Do they have a choice really?

The day started with a terrible chest pain. No silly, I wasn't dying already. As it turns out I was suffering from a terrible digestion problem because of which I had to rush to the loo about a zillion times before I could finally leave home for my internship.It was almost a two hour journey. And due to my present disposition making a change wasn't something which was on my mind back then. Instead I just hoped that I did not have to rush into the bathroom immediately after entering the NGO. And as luck would have it, I entered my first workplace brimming with confidence and a smile because I knew how lucky I have been to receive such an opportunity in the firstplace.

My NGO's name is Sanlaap which means -'Dialogue' in Bengali. It works for the welfare of women in trafficking and their children (mostly young girls). My internship coordinator is this young woman barely 5-6 years elder to me and because of this may be, I was quite at ease with her as there was no pretense or any inhibition from either side. Since I had wanted to work for their Child Protection Program, she helped me glimpse through a few booklets and sign a couple of sheets. And then the interrogation began (Well you don't exactly call it that but I was unable to hold myself from even asking her the silliest query that bothered my inexperienced mind.)She answered patiently and by the orientation/briefing session I was dumb founded by the sheer vulnerability of the issue.

Quite unlike the West, Prostitution in India or in the south Asian countries is not a profession. It is more often than not a form of bonded labor which is inflicted on young girls (as young as 5-6 years.)These girls are either sold off by relatives, friends, a close confidante and at times by their own parents for just a handful of money. These girls are then smuggled into the country (mostly from Bangadesh, Nepal and Bhutan ) or abducted from their native village and taken to either of the three cities i.e Bombay, Delhi or Kolkata.What must be remembered in this regard is that prostitution happens everywhere starting from hotels to massage parlours and so on. But the most popular brothels are in the three major cosmopolitans in this country and have been functioning quite smoothly for many decades together.

Needless to say that these poor souls succumb to the most excruciating of all pains (both physical and mental) where they are forced to have sexual intercourse with strangers ranging from 3-4 to as many as 30 to 40 per day. In most cases, they are not allowed more than one shower every week and one meal per day. So a bright mind is eventually reduced to nothing but a mere tool in the hand of some useless chap who could not even stand up to answer back his wife. When the girls refuse alcohol, drugs or something like anal sex, they are beaten and burnt with cigarette stubs till they finally give up on anything they could have ever believed in.If the girls become pregnant they are made to skip or run with a container filled with hot starch water on their head. When they trip and fall (which they obviously do), they are beaten up till they again start and continue with the process. So they is no medical intervention which aids in their abortion. These women often encounter with a miscarriage and if by chance the baby happens to survive and is a girl, the infant is immediately separated from her mother so that she can put under a rigorous training schedule as soon as possible.

And what might this training be like? Ok, sample this. When a piece of thermocol is immersed in water it swells up. Why am I you telling you this? Because a young girl of five years is made to insert that piece of thermocol into her vagina and sit for seven to eight hours so that her vagina grows in size. And this is because virgins are in great demand because supposedly having sex with them helps you from getting rid of AIDS.

I can't possibly describe what I felt while hearing such horrendous stories and what I feel now while writing them down. The entire purpose of womanhood feels defeated when certain people decide that the only they can prove their manliness is by stabbing someone to death just because she refused to indulge in oral sex.

My NGO rescues these girls in the harshest of situations. If any of their plans are leaked, the sex traders also change their path within moments in order to avoid a raid.Even if it is a distance of 1km, the traders change hands ten times so that it becomes almost impossible to trace them. And even when girls are rescued they have a tendency to run away because obviously they can't bring themselves to trust anyone ever again.

Now that is a whole of information which has been fed into you in one day, in less than two hours time. You'd probably be having nightmares trying to accept these facts. And when this happens, try and think about those people who have to live like this for their entire life. Try and think about that young girl of your age who is a mother of a five year old. You would be thankful for even the smallest chocolate that you father ever got you (when you wanted a big teddy bear) because you can't dream of a life otherwise. A life where you don't get one square meal a day, a life where you opinions matter no more.

Today, was just a start and hopefully I will keep updating my blog from time to time about this cause. An honest revelation: I never felt this helpless and I would only pray that in the long run I get to work more and more with such troubled souls because I believe that it is always good to have people listen to you especially when you feel that you probably don't deserve to live anymore. I guess when sorrow is shared, the pain does not seem overpowering enough to shake the your core of existence.


