The beginning and the end.

"Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know."

Sameer held my hand in his for what seemed like eternity. He didn't say a word, nor did I. Anger, hate and frustration charred my soul inside out. I cried and howled but what came out was a mere yelp begging for forgiveness. I could hear their angry voices, muffled yet staggeringly clear. The acid in my eyes was blinding.

Sameer had been still for a long time. "So, this is the end." - I thought."This is how we die." And with the realization of the latter, I was inconsolable. The man I loved lay beside me with more than half of his body blistering in pain. I could not see him for the generous dose of hydrochloric acid which was thrown on us, assiduously, for trying to flee our respective households. For wanting to have a life together, no matter what.

"You know Seema, I am in a lot of pain right now. A lot of pain because I had promised you a life of happiness and I have failed. I had promised to protect you, to guard you with all my life but I have failed. I had committed to love you enough, to keep the hatred of both our families astride. But I have failed. Seema, I failed."

I buried my head in his chest kissing him feverishly. I prayed with all my might that this was just a horrid nightmare. That none of this never actually happened. I felt his heart throbbing rapidly and suddenly I felt it no more.

Prabuddha Dasgupta: A Reflection

“I am not a maestro. I am just a person in front of you, having a conversation with you. Hope we learn from each other.”*

He was but a storyteller, someone who weaved tales out of light and shadow. On hindsight he was the revolution the Indian woman truly needed. He was the reassurance that beauty is not limited to deeply anorexic and lanky models strutting by in fashion shows. As an artist and an ace photographer Prabuddha Dasgupta was drawn to unconventional faces, he found beauty in places where nobody could. He perceived sexuality as something innate and powerful and used it to his advantage. Through his camera lens, even black and white appeared colourful reflecting on a cavalcade of emotions effortlessly, through a single snap shot.

Born to famous sculptor Pradosh Dasgupta, Prabuddha was trained to be a historian but he never became one. Instead he became a copywriter before meandering towards photography. A self taught photographer soon his lack of training became his greatest strength. “I read somewhere that anything that can be taught is probably not worth learning”- said he in an interview with The Telegraph when asked if he missed formal training.

A woman presumably a model is looking into the mirror while being decked up for her next photo shoot. Topless, she stood rather comfortably with kohl rimmed eyes intently gazing at her reflection while the photographer stood somewhere behind capturing the blissful moment unleashing her beauty. Prabuddha Dasgupta was fascinated by Indian women whose photographic representation had, till then, been only limited to glamorous models and bollywood actresses whose opulent lifestyle and mannerisms could barely embody the spirit of a coming age Indian woman whose accomplishments had long surpassed her male counterparts. In his book Women (1996) we see a host of portraits and nudes of urban Indian women who are captured in their element without an iota of doubt wavering in their minds. Elucidating further Dasgupta had once said, - “The challenge of nude photography does not lie with me, it lies with the woman who is baring herself, laying herself totally vulnerable in front of me.”* In ‘Women’ he captures his subjects with such passionate ease be it the expectant mother who stood uninhibited, wearing a tank top, glowing with happiness from the life growing inside of her or the crop haired woman, possibly a trainer who sat in her gymnasium smartly posing in track pants and shoes surrounded by dumbbells and other weight training equipments.

His next book Ladakh (2000) explored along the remnants of India’s last stretch of wilderness along the Tibetan plateau. The young freckled Buddhist monk, the even clouds sharply contrasted against the uneven landscape or the burdened yak with the backdrop of world’s highest mountain ranges, each picture of Dasgupta transcends beyond the obvious to tell a story, ever so beautiful. His last book Edge of Faith (2009) paints a portrait of the Catholic Community of Goa which even today suffers from a loss of identity – with the comforting nostalgia of the past, the ever developing present and the forever changing future. Through his camera lens we observe blurry coconut trees, hand clamped rosaries, beguiling households and churches which even today reflect a Portuguese spirit much more than Indian.

A Louis Vuitton vanity bag sits daintily on a similarly patterned trunk by a wall with an overview of the Jama Masjid. Three white and one coloured pigeon sit by gazing keenly at the azure sky. Prabuddha Dasgupta’s commissioned works have been equally if not more popular than his personal works. Over the last few decades he had worked for several international brands and magazines namely Vogue, GQ, L’Oreal and Hermes. Some of these pictures have featured his muse Lakshmi Menon.

“I am a lonely person. There is a desolation inside me. I don't know why, I don't know where it comes from. But my most personal work reflects that again and again.”*

Over the years, while Prabuddha grew as a person, his art matured along with him. Wherever he went, his camera followed. Wherever he was, there was an incessant urge to look past the obvious, to delve into something magical and humane at the same time. Wherever he was, there was a woman just as striking. Prabuddha passed away on August 12, but his work lives on. All for a man who lived in the humdrum of post colonial and liberalized India and wanted to revive art in its purest form.

