Another Temple, another Mosque....another Dispute

Much has been hyped about the controversial Ramjanm bhoomi Ayodhya... I may add nothing new to it.
But anyways this issue has been poking me since the last few days and one can't help but feel desperate to express their wishes for peace on this matter..
First a brief history, as we all know, Ayodhya was the birthplace of the very loved and respected Shri Ramchandra. It is presumed that when the Mughals invaded India, Babur built a mosque there between 1194 and 1528. Later In the late 1950s senior members of the RSS organized a Parishad to primarily achieve the construction of a Ram Mandir, at the disputed site of the Babri Mosque. It was followed by a petition filed by Sunni-wakaf board against the temple construction. The disputes continued and got worse when on December 6, 1992 the Babri Masjid mosque was demolished by a large congregation of VHP activists and protestors, who had been camped out at the site for weeks.

Shockwaves of fear and anger swept through India's Hindu and Muslim communities. Over 10,000 Hindus and Muslims were killed across the country in the resulting sectarian violence. Not only India, but Bangladesh too faced the aftermath of the demolition in the form riots, murders and mass destruction.

A dark cloud has loomed over this issue since then.

And now when the verdict is about to be declared, spare a thought and think of it's consequences. If the verdict bends in the favour of the Muslims, they would not win but rather they would be condemned to the wrath of the Hindu fundamentalist. And similarly if the court favours the Hindus, the Muslim extremist's anger would boil over. In either case, I find both the sides losing....and losing terribly...in the form of valuable life, home and peace. Instead of taking pride in the fact that both Shri Ram and Babur graced Ayodhya with their love, we find a reason to discard the auspicious place as a 13000 square feet disputed 

land.

I would like to share my personal experience here. I completed my education in a Sikh-dominating school and later in a Protestant school. Being born in a Muslim family, I should have feared mingling with the Hindus, or the Sikhs for that matter.

But never ever have I felt that I belonged to a minority group. Instead I have received equal amount of opportunities, equal love and equal number of friends that other children (of different religions) were entitled to.

Religion was merely a description of my background, not a basis of distinction. I have, perhaps made more friends outside Muslim community whom I can blindly trust, though that also does not demean my own religion... today I'm first of all an Indian citizen and later a Muslim or a Hindu. 

What I wish to say is this....whether or not people are happy by the verdict, lets just bury the past and show that we are matured enough to avoid another Babri riot. 

God did not create this soil for Hindus or Muslim, he created it for humanity...                                                                  

The movie impact...

The recent box-office hit, "Once upon a time in Mumbai" has surely won the hearts of many Indians, specially the Mumbaikers.
The movie features the very feared era of the 80s when underworld had a strong foot-hold in every nook-n-corner of Mumbai (then Bombay) streets. The complete film portrays the life of two very prominent mafias and their ladder towards the peak of crime. 
Great acting, superb storyline and commendable direction. 
Kudos for that!
But the obvious fact that we have happily missed is that, where on one hand the film has depicted real life story of dons like Haji Mustan and Dawood Ibrahim, on the other hand it has also glamorized crime in inexplicable ways. The audience gets intrigued, later sympathizes and finally comes to respect the character of "Sultan", who despite being a poor orphan, chased his dreams and became a powerful smuggler.
It is known that the Indian audience is very sensitive and gets easily influenced when it comes to Bollywood. It loves to adopt the reel life characters. When an entertaining movie like 3-Idiots can influence students to commit suicide; can't this, being a potential film, pave way for fresh criminal minds?
Join Underworld.....Money, Power and Respect will follow you.
Moreover the entry into the underworld has been rendered as easy and sure-shot path towards fame.
What's more? The 'good-man' , Sultan is at the end killed by the 'bad-man', Shoaib, and the city of Mumbai is doomed to the pits of hell. Quite opposite to the very famous Ramayana phrase, " Victory of good over evil", is'nt it?
Indian audience is largely influenced by what the actors do. For them the hero is the ultimate God. It is therefore quite dangerous to present a real life story in such a raw form. May be it was the requirement of the story, but glamorising crime and underworld has since long attracted many strayed youth towards this dark business..