Once you choose hope, anything's possible. ~Christopher Reeve

Take care,
Amrita

Everything I do, I do it for you : )

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.
Martin Luther King, Jr

Heartbreaks are hard, especially when you are in the eleventh standard trying to cope with academics and being unpopular in class. Back then falling in "love" (read: having a boyfriend) was like the most "in" thing on this earth. But sadly, for me it has been one of those pain staking experiences which has altered the course of my life, forever. Now when I think about it, I feel foolish but then again it got me one step closer to finally experience 'that thing called love'.

Today Love is so much more than a feeling,an emotion. Its about experiences. Its about togetherness and sharing. It is in fighting for a bowl of maggi at midnight.It is in staring at some random guy and without him making him realize that you are nuts about him. Love is about helping a blind person cross the street or even feeding a stray dog. Precisely Love for me is platonic and philosophical. It is something which makes me think of incidents, events which might not have bothered me otherwise.

When I see people 'dating' (I hate this word bdw) I wonder what kind of relationship I would possibly be considering the fact that I am possibly the laziest and sleepiest creature around. I know it is a silly thing to ponder about in this supposedly pragmatic world where nobody has time for anybody. So before I become a veteran journalist (who does not believe in advertorials :/) here it is a tiny weenie dedication to the person I will meet sometime in the future and fall madly in Love with.

“To whomever it may concern”

Dear Someone,

I hope I meet you when you are looking resplendent in a black and white tuxedo. (Okay! You don’t have to wear a tuxedo but please don’t wear anything orange or some combination like red and blue/ yellow and green.) I ramble a lot but I know when I will meet you (even for the first time) I will be silent and will barely look into your eyes. For one crazy moment I might look at you so please don’t anything remotely disgusting (like digging your nose for e.g.) because I might throw up on you even before you realize.

Even if I start speaking, I will talk crap so please bear with me. If I cry (emotions you see), don’t offer me a tissue (:/) instead try and be a little more supportive and kind because that will help you understand me better. If you are taking me out somewhere, we should go to someplace where we can talk to our hearts content and if it is a restaurant; the waiters need to be well behaved! (Just kidding, we can go to a dhaba for all I care till I get to spend my time with you.) We need not be spick and span because it will be our imperfection which would make us so special.

If you feel that there is something about me which you are unable to cope up with, don’t go and complain to your Momma! Come and approach me directly (I am not your boss for Christ’s sake.) As an adult I feel rather naïve, writing a thing like this but I know someday we will read this over chai and samosa (although they are not my favourite snacks) and have a hearty laugh (: D) about it.

Since we haven’t met, let me tell you something. I often find myself staring at the stars wondering whether you are in your terrace doing the same thing. When the wind blows across my face, I feel as if that same wind blows past you too. When my umbrella decides to misbehave during heavy rains, I wonder if even you are walking down the street, all drenched with a broken umbrella in one hand. Like I said, I tend to romanticize things a lot, but when it comes to you, I find it rather difficult to explain ‘logically’ what I experience.

Anyway, I don’t care if I meet you tomorrow or at the age of 80 because it is Love we are talking about here! A simple word with complex dimensions. So it hardly matters. Right?
I am too bad at making dramatic endings (: )). So let me keep it lucid and short. You don’t need to cook for me, gift me flowers (what a waste of money, you can get me a book though : P) etc to make me feel wanted. Just be by my side, trust me your presence is enough to compensate for the every tangible thing in this world. If you like someone else (It is okay, baba!) let me know because your happiness would be everything for me. OK cliche alert. I must end this now before you die of boredom eh? So here it is:

"I choose to love you in silence, for in silence I receive no rejection. I choose to love you in loneliness, for there no one owns you but me. I choose to hold you in my dreams, for in my dreams you have no end. That is what you are to me; in all honesty, it's hard to believe that I will never love somebody the same way I loved you!"

Yours truly,
Me

Yeah??NO!

Okay! So I am finally home.Undoubtedly I am happy, elated, overjoyed and all the possible synonyms you could have for the same word but sadly I feel I don't belong here anymore.Obviously these are my roots and I am proud of my culture and everything but having said that there is this slight glitch which makes me miss Pune at times. And it does not really stop at just reminiscing about a place, I end up comparing both the regions which is definitely not right on my part.

I mean whenever anything about Bengal was discussed or screened in class I found myself jumping on my seat so much so that my friends concluded that I suffered from OCD. And now when I am finally back, I don't feel that excitement and that thrill. I do get decent food and time with my parents but something definitely feels amiss.Ok! Now I feel I am complaining too much.I mean people are starving to death and I am only bothered about which place I like better(:/)

Anyways, that at least got me back to blogging. I have been trying to complete a story for a long time but after the first paragraph I just can't take the story forward. I guess a couple suggestions will help.