*Quotes courtesy: Mr Sunil Bhandari

A Prisoner of Consience

"As you look at me and listen to me, please remember the often-repeated truth that one prisoner of conscience is one too many" Aung San Suu Kyi

It was just another exhausting day in my life where I had to travel almost three to fours for my internship in this sweltering heat.First it is the hurry to make a giant escapade from the blaring horns, the bad traffic into my air conditioned office where people abuse others as if that is the best way to go about it. They assiduously try to over shadow each other when it comes to their knowledge of politics and sports.And that's it. They talk about news feverishly but it stops right there, they don't do anything else with that truck load of information except swallowing it with an air of smoke and a bottle of rum which Rajeji(the canteen-man)gets for them whenever he leaves office. But yesterday was different. For two distinct images I witnessed while going to and coming back from office. Images which made me shudder balefully at the dichotomy in the life of a 19 year old who happened to be a media student and believed that activism in the press could be practiced as well as preached. I got down from the train, uncomfortably late and started moving hurriedly towards the nearest sub way. I was stopped mid way by the sight of a woman, sitting against a pillar on the platform, her saree was pulled up to her knees and above her waist she was, as they say, au naturel. Her face was peaceful perhaps unperturbed by the numerous men staring at her ostensibly and the women chuckling in disapproval at her audacity to expose herself in such a manner. She was almost expressionless and I could not help but wonder what was the reason, the story behind that vast expanse of oblivion which clouded her eyes. In spite of being an alleged as a feminist by strangers and friends alike, Like any other woman I kept questioning, "Was there none she could call her own (as if a woman needs to be taken care of constantly)? As a woman what was my duty towards another woman who could clearly do with a glass of water, if not anything else ?" But like everybody else, I moved on, towards something I thought I loved doing, something which beckoned me incessantly, something which prevented me from helping out that woman, but then again what could a 19-year old have possibly done, no ? That very evening, I was outside Howrah Station at 9 29, running frantically to catch the 9 30 train. I was already a bit cranky after battling a 50 year old pervert's continual attempt to bang me in an unbelievably crowded mini bus. Thankfully, I got the train and again there was hardly any place to stand properly. The train had already started moving when I saw a black hand grabbing hold of the newly polished steel pole. As it turned out, the young girl (12) finally managed to board the train with her mother and her young brother (7) who hands were similarly smeared with an ostensible black lubricant almost up to their elbows. She wore a torn salwar kurta, her hair was tied up in a pony tail, she was clearly exhausted but every time her brother chose to fall asleep whilst standing on his feet, she grabbed hold of him, ensuring that he did not get hurt. People boarded the train, people got off and all I could observe were here two hands, fragile yet petite , covered in black oil. In an almost immediate flash back I was reminded of those n number of classes in college where the we discussed about the Right to Education for every child in India. For what ? What did these children ever do to deserve a life like this ? To work in factories, mines and dark dungeons in the most inhospitable atmosphere for children and adults alike. I returned home very disturbed and I am still clueless about my role playing as an literate and informed individual. For I am but a prisoner of my conscience and I know not where my duties lay.

I will meet you there.

"Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there is a field. I will meet you there."

Perhaps you will remember me. Perhaps you won't. But I know you'll be there. May be you would wear your hair differently. May be you will get flowers. Yellow Sunflowers , White Daisies or Pink Chrysanthemums. Or may be you'll get them all. The sun will be shining brightly, Without an ounce of cloud nearby. Underneath the clear skies, would be the very place, we had decided to meet, if ever we part ways. You had told me once, I look great in a Tux. So, my last wish was to get buried in one. In the same field which we had run past numerous times, barefoot. As children , as adolescents ,as lovers.

"When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn’t make any sense."

It has been five years since the day I was put to rest. It has been ten years since you told me that you needed some time alone, That all this has been a mistake, that "WE" have been a mistake. And had to let go of you, just like that. Visit to the local toddy shop, became a frequent affair. But believe me I tried , I tried to stop myself. Unfortunately, I couldn't. I knew if things continued the same way, I would cease to exist. Little did I know that I would be diagnosed with Leukemia, a few months later. But I have no regrets. For in death, I realized that you never could have left me. For you would continue to dwell in my fragile soul which still awaits your arrival. And will continue to do so. For,beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing, there is a field. And I will meet you there.

Of Nothingness and of me ..

Okay, so how do I put this? I am not in a mood of writing. I write this because I simply don’t have a choice. I write this because I am surprised at how hollow and selfish people can be at times. I am surprised that when people had earlier said that they would be there for you they only meant it until they realized that your mere presence was fatal to their established “image” as a do gooder who couldn’t possibly be associated with a girl who is indecisive and vile.