An Encounter with a stranger...

It was a hot sultry day....though the rainy season had commenced but ironically not even a single drop of water was to be seen around.
Indore was boiling hot.
I was sweating profusely, and to add to my pains I had opted to wear a full-sleeve black kurta!(what was I thinking?) 
But none of these minor galling issues bothered me. I was excited to the core, since I was ready to set off to Mumbai all by myself. My parents could barely suppress their tension, their little girl (Eighteen, officially adult and yet "little") was about to travel all alone and that too by train! The 1st class A.C coach brought little peace to their agitated souls. But still with a heavy heart they bade me farewell... 
I was to stay at my grandmother's place for a week. 
The train glided smoothly from the platform with a low screeching noise. The hurly burly was ceasing slowly. In a matter of 10 minutes, my cell phoned beeped, it was an incoming call from my father.
"Everything all right in there?" he asked with barely concealed worry. "Yes paa...don't worry, I'm fine", and with that I put my cell away in my handbag.
"So first time in train huh? Alone I mean?". The question had come from an uncle, he was in his late forties yet had a brawny physique. "Yes" I replied. 
"Aah that explains it all" he smiled a knowing smile, the smile that acknowledged the anguish my parents were going through. After all he was a father himself.
With that the ice was broken and we conversed freely about anything and everything. The topic slowly settled on my education. He some how had keen interest in what I studied. "Media student", I replied but with a sadness edging in my voice. " Don't you like your course?", he asked.
"Well, I do. But I wish I could study in Mumbai"
He sighed. "you are a girl ...." was all he could manage. The statement hung in the air between us. So me biologically being programmed as a female was the only reason why I could not study alone? This discrimination was something that always lingered in the corners of my mind, biting me inwardly, mocking me silently.
This whole world is a male chauvinist pig, I thought grumpily.
"We are in the 21st century, Uncle" I said silently. "Yes but parents are always a generation older, you see" he said and then continued, "You younger lot think that everything is possible at your age, but you often overlook the small difficulties of surviving alone. Adjusting in a new environment, living independently, doing chores, washing clothes, your life becomes very challenging. The luxuries you took for granted will be absent when you step alone in the world. Your parents are just saving their girl from that danger and when the time is right, they'll let you free"
I marvelled at his deep insight. Thinking of it, I did remember going on a school trip for a week and missing my parents sorely, since I had to pack luggage on my own and clean the room, again on my own. And I knew I was not yet ready to depart from my family, though, if only for 3 years. We youngsters often turn oblivious towards our parent's wishes, just to chase our dreams. Be it settling abroad or living in the same house and yet ignoring your parents.. Our life, just like a 'leech' has drained us of little moments of peace and bliss with our family members. Big-packaged jobs and crisp green notes are all that we're bothered about now. It was the breaking of dawn for me. The dream I so desperately yearned to chase before, now became trivial infront of my loving family.
Yes, I did take many things for granted. But now I was about to take a U-turn.

A for apple, B for ball.....T for Terror!

"Terror", a word that now sounds painstakingly familiar to our ears.
The increasing number of unusual deaths is nothing but a result of our own 'man-made' disasters. From the unfortunate Mangalore plane crash to the unrestrained Naxal attacks, India has now entered a new generation where it's inhabitants have grown numb to violence.
We have seen so much of violence around us that now we have accepted it as a part of our life, unwelcomed and yet inevitable. Watching the news of Gyaneshwari train collision (probably another Maoist doing) on our T.V. screen  makes us issue a deep sigh and lament, "Desh ki kya haalat ho rahi hai?". But even after those sympathizing moments, we casually, very nonchalantly flick through other channels. The most one can do is discuss  the country's plight for a short period, but of course normal life resumes almost immediately after that.
But what else can a common man be expected to do?
Terrorism, corruption, death and politics have become the only 'news' scoop we get to hear around. India now, not only faces terror threats from it's neighboring nations, but in fact faces a more terrible fate of internal violence at the hands of the Maoist. A child grows in an atmosphere of violence and abuse, inevitably imbibing it and becoming a part of it.
Terror has unequivocally become a part of our Indian lifestyle... And such painful news of hundreds being killed at one single blow, their relatives weeping painstakingly over their bodies and politicians using this as an opportunity to shoot accusations at one another, brings only a shocked silence from a commoner like us, wondering yet again, "Ye terrorism kab khatam hoga???"
Yes, we have indeed turned numb towards violence.

