I hate You.

I hate you.

You and your million new ways to make me hate you.

You made me cry the very first time I saw you.

You push me down every time I tried to stand up. You made me crawl and eat insects in the mud until one day,  I fought you and walked by myself - wobbly, yes, but on my feet.

You backed me up when I made mistakes, knowingly.

You heard me yelling my lungs out when the barber shaved me head, but you did nothing.

You witnessed me wait year after year for something that would never happen. You knew but you did not tell me.

You saw me cry myself to bed. You saw me toss and turn on lonely, sleepless nights. You only smirked.

You have made me lose so much - faith, confidence, dreams, people.

You always have an excuse when I need reasons.

You are always silent when I need answers.

You confuse me. You hurt me. You break me.

So why am I still with you?

Because you are me. And I am you.

It is true that you knock me down but it is also true that when you shove me into darkness, I find my courage to build new sunshine.

When you steal my umbrella in pouring rain, I look for rainbows.

When you make me cry, I make myself laugh.

For every person I lost, I met someone new. For every belief you busted, I made stronger resolves. For all the times you stayed silent, I searched my own answers.

You keep breaking me, and I keep reconstructing.

I will not give up. I will not break up.
You will.. someday. And you will be sorry you did, because right in the middle of so much hatred stands the inevitable, undeniable and absolute fact that

Dear Life,
I love you.

DEAD OR ALIVE?

I wake up to the cruel rays of sun pouring in through the only ventilator in the dingy cell. My spine no longer feels as rigid as it did in my earlier days of imprisonment. I get up and make my way towards the earthen water pot, the only piece of evidence of some inhabitation, besides a blanket that lies crumpled on the floor. I drink the tasteless water by cupping my palms, because there is no glass. That is all I get for breakfast. Water and sunshine. I move to the only part of the cell that receives some light in all day, and sit there. Head bowed down, my eyes closed - as if in meditation. The pictures move in a reel, like a movie.. the same that I watch, everyday.. for the last twenty months.

26 November, 2012 - I was married to him. Chetan  Garg. Handsome, rich, powerful. To be marrying one of the most successful and established business tycoons was a matter of whooping pride for almost all I knew. Not that I wasn't ecstatic, who wouldn't be - with  a castle to rule, a ferry of cars to line up as soon as I step foot outside, all luxuries at the click of my fingers.. little did I know that my castle was a mere fragment of my fairytale imaginations.

Things seemed to be in a dream sequence when I moved into his house. With just the two of us in that gigantic house and all the time in the world, love and ecstasy achieved newer heights every day.  Every moment that brought me closer to him took me farther and farther from those that I had known, till a point where the only individual I recognized as 'own' was my husband. By the next month, things seemed to be finally falling  into place and we weren't out of breath all the time. As work pressure gravitated him more and more towards his office (or so I thought), he seemed colder every night. I thought I understood. The fire in the  beginning had given way to this strange emptiness and I didn't know what to do with it, and one day, the emptiness awoke the animal. He beat me all night till his hands became soar. I screamed and  begged, cried and yelled but nobody heard. That night, I thought this was the end of the world but this was only the beginning of the end. I couldn't move a limb in the morning when he kicked me hard to make him his morning coffee. Frustrated, he got up himself, kicked me thrice again before leaving the room. Just at the threshold, he turned back and said "I'm not done with you yet".

I tried contacting my family and friends but the Call for Help went in vain because all telephone lines had been cut off. All servants and house helps were indefinitely suspended. All doors and windows were bolted from outside. I was trapped. The days and nights merged into one another - I would be beaten, whipped, kicked around the house and Chetan said if I screamed, he would break my teeth.
I tried breaking free - but he said he would kill my family if I did. Powerful that he was, he could if he wanted.

 A part of me was dying every day. I was lying on the kitchen floor one morning.. a dozen cockroaches crawling near my face. I wanted to scream but did not open my mouth, scared Chetan was home. I laid motionless on the cold marble floor, with blood oozing out of the gashes on my body. The sunlight from the ventilator sparkled in the blood. When I was sure I was alone, I dragged myself up - staining as many surfaces as I stumbled on, for support. I caught my reflection on a broken mirror as I was making my way to the bathroom. A face- bruised beyond recognition, starred back at me through her hollow blood-shot eyes. Torn clothes clung to her at minimal places and bloody gashes all over the body screamed for help. That image was my turning point. The courage that had been extinguished by the first whip against my back, rekindled. My line of tolerance had been crossed long back but it was time to fight the war.  It was time for freedom. Time to overcome the broken bones and weeping bruises. Time to raise my voice. Time to save me. I had to be my own hero.

