who are not a part of mainstream society.
We shrug and say "UP Police".And it was the UP Police who displayed such moral backbone when they harassed young people who were in love and thus held hands.
Where does this leave me?If i dont have a flashy car or the laptop that ive been wanting for some time....am i poor?
If i dont get complementary passes or an invitaion to the latest do in the city .... am i poor??
If i go to the police when i need to..... will they see me as poor??and thus turn me away??
If i wasnt able to speak english,and be a sample of "Good schooling from reputed institutions",would i have been poor???
If i was a criminal ....would i have to be poor??
And so what if i was poor.???
i dont know enough sociology or economics or any other subject to be able to use technical terms or offer a seeminlgy scientific explanation for what could be natural phenomena...
Im just DISGUSTED... that policemen.politicians and the other leaders of our country are so....natually inhuman.
and this has no conclusion,or a result to the "Probe".....
just condolonces to the parents,and a prayer for the children
Ive often wondered about poverty...or rather... about being poor.of being deprived of what i thought was basic non material comforts.Ive thought of them with the innocence of a 9 year old,I've tried to find answers to poverty with the passion of a 13 year old.i found poverty colorful when i fell in love with O'Henry at the age of 17.... and i was repulsed by it all when as a 19 year old... i thought i couldnt get any wiser.
And the Nithari case makes me think again.
What are the parameters of being able to be a part of the rich,affluent and elite??What are the criteria for being albe to fit into the groove of upper middle class... or lower middle class.
What is a slum?Does a colony or society or a bong para consisting of a cluster of bunglows with various levels of maintainence and assorted scraps of lawns seem like a slum of sorts.
What would it be like to have a lifestyle which is a product of improvisation?What do they eat when they have "nothing to eat"?And what type of medical help can they avail of?Can a father walk into a bank and apply for an educational loan of "rupees seventy only" when he cant pay his childs school fees some month?Against what....?His 8 ft by 8 ft shack with a tin and tile roof....???
How ironical is it that they are expected to have a voters id card as proof of id ?Why mock at their disadvantage and expect such documents from them when they are denied basic recognition for being human beings??
How come the police can be nonchalent towards one distraught parent,but will return another child to his "affluent" home?
How come we are so biased that we think that missing children and runaway daughters or wives can only be products of bad parenting or unhappy marriages?What about celebrity sons and daughters who are victims of drug and alcohol abuse or can run another man down with his car,or can abuse someone less fortunate... or whatever.
Not that visiting politicians made a difference....but the stubborn refusal to even attempt to express sympathy WAS surprising.
We proudly call ourselves "society".We make and modify the rules to make "socially acceptable norms".Yet we fail to ensure social security to those who are not a part of mainstream society.
We shrug and say "UP Police".And it was the UP Police who displayed such moral backbone when they harassed young people who were in love and thus held hands.
Where does this leave me?If i dont have a flashy car or the laptop that ive been wanting for some time....am i poor?
If i dont get complementary passes or an invitaion to the latest do in the city .... am i poor??
If i go to the police when i need to..... will they see me as poor??and thus turn me away??
If i wasnt able to speak english,and be a sample of "Good schooling from reputed institutions",would i have been poor???
If i was a criminal ....would i have to be poor??
And so what if i was poor.???
i dont know enough sociology or economics or any other subject to be able to use technical terms or offer a seeminlgy scientific explanation for what could be natural phenomena...
Im just DISGUSTED... that policemen.politicians and the other leaders of our country are so....natually inhuman.
and this has no conclusion,or a result to the "Probe".....
just condolonces to the parents,and a prayer for the children
Adieu.
I remember my last day in Calcutta before i left for college.And by the way... it shall always be Calcutta,or Cal... but never Kolkata.
I remember the summer sunshine,the blue sky...and that i was sweating on that unusually humid day.Amid last minute shopping and completing minor errands,i paid homage to my alma mater...Loreto House.I stared at the red church steeple,and the yellow walls from the pavement outside The Berkmyre Boys' Hostel,feeling the peace and protection that the walls offer.
I traipsed down Camac Street,Theatre Road....playing an imaginary hopskotch on the broken pavements on Lower Circular Road... recalling the times i "loafed" with Susmita and Pratibha.....
I was excited,I was hot.
I was happy,I was irritated.
I felt grown up; leaving home to go to college.
I felt scared,leaving home to go to college.
I was confident that I'd manage everything.
I was apprehensive about "everything".
Denims,my story books that amounted to a miniature library,sneakers and floaters(would i need any other form of footwear??)can i carry off a kurta over denims as formal wear.....
My favourite coffee mug,tons of staionary,my oldest colour pencils,and the pen with the broken nib,my Parkers,blue and black ink that would prob see me thru college(they didnt...)