'She sat on the floor of her one bed room apartment lighting that one last cigarette which had been provocatively peeking out from a Malboro pack. “So you also managed to lure me, just like the rest of them. “- She said. It was difficult to understand from her smile whether she was still talking about cigarettes or the innumerable guys she had “supposedly” fallen in love with time and time again. It shouldn’t have happened this way because for her love was supposed to be a divine experience rather than an amorous desire. Because whenever she thought of love she visualized herself sitting under a shack, having coffee with the man she loves. Her story needs to be told because not everything we dream of falls into place and also because the very feeling of affection is synonymous with pain.'

Hoping my next post would not take 'this' long....:)

When the going gets tough.....

My last post was more than a fortnight back.Its not that I stopped writing or something, but yes I barely got time out for myself.And when I did, I inevitably fell asleep.This post is about a certain conversation I had with a precocious lad a few day ago(and some other things too).

The thing is that I barely get angry, and when I do,it surpasses all reasoning. It has been quite sometime when I got offended by someone's comment.But this time I was like-"To hell with you man, I mean who are you anyways?" It was not the first time someone passed a comment on my "physical attributes", but nevertheless it was offending enough to catch me off guard and shock me out of my wits.

It started with a causal 'ping' on facebook but this bugger of a person took no time to shift the topic to my recent profile picture stating how "different" I was looking in it. Mind you, here different means ugly, gross and not presentable. He subtly(Read: Cunningly) indicated on how I look older and fatter even when I said that such things don't bother me (Trust me they don't). However he kept on insisting, and I could not decipher as to why he was so interested in my plight(if there were any i.e).On asking him, he replied-"Don't you want a husband, and a progeny?". Reluctantly, I answered "Yes." and it was during this time I realized that nothing has really changed.

The Guy might look like a pig but the girl has to be no less than a Scarlett Johanson. Women might work, they might lead Multinational Companies but they must be attractive at the same time.If that is the reason why most Indians get married, I'd rather say unmarried my entire life.It seems that love has no existence without physical attributes. It makes me wonder how shallow we have become as people.

Coming back to college life, We are flooded with assignments. I can't remember the last time, I went out and did something different.I love my college but last minute work is something I just can't handle.This is going to be one of my shortest posts but unfortunately there is a lot
on my mind, and I don't know what to type and what not to. We have got a new puppy, but I haven't been home for four months now.Oh, my internship got confirmed so that's something good right? I seem quite delusional, so let there be an end to this conversation. Hope, this month ends soon and I get to go back home, till then I promise to cope with life better. Guess Once you choose hope, anything's possible.


Love,
Amrita

Black Swan it is..

The experience of watching a well made film is almost like having a juvenile crush. A good movie lifts you off your feet, inspires you and evokes emotions even from the dingiest corner of your soul. However I faced a dichotomy this time as I had to choose between two movies I desperately wanted to see. Black Swan and The king's Speech. But as luck would I have it, I ended up watching Black swan twice in the theater.What I went through during those few hours aroused certain questions in my mind, questions which I have been afraid of asking myself because I was not quite sure what their answers might be.

Nina Sayers is a ballet dancer and an obedient daughter. She comes across a sincere and honest person, yet her life is mundane and dry restricting her to the boundaries of workplace and home.Although she gets the role of the Swan Queen,things hardly turn out, the way she wants them to.The efficacy with which she dances as the White Swan is beyond compare, but she falters every time the Black Swan comes into being.Also,the way sexuality is treated in this movie is sublunary and on your face. Vincent Cassel, as the lascivious dance coach advices Nina to "touch herself" before she tries to engage her engage her audience.And as she begins her search for herself, she gets further lost in the complexities of life.The otherwise fragile and petite Nina, gets jealous,feels desired and slams the door on her mother's face, something she could not even dream of doing, a few weeks back.Unable to take any more strain, she starts inflicting pain on herself in a desire to be the most perfect dancer, the world has ever seen.

The very fact that Darren Aronofsky could even thinking of taking something as pristine and beautiful as ballet and transforming it into a psychological thriller, makes him one of the most talented people around.There are not many dialogues in the movie, but Portman's movements make the journey worthwhile.

Nina's director always told her to be a little less perfect as sometimes it was more important to let go. She wanted to prove that she could play her part perfectly without compromising on anything. In the end, Nina did dance the Swan lake with efficacy and grace but she had to let go of the person she had always been. She had finally achieved what she had ever wanted to, but the price to pay was too much.