The Stranger clad in Uniform ...

He stood engulfed in the thick whirlpool of smoke, his eyes watered and itched as he strained to look ahead, his once smooth face was creased with lines of age, making his skin fall loose with multiple folds.
"Only one year more, and then I'll be happily retired", he thought as he raised his right hand straight with practiced ease and indicated the vehicles to move ahead. Various engines spurred enthusiastically and the 'air-conditioned' cars leapt forward, flying past him to cross the signal.
He sighed again. The life of a 'Traffic Policeman' was never easy.
And to add to his pains, the automatic signal had just broken down, which meant that it would take at least half a day for the mechanic to repair it. And which forced the policeman  to leave the comfortable shed of nearby tea-shop and stand here in the scorching heat. "Huh", he swept a bead of fresh sweat from his forehead and lamented ending up with this job. People always regarded the job of a traffic policeman to be careless, lethargic and easy-going, thinking they were paid for drinking tea all day near the tea stall. Though he did not deny this fact utterly, but he also believed that he put in a great deal to control the traffic which was easily thwarted by some mischievious pranksters bent on breaking the traffic rules.
His thoughts were broken when out of the blue an Apache 160 zoomed past him, "Another rule breaker", he murmured and was about to note the bike number when the biker knocked off a bicycle on its way and sped off with ferocious speed, he surely had no mood of stopping.
A big crowd gathered around the injured boy who lay unconscious on the road. The policeman quickly strode forward, speaking into his walkie-talkie at the same time. His heart beat fast, this was the second accident in the same month. He squatted to get a closer look at the boy when someone amongst the crowd commented, " What are these traffic officials paid for? Drinking tea by the tea-shop all day..??"
He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Such comments were not at all new to him, it was literally part of job description of any new policeman.
But there was no time for such thoughts. He had a task at hand. He was to administer this boy in the nearby government hospital. A couple of young robust policeman came to aid, and together they lifted the boy. The crowd started evaporating, no one had any intention to be of any help.
At the end of the day, he sighed with exhaustion. It was a day full of hard work, pain and efforts; in return of which he only received jests and rude comments. 
And when he proceeded back to his home, he only wished that he was anything but a traffic policeman...

Sometimes realization is all that we need..

I walked through the dusty road in utter rage, and kicked a tiny stone ruthlessly in an attempt to bring out all my frustration on it. My attempt was in vain. There was still more annoyance waiting for an outburst.
I recollected my memories of about two hours ago... utensils banging on the floor, a scream, and then a threat, after which I pocketed my Pep keys and stormed out of the house, swearing on my way to never return back to this terrible place. A little more recap now.... the year's most awaited party was round the corner, and I was in desperate need of a new outfit. I had gingerly walked into my mother's room and sensed the atmosphere around me. It was pleasant...and it felt safe to talk. So I asked her in my most sugar-coated voice to let me buy a new dress. She turned around to face me with a look of complete helplessness...( thinking "how on Earth did I give birth to a Shopaholic?!").
Well the rest of the story is a complete blur, and I remember landing on a dusty road... with my pep parked far behind me.
"She is such a hard shell to crack! How can she overlook my feelings?"...I have the WORST parents in the WHOLE world...was all I could think of then. I tried to vent out my frustration on another piece of rock, this time hitting a little more harder, but instead missed my shot and hit the firm ground.... "Oouuuchh!!"
A giggling sound made me turn around. With my right foot in both my hands I limped and squinted the surroundings. A little girl stepped out of the bushes. She was about 6-7 years old, and her clothes were in rags and tatters. She was skinny or perhaps had malnutrition, but yet there was compose and content in her deep eyes. I walked over to her side and asked " What is your name?"...she blankly stared at me. I tried again " Where do you live?" this time I made hand movements of a house. She registered this and pointed to an aloof hut in the distance. I stared in her direction, and saw a dilapidated hut with it's straw roof threatening to fall off any second. 
I was shocked.... no not shocked, I was numb, paralyzed and flabbergasted. A whirlpool of emotions engulfed me, from pity  to helplessness, and then to my own selfishness. Had I been so bullheaded that I just did not bother to look beyond my own fancy world? Unfortunately the answer was "yes". I sadly smiled at the girl, and searched my pockets, there was a Ferroro Rocher cadbury left. I gave it to her without a second thought. Her tiny lips broke into a bright smile and lit her face up. She waved and ran off, may be with the hope of sharing the precious gift with her siblings...
I felt deep down in the dumps, a hollow feeling crept through my chest and a tiny tear fell down on my cheeks. For me this tear was the sign of a new dawn,... a wakening from deep slumber...
I walked back to where my pep was parked. My mind was firm with a single thought. "I am no more a Shopaholic"...