Little reminders playing in my head all the while...
Like everything else in Cal.. the weather is as moody.It soon turned cloudy,grey... and yet remained sweaty.
I found myself standing at the Hazra Road Crossing.It wasnt a drizzle.it wasnt a downpour.It was something inbetween.
Soft enough to stand in.Effective enough to soak me to the skin in 5 seconds flat.
I thought of my two best friends who had left for college a couple of days back....college again.
I remembered that I was leaving too.
I looked at what i was leaving behind.
Though it rained,the chaos of the traffic did not cease.In fact it had increased because the traffic police had scurried off to look for shelter.
The tram made a turning,making a slight,but noticeable inclination to the left as id did so.Dignified and stately in the midst of the private tin buses who know no traffic rules.The hoardings on the face of the buildings screamed of tuition classes,coaching classes,opticians,doctors chambers and food joints..... all of which was crammed in the adjoining lane.
Overhead was a maze of telephone and electricity wires,and everything other possible thing which could need a wire.Wet crows perched on them.On the oppposite corner were remnants of yesterdays political larty meet.Another party...another meet...another traffic disruption.
Around me... colourful umbrella tops bobbed as the women beneath them moved around brislky.Once in a while a male figure would dart out from the sidelines(i.e.... a shop wehre he was standing to avoid getting wet)..into the middle of the road where he would hop onto a bus which would never stop,but might slow down if it was merciful.
This was muy city.This was home.The warmth,The colour.The mess.The dirt.The middle class lifestyles.
The rain trickled down my hair.
The tears were camoflauged.
No one knew i was crying.
I loved this place.....Why was i leaving....??
And i swivelled into the wet front seat of an auto richshaw,which had barely slowed down before it accelerated into the rain.
I remember my last day in Calcutta before i left for college.And by the way... it shall always be Calcutta,or Cal... but never Kolkata.
I remember the summer sunshine,the blue sky...and that i was sweating on that unusually humid day.Amid last minute shopping and completing minor errands,i paid homage to my alma mater...Loreto House.I stared at the red church steeple,and the yellow walls from the pavement outside The Berkmyre Boys' Hostel,feeling the peace and protection that the walls offer.
I traipsed down Camac Street,Theatre Road....playing an imaginary hopskotch on the broken pavements on Lower Circular Road... recalling the times i "loafed" with Susmita and Pratibha.....
I was excited,I was hot.
I was happy,I was irritated.
I felt grown up; leaving home to go to college.
I felt scared,leaving home to go to college.
I was confident that I'd manage everything.
I was apprehensive about "everything".
Denims,my story books that amounted to a miniature library,sneakers and floaters(would i need any other form of footwear??)can i carry off a kurta over denims as formal wear.....
My favourite coffee mug,tons of staionary,my oldest colour pencils,and the pen with the broken nib,my Parkers,blue and black ink that would prob see me thru college(they didnt...)
Little reminders playing in my head all the while...
Like everything else in Cal.. the weather is as moody.It soon turned cloudy,grey... and yet remained sweaty.
I found myself standing at the Hazra Road Crossing.It wasnt a drizzle.it wasnt a downpour.It was something inbetween.
Soft enough to stand in.Effective enough to soak me to the skin in 5 seconds flat.
I thought of my two best friends who had left for college a couple of days back....college again.
I remembered that I was leaving too.
I looked at what i was leaving behind.
Though it rained,the chaos of the traffic did not cease.In fact it had increased because the traffic police had scurried off to look for shelter.
The tram made a turning,making a slight,but noticeable inclination to the left as id did so.Dignified and stately in the midst of the private tin buses who know no traffic rules.The hoardings on the face of the buildings screamed of tuition classes,coaching classes,opticians,doctors chambers and food joints..... all of which was crammed in the adjoining lane.
Overhead was a maze of telephone and electricity wires,and everything other possible thing which could need a wire.Wet crows perched on them.On the oppposite corner were remnants of yesterdays political larty meet.Another party...another meet...another traffic disruption.
Around me... colourful umbrella tops bobbed as the women beneath them moved around brislky.Once in a while a male figure would dart out from the sidelines(i.e.... a shop wehre he was standing to avoid getting wet)..into the middle of the road where he would hop onto a bus which would never stop,but might slow down if it was merciful.
This was muy city.This was home.The warmth,The colour.The mess.The dirt.The middle class lifestyles.
The rain trickled down my hair.
The tears were camoflauged.
No one knew i was crying.
I loved this place.....Why was i leaving....??
And i swivelled into the wet front seat of an auto richshaw,which had barely slowed down before it accelerated into the rain.
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