I am astounded at the audaciousness of people who tell me to be brave and “stop running away” when they aren’t even ready to pause briefly and ask me what the reason for my present state of mind is. I have always been an idealist who refused to bother thinking about what people around may perceive of her. I have always believed that no matter what I do, I need to stand in front of the mirror at the end of the day and look into my own eyes with any guilt or repent. I have always been indifferent to what “others might say” because quite honestly, people will judge you even if you are Mother Teresa. But today I discovered that people whom I considered to be my best friends suddenly decided to not even remotely pay attention to my plight because it might risk them their social status in an ignorable classroom where a bunch of hoodlums quite amicably take the liberty of pulling each other down to the best of their abilities.

I am appalled because I have always thought that people (including me) have the right to make mistakes, which is the way we get better .You trip and you fall and then you get up and eventually even the deepest of wounds dry up leaving behind a scar, a constant reminder of the past which will never be forgotten.

Reality would perhaps continue to get the better of me, making me feel worthless with every passing day. But even then, I will never let anyone take decisions for me; I will never let anyone to prevent me for thinking for myself. I wish I could say that this too shall pass, but considering how some people can hurt you more than you think they can, this one incident might leave a scar on my mind, forever.

Time to change !

If I could change something around me, what would it be ?

If I could change something around me I would make sure that there is no Women's day to begin with. We, women don't need a day to celebrate the cause of our being. We need not be reminded that we are beautiful, special, privileged for just one day especially when they are horrible atrocities committed on women across the world, every day of the year. If I could change something, I would change the way a woman thinks about another woman. If your husband/boyfriend is cheating on you, the other woman becomes a slut automatically. The poor soul might not even know that the man is married with two kids. This was perhaps a very general example but what I mean to say is that as women, need to be there for each other and believe in the existence of each other. It is very easy to shower someone with profanities, but try being in her shoes, and would would realize it is not that easy after all.

It is not easy being a daughter of someone who heads a multinational company because her mother won't be a able to find time for her, whenever she needs someone to talk to to. It is not easy being pretty, smart or incredibly talented. Because no matter how good you are, there will always be people judging you, discouraging you, telling you that you can't make it happen because you are a girl.

You will be born , grow up, grow old and die like every mortal. But in between your body and surroundings will undergo enormous changes, most of which you will be unable to comprehend. You will be expected to be a obedient daughter and not a rebel. You will be expected to wear vermilion on your forehead, change your identity and belong to someone else for the rest of your life. And you will. But you will also teach the world, to be passionate again. You will love and bear the baby of your partner. But you will also laugh and cry. You will be angry and ecstatic because you are but a human who needs to express herself.

If I could change something around me,I would try ensuring that feminism as a concept or as a social structure does not set a trend that patriarchy has, over the years. It should not not be downright offensive towards men but instead be a way to fight back the powerful and aid the deprived.

Lastly, If I could change something around me, I would change myself . Be a little more forgiving and a little less judgmental. I wish I could trust people more, give a chance to even those who have hurt me time and again. And also be persistent and never give up. Like Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley had once said, - "I do not wish women to have power over men; but over themselves."

Bhaaalentine

I have never been in love. But I have read books, watched movies and known of people who have loved each other dearly. I am almost twenty, and as much as I would want to experience love, I don’t see why people make a big issue about someone's status quo. I have had my friends who have lovers, comment (intentionally or unintentionally) about how uncannily hopeful I am about witnessing a miracle, of falling in love. And I have accepted their criticisms graciously without letting go of my opinions on the given subject (if it could hardly be called one).

According to me, It is okay to be consumed in the thoughts of love. It is okay to like someone without the slightest reciprocation. And It is okay to dress up and feel good on Valentine's Day even if you are not in a relationship, at the given moment.

I kind of feel sorry for people who are against the entire concept of Valentine's Day. Most of them come up with excuses like, it is a byproduct of commercialism, we don't need another day just to celebrate love and so on and so forth. Some even go and on about how we shouldn't be happy on the given day because St Valentine lost his life almost light years back on the same day. What they don't realize is that we are celebrating the cause which he upheld even at the time of his death.

They are varied emotions which a human being is capable of expressing. But only Love has had the privilege of having an entire day to itself. So yes, just like we celebrate id, dusshera and Christmas we might as well celebrate the ephemeral feeling which can just be described in four simple letters. L-O-V-E.

On this Valentine's Day I wish for everyone to be stupid, to be impulsive and crazy. To go and confide to the person you love without expecting anything in return. To be brave even at the cost of embarrassing yourself in front of the cute guy who sits beside you in the Physics Class. Trust me, he will be fortunate to be wanted by someone like you, who is not afraid of expressing herself. I know for a fact that it is easier said than done, but I also know that when time comes, even I will take a leap of faith and give it a shot.

So yes , to everyone who might chance upon this piece of mine. Go out there and have a blast.

So long ,

Amrita