After watching the movie, I wondered-"Did I also have a Nina Sayers in me?".My condition is not half as dramatic as hers, but even then did I have any deep dark desires which are waiting to break through? Honestly, I don't know and I am not too curious either.It is just that when you are used to being a certain person, you tend to ignore a facet of your personality which is best when left unexplored. At times I feel I just think too much. I mean I can't begin to tell you how guilty I felt when I had about 2 ml of Vodka at a friend's birthday. It does not matter I know, but I still feel accountable as my Mom does not know about it yet. Do I have to tell her everything?Yes,I do.

Anyways, The movie is brilliant. Do watch it IN THE THEATERS, if you haven't watched it yet.Quoting a reviewer-"I am glad Aronofsky is able to do what he does. His brutal and uncompromising style is definitely not for everyone, and it's not box office gold, but for those viewers who connect with what he's doing, the experience is truly something special. "

Time Will Tell...

“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

They met each other in college. Their friendship did not take much time to blossom into love. They were the stereotypes of their class. They were not okay with it but they did not mind it either. Love is such a vast feeling; however the possibilities of falling in love are very few. You either have to be childhood friends or meet in college. And in that way every couple, some way or the other was a typecast, but in each other’s eyes, they couldn’t probably be more perfect.

Similar was the situation with David and Manvi. If anyone saw them separately, they could have never believed that “people” who are just so different can possibly be going out together. David was half English. Manvi was a Punjabi, although she did not look like one. They had a height difference of almost one foot, which made them look like brother and sister. Manvi’s hair was mousy in colour, her cheeks were pale and she had long exceeded her ideal weight by ten full pounds. As far as David is concerned, he was PERFECT by all modern standards. When asked about Manvi he would proudly rattle off in his broken hindi-“Laila ko Majnu ki Aakhon Se Dekho.”(See Laila through Majnu’s eyes, only then can you appreciate her real beauty). Like the everlasting tale of Laila and Majnu, TIME again stood testament to witness a Love so pristine and pure, that it was tempted to challenge two lovers once again. In 21st Century, where “Move on” seems to be the IT word, Can the power of true LOVE ever survive? Can it outshine the troubles that lie on its path and emerge as a Winner? Time had to see, so did David and Manvi who had already promised each other a lifetime of togetherness.

David was in office one day, when he gets a call from Soumya, One of Manvi’s closest friends. He was surprised to hear that she had fainted in her work place and had to be carried back home immediately. He rushed to her apartment to find his otherwise jovial better half,looking weak and extremely tired.

“What happened, baby?”
“Ah..Ummm…we..ll…nothing really, I am fine”
“No you are not; I will take to the doctor, first thing tomorrow morning”
“Please don’t do that. It is just that I did not sleep properly last night…you know na how much I hate having tablets. Give me another chance, please?”
“Chance? It is your health for God’s sake”
“Pllleaaaaaseeeee”
“Okay! But this is the last time, and I mean it.”
“That’s like my baby”-said Manvi as she pulled him close and planted a kiss on his cheek.

The next morning Manvi vomited blood and hit her head on the wash-basin, after which collapsed on the bathroom floor. The next time she opened her eyes, she was in the hospital surrounded by dozens of bouquets from friends and relatives.

“What am I, a terminally ill patient or something?”- She said on finding David sitting by her side.
“Ha, nice one, Now please be a good girl and rest, while I go talk to the doctor.”
“Rest, what rest? I can’t even remember the last time I was awake, Please don’t leave me here.”
“I will be back, I promise”-said David as he left the room.
Little did he know that what he was about to hear would change his life, FOREVER.
******************************
David rushed into the washroom, crying out loud in disbelief. Why did this happen to her? ‘Her’ of all people? Someone who would not even hurt a mosquito, why? Why? WHY?
Manvi had been diagnosed with Cervical Cancer. She was in her second stage. Chemo-therapy would help but it could not guarantee her recovery. Her condition was delicate and a decision had to be taken, fast, very fast.

When informed about her present condition, Manvi could not help but laugh.
“Me, Cancer? Impossible”
“Everything, will be fine please cooperate”
“Fine? I am Fine? The doctor does not know anything!”
Without saying anything else, David hugged her tight. With moments Manvi melted in his arms, crying out loud, unable to register any of the recent happenings. For all she new, this could not be happening to her, not now at least.

A week later, Manvi’s treatment began. For a girl who despised medicines and syringes, chemo therapy was something way out of her league. Twice a week, she was made to succumb to the most excruciating pain but after some time she had become obvious to all bodily activities. What made her weep was David, who stood outside the operation hall, watching her helplessly without make an effort to wipe his tears effortlessly flowing down his cheek. Time also stood beside them, thinking that this was just a passing phase, and David would soon grow tired of this and
just resign to his fate.