Five months of sharing the house with the devil had made me perfectly acquainted to his timings and habits. I knew that the front door would be unlatched at exactly nine thirty at night. That gave me ten hours of preparation time. I stood under the shower and let the water trickle down my pain. I put on fresh clothes, combed my hair and applied my favourite lipstick. By eight-thirty, I was ready. Ready for the final showdown. When the knob turned at exactly nine-thirty, the lights were off and it was dark. Chetan stepped into it, amused. He always left the lights on and I was not mobile enough to regulate the  light switches. As soon as he turned to flick the lights on, I struck him on the head with the heaviest vase in the house. He turned around - the shock in his eyes giving way to the cold animal anger that no longer intimidated me. He raised his hands to strike me but I was ready and before his fist made contact with my chest, I had plunged the butcher knife into his gut. Blood pooled down around our legs. But the monster wasn't deadyet. He pulled out the knife from his abdomen in one agonizing but swift motion and struck me on the face. I had no time to react to the pain. I grabbed the curtains on the door and pulled them over him in one rapid pull. He was confused for a few seconds and that was all the time I had in hand. I had no time to think or strategize. I picked up the heavy curtain rod and hit on the round protrusion under the fabric that I presumed to be the head. I hit and hit and hit till my hands felt sore. I screamed every time the rod hit a part of him, as if making up for all those times that I had shut up. When the rod fell out of my hands, I starred at the river of blood sipping out of the soaked curtain. I lifted it up without a flinch, looked at those hollow, bloodshot eyes and the lifeless limbs seemed to make me alive! I murdered him and I was not sorry. I had conquered the evil, and I was pleased with myself. After months, I felt alive.

I walked out of the doors, not looking back even once. I had earned my freedom.

I was charged against third degree murder. I did not deny it but put forth both sides of the coin. The court seemed to be in two minds about me. So they sentenced me to three years of imprisonment. I have already completed half my term in the jail (but, it doesn't seem as bad as the prison I have escaped from). A few months later, I shall be released.

I am waiting for the Life that lays ahead - for the dreams to realize, the smiles to spread and the courage to inspire. After all, I am alive again.

The Vagina Goddess

There, once, lived a princess. Her name was Sati. She was the daughter of Prajapati (King) Daksha. Like many women of her age, Princess Sati was fascinated with the idea of a strange God called Shiva. She had heard he was the God of male fertility. She had also heard that he smoked weed, meditated in the Great Mount Kailash and dwelled in crematoriums.

The more she thought about it, the more fascinated she became. Her fascination led to a desperate desire to meet the Demon God. So she put her heart and soul into meditation.

Impressed by her relentless efforts, Shiva visits Sati. When the dainty princess sees the barbarian God with those ripped muscles and angular face, she goes weak in the knees! The powerful aura about him is simply irresistible. He is the finest specimen of manhood she had ever seen. And the wise righteousness of Gods, what more could a girl desire?!

King Daksha was not in favour of the match as he despised Shiva. However, after much controversy, Sati wed Shiva. She accompanied her husband to Mt. Kailash (present day, Tibet), where they lived like hermits and ate only fruits. Meanwhile, Daksha was fuming with rage. That barbarian stole his daughter! A princess, who had never known anything beyond luxury, was compelled to live like a hermit! That demon was brainwashing his daughter!

So, Daksha organizes a yagna (a fire ritual), to which he invites all Gods and Goddesses, except Shiva and Sati. Despite Shiva's reluctance to go uninvited, he succumbs to the pleas of his innocent wife. At the yagna, the couple were subject to very hostile treatment. Sati could not tolerate such disgrace and humiliation to her husband. Holding herself responsible, she immolates herself in the purifying flames of Agni (Fire God) as a form of penance.

Shiva is tremendously infuriated by the traumatic death of his beloved wife. In a surge of rage, he beheads Daksha and replaces it with a goat's head. Shiva's legendary anger could not be call to reason. He carried Sati on his shoulders and performed the dance of destruction - Tandav Nritya. Everything in his path met destruction.

The other Gods, horrified by such widespread destruction, called in the divine intervention of Lord Vishnu. Vishnu used  his divine wheel, the Sudarshan Chakra, that cut through Sati's body and parts of her body fell across the Indian subcontinent, the holy land.

A Shakti Peeth (sacred spot) was formed at each of those places where Sati's body parts had fallen. There are 51 such Shakti Peeth-s (49 in India and 2 in Tibet and Pakistan )

The Kamaksha Temple, in Assam (North-East India), is one of the Shakti-peeth.