DEATH : An Irrevocable Truth

Death is the one inevitable truth for which you can never come prepared.

Though it is a universal fact that man is a mortal being, yet this unwelcomed guest brings a wave of shock and sadness to every kith-n-kin left behind.. I was reading a newspaper that featured the victims of Pune's German Bakery Blast, and one article which instantly caught my attention was that of the Kolkatta siblings, Anindyee and Ankik Dhar. Young, vibrant and innocent as they were, they fell prey to some psycho’s idea of taking vengeance, and died without even comprehending who their murderer was or why they were killed??

What do we do then? We return back to our normal lifestyle just as easily…shrugging as we move on… “ It has become normal to see terror strikes now”.

This is how death brings shock to all and affects none except a few.

Another facet of death, as we all know is…natural death. Recently my maternal uncle passed away with a sudden unexpected heart attack. At the age of 78, he still wished for a ‘long healthy life’, a life meant to be filled with content and bliss. Inspite of his optimism, he was never ignorant to the prospect of death sure to engulf him someday. His wrinkled face was invariably adorned with a charming smile and I always felt that this man was indestructible.

And yet, who could postpone death when it stands at your doorstep…?

His demise, though anticipated, clearly shook the Earth from our feet.

And a strange thought struck me then…. This old man had little time left in his hands and yet hoped to complete plenty of unfinished tasks. While we, being so young, have millions of hours to spare but ironically nothing fruitful to do.

One lesson that I learned from this was, to live life in such a way that one does’nt feel any regrets while taking in his final breathes on his deathbed…

I end here with a beautiful quote: “ Life is like an ICE, enjoy it before it completely melts”

"The Lackadaisical Law"

The name Ruchika Girhotra has become the inevitable 'top-scoop' in media. The news is simple, " A Harayana based DGP molested a girl that forced her to commit suicide". But what makes it huge is the role of media and public participation. It is pointedly shameful for the justice system of our country to deliver a verdict years later, and to add fuel to the fire, the verdict punishes the offender for merely six months!

Is it red tapism or clean bribery or a greater fear of projecting the police as 'criminals' that affected the judge's decision? The girl is dead now, and such a verdict brings little peace to the family's years of torture. What makes it even more unsettling, is the fact that the alleged officer wears an invariable smirk on his face... May be he's sure his money will buy enough government employees to dispose off the case.

I'm sure, like all the other ones, this case will also be conveniently forgotten after a few months. Like for instance the "Aarushi twin murder case", the "Jessica Lal case" and so on.... It rings a bell somewhere is'nt it?

Years later, when the court will deliver it's verdict I'm sure even the lawyers would forget what they were fighting for! I know it sounds satiric, but that's the bitter truth. What verdict huh?.. A decade's worth time to bring justice to the dead!