But David did not give up, he stood by Manvi giving her as much support as he could. After six sessions of therapy, Manvi had lost incredible amount of weight and she was nearly bald. She felt that she could take no more, but for David’s sake she did not say a word. She wanted to get married, have kids, but everything seemed impossible right now.

Four months and ten sessions later, Manvi was reduced to a mere vegetable, unable to respond to almost anything happening near her. But that night was different, that night she felt uncannily strong. She felt capable of doing almost anything, and she knew what she wanted more than anything else in the world.

“How are you feeling, honey?”-David asked as he entered the room.
“Fine”
“I see.”
“Make Love to me.”
“What?”
“Have you gone insane or something? What about your no sex before marriage rule?”
“Please. Do as I say, Make love to me, please.”
“You are too weak; please don’t make me do this.”
“Ok, fine, go then, Leave me alone.”- said Manvi as she turned her head to the other side.

David looked at her intently, he wondered why she had such a sudden demand, but he knew he could do anything to get that smile back on her face. He turned her face towards him, and kissed her gently as he slid into her bed, under the same blanket. She kissed him back as he undressed her. He caressed her body tenderly as he made love to her, trying to be as careful as possible. That night, they slept in each other’s arms without worrying about lay in the future. It was the present that mattered; it was all they ever had.
Manvi had died that night; just a few hours after David fulfilled her last wish. She had written a note to him saying-“If I were a bird, you made me fly,
If I was a human, you gifted me the entire sky. (Ya, I know I am not entirely poetic but so what?)
Thank You for being there for me. I am finally convinced that you love me, much more than I ever did. Sorry for making your life such a mess, and forgive me for leaving early.
-Yours forever”.
**************************************
David stood next to the burning pyre, lost in his thoughts, thinking about a world where he would be again united with the love of his life. TIME stood next to him, crying out loud. But David could not hear it, nor could the people around him.

Why I write...

What do you do when you realize that people from London, St Louis and Florida check out your blog in a span of two days??Jump with joy may be??Well, I do much more!I ACTUALLY make it my facebook status and go around informing random people about it.So much so even a friend would ignore me in college, afraid(read:terrified) to be meted with a news which she has heard for about a zillion times by now. Yeah, that does me make a very emotional person. I am overjoyed by anything remotely happy and even a chick flick can make me cry.

Some people have told me that my articles are becoming a little far-fetched.Quoting a person who had commented on my last piece saying that-"It just didnt feel lyk coming frm the heart...more a tool to showcase ur empathy towards prostitution".I don't feel the need to justify myself but I would definitely like to make a point.See, the fact is if I don't feel strongly about something, I would not write about it in the first place.Also, writing a straight forward, essay type article would come easily to me, but sadly I don't find it challenging or a creatively engaging process.

Personally, I have always believed trying touch a person's heart rather than implanting a certain perception in his mind.It is because of this I write the way I do.I would be lying if I said, I write for myself.I write because I get inspired by the strangest of things.I write because I want to share my ideas with people all over the world.Also, I don't post quite often because I need to be convinced myself that I can execute an idea to the best of my abilities.That does make things complex but I am used to it. For me writing is an art, something which needs it own time and space. However I take criticisms positively and hope I am able to add on to the lives of people who take their time out to go through my blog/mails.

Some say I am a deep thinker,that I find comparisons between the most unlikeliest of things.I don't deny any of it because I believe in the fact that you do not need to be a Shobhaa De to attract attention.People like her are very fortunate as the masses have a certain attachment towards a popular figure more than anybody else.Socialites like her should take special care to ensure that whatever they write gives a sense of direction to her readers rather than confusing them.But sadly,hardly Indian writers/columnists write anything remotely positive about the society or the nation.

I have been asked by numerous people that why do I maintain a blog?They feel that a common man's blog is supposed to wither away into oblivion as I would be no match to, say a Chetan Bhagat or a Arundhati Roy.Even Amitabh Bacchan did not become a star overnight.Hence, If I am so apprehensive about the outcome, I would never do justice to whatever profession I take up.

Anyways,I feel I have just said too much now.And yes, if you have a passion for something nothing else matters. I will continue to write, no matter how cliched or "subversive" I seem to be.Lastly quoting Jack Dann-"For me, writing is exploration; and most of the time, I'm surprised where the journey takes me."



P.s-I love my blog.It is just too awesome.