Legend has it that Sati, often, met Shiva here, secretly. The name Kamaksha comes from the word Kama, meaning sexual bond (also associated with the female genital). The Goddess Kamaksha is symbolically represented as a stone Yoni (the female genital). The stone Yoni is kept in the inner sanctum of the shrine.

With the oncoming monsoon, the Yoni - which is fed by an underground natural spring, gets partially submerged and the spring water begins to flow above the stone. Since it was the lower cervix of Sati that had fallen at the shrine, it is believed that this upsurge of underground water is Goddess Kamaksha's menses. This geological upsurge of water happens only once, annually, and is celebrated as Ambubuchi. It is the celebration of the Goddess's annual menstrual period. During these five days,  the stone Yoni is wrapped with a red cloth and adorned with flowers and vermillion. The entire shrine seems to be overwhelmed by the colour red and the chant “Prithvi Rajashala Hoi” (Mother Earth is menstruating) is heard everywhere. Pilgrims are not allowed for the first three days. On the third day, the stone Yoni is bathed and buffalo and goat sacrifices are done.

On the last day of the festival, pilgrims are given access to enter and touch the stone Yoni. Each pilgrim is offered the Holy Water of the spring and a piece of the red cloth from the previous year as blessings.

Although Ambubuchi is celebrated for 5 days annually, the Kamaksha shrine is open for visitors throughout the year. The story behind this celebration is liberating and enlightening –one of those rare tales wherein womanhood is celebrated and cherished. The world today needs to learn from the past and understand feminity in its truest sense.

On a parting note.

We are all born with a purpose in Life. Ironically, finding that purpose is the biggest enigma. All our what-s, where-s, why-s and how-s have both an answer and a reason. Destiny or your own choices - whichever school of thought you abide by, every single day is taking us one step closer to finding that purpose.

When I wrote my first article for Srijan, I was a nobody - new, unknown, struggling to place my identity. Four years from then, even though I am still discovering myself everyday in bits and pieces, still trying to find my calling, still searching for my role in the world - I have come a long way. I know I have miles to go but I am so proud of this journey that I have made. I am proud that I did not give up.

There were as many accomplishments as there were setbacks. One taught me humbleness, the other taught me patience. I have overcome some fears and succumbed to others. One taught me courage, the other taught me that imperfection is individuality. I learnt that being a good person is always more important than being successful. I learnt that responsibilities cannot be imposed and respect cannot be demanded. I leant that some things in Life cannot be taught, you learn them yourself - en route.

I did not realize it happening but looking back at my eighteen year old self, I realize that I have transformed. Over the fat, unopened textbooks, over broken nips of pens, over lost erasers, midnight birthday parties, 3am conversations, meetings and debates - over all those things when my mind was elsewhere - subconsciously, I was changing. And this change has so much to do with all the amazing people I have met over the years - teachers, non-teaching staff, friends, classmates, colleagues, strangers. So many people have played their parts - given me little pieces of themselves. I have combined all of them and this is who I have become - an extension of you, a part of you - a better person - stronger, wiser and kinder.

It is a strange realization that this is my last year on the Editorial Board, that a few months from now I'll be just a fading memory. But before I am completely washed away from the sands of your mind, I want to Thank You. Thank You for being a part of these making years of my Life. Thank You for leaving a mark on my heart. Thank You for witnessing my transformation.

On a parting note, my wish for you is that you continue. Continue to find yourself in the crowd, continue to fight the odds, continue the fire burning inside of you, continue to kill the world with your kindness. Just continue. Do not give up because no matter how impossible, frustrating and cynical it seems, I promise you that in the end, it will all be worth it.

When my BFF broke up..

You are not a pendulum

You do not have to swing between sides

You do not have a choice to make, because

A choice between the past and the future

 is hardly a choice.

Let it go, my friend.

Be wild, run free.

Do not hold on to imaginary strings

What's gone is gone,

let it be bygone.

It would be a sin to

chain the feet of someone

who breaks the finish-line tape

in races.

It would be a sin to

domesticate someone

who wanders all by herself

ever since she was in eighth.

Do not let anyone tame your spirit,

not even yourself.

Do not be a prisoner of your own conscience.

Do not worry about how hard your heart broke

Remember, that you have to

break the shell to taste the yolk.

It has broken, but it will mend with time

Let new light in, let the past be sublime.

Do not carry baggage from the yester years

Embrace whatever comes your way

Sweet roses or bitter tears.

Make your memories

and live your dreams

Open your mind and your heart

To infinite realms.

Walk on, sweet thing, do not look back,

and if at all you do,

you will find me looking back.

When I read my name in the newspaper!!

Young minds on climate change

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