Peek-a-boo- The story of cleavage and butt cheeks.

Yes you read it right. The headline screams something that you would naturally not like talking about in the public platform but something which forms part of your jokes with your gang. But of late, this has been a major issue doing the rounds. A certain media group is under a lot of flak for the blatant objectification of a particular female cine star’s body part for the mere purpose of more viewership, which equals more money. What is astonishing is that this particular media group is not new found, but one with a lot of reputation and most certainly does not need to resort to such vile means of publicity for more viewership/readership. It perhaps makes more money than any other leading daily of the nation with a combined earnings from its daily papers, e-paper and apps. In fact let alone others, I myself have the app of this newspaper group installed in my cell phone because till yesterday it was a respectable news provider, a firm believer in the concept of no nonsense, non- “sansanikhes” news. But what has been done has been done and the lows to which this particular media group has stooped cannot be undone.

But what is more interesting than the degradation of news quality of this media group is the retaliation of that particular cine star who was in the eye of the storm. She has rightly condemned such a “cheap” act of publicity and has been lauded by many, her co-stars, industry insiders and the common public alike, for her stand against such nonsense. A micro blogging site is abuzz these past few days with how brave she has been to stand up against such mindlessness which demeans the status of women and how utterly pathetic it is on the part of the newspaper to be a part of that hypocrisy which shouts slogans on women empowerment by the day and leech at the same women by the night. I have been a silent spectator to these events.

Why silence you may ask. To be honest I have just been observing. Observing at how even the cine star in her own ways is a contributor to that same hypocrisy. Don’t judge me as yet, but do you not think that at a very rudimentary level the cinema industry, the Hindi cinema industry to be precise, due to its wider reach and very high popularity among the masses, is one of the biggest patrons of such distasteful objectification of women in our glorious nation? There is such a directly proportional relation between skin show and box office records in most of the cases in our country that I do not need to be a mathematician to figure it out.  To be sexy, to be bold and beautiful is a completely different concept. In this case the person knows how one is carrying oneself in full sanity of mind. But how do you justify the repulsive portrayal of women in those very famous “Item songs”? Lead actresses do not mind lip syncing to lines like “Mein toh tandoori murgi hu yaar, gaatkale saiyyan alcohol se”, or shake those assets in full public galore to songs whose lyrics if read out without any tune sound exactly like, “I attend nature’s call every morning”. 

But they are actors you say. They are just acting. Does not mean that is their ideology. Agreed completely. But remember that epic Batman quote, “It is not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you”? No, I did not for once say that nudity in art is objectionable. No. But disrespect of art is. The biggest mindless crore grosser in the box office often defies what we can call logic. It has all the elements to make sure that at every single second that it runs, good cinema takes a blow and the soul of art dies. Cinema that runs solely on the size of a woman’s bust and bottoms is not cinema. It is a cringe worthy buffoonery thrust into the face of the public. And with the state of education that this country is in,how can you expect every person in this country to differentiate and take educated decisions and dismiss such media as nothing but a light investment with absolutely no return?

I am glad that the actress has spoken against what is indeed a breach of ethical conduct. A human body is one of nature’s finest creations. It is to be loved and adored, not leeched and lusted upon. It is no material to be sold in the gory market of leering eyes. But the paradox that this lady has got herself into is something which can only be solved by the corrective thinking of the mass and the media makers. Today she is famous and has the ability to let her voice be heard loud and clear across the length and breadth of the country and beyond, but the industry she is in and contributing to, has the effect of its distasteful portrayal of women resonating across the country and may be allowing some unnamed descendant of Eve to bear the brunt of it, whose story we may never hear. It is not until you learn that the medicine you or your folks are serving is bitter that you start complaining. 

The best present.....

He wasn’t going to be late today right? I mean he couldn’t. He promised he’d be the first to arrive. Among all the chaos that the city had to provide, the hassles of work and once in a while the pressures of life, he is my only respite….my oasis of calm in the scorching desert sun…but why does this delay give me jitters of anxiety? Insane, I say to myself….work remember? But even today? Two meetings with the city dealer, a couple of assignments which require auditing…..the list of work that I have kept pending for this  one weekend off is endless….but does he even realize how much this means to me? Or does his work feature above anything in this world in his priority list. But relax it is just a few minutes past his promised time…but with every passing minute a miniscule sense of guilt mixed with remorse was trickling down the nape of my neck. The guilt of leaving “important” work and deciding to take this little vacation. But wasn’t it all that I wanted for a very long time? Why does doing what you love doing and the guilt of leaving “work” undone come in a tangled bundle? The mind should be free….the soul a little more happy of finally seeing that happen which it yearned for….but….maybe  I should just learn to relax a little more, too much heightened sense of tension has as if become a norm, seeping into my very person….but the clock ticks by…..

The framed photograph on the mantle beaming away in the flickering ochre of the fire below….I really like this one. We look so happy in this one. And yes the little story behind his blue cummerbund is something which still amuses me, the light bouncing off my left earring and the string of pink pearls on the bodice of my dress, it was his choice, and little wave on his brown hair….tiny little details makes this picture  very pretty….the clock won’t stop….

I had the music he loved  playing on the stereo…There are these guys from Serenity Studios making really good music and he simply loves them…I wore blue, the georgette dress I treated myself to last month, its lace detailing is so intricate….the Dom Perignon specifically ordered for today and yes I got some fine cheese to go with it….the setting was perfect….but was it enough? I repeatedly told myself I would not be dialing his number, that would ruin the whole thing….that thing about not letting technology come in between communication…I know it is difficult to grasp but sometimes you just need to let your hearts do all the communication….the clock is still ticking…

“May be I will be forgiven for being late by 1200 seconds….” The baritone in the hallway was all I was waiting for in the past few minutes….And then I saw him walking towards me, that smile, which is everything I wait for in the long times we are separated by geography, by work, by the constraints of modern life, gleaming on his face, that same little wave on his brown hair and the sharp suit with the lapel pin I gave him for his last birthday….this is the man I love with all the love available in this universe…..”Purple gladioli are so difficult to find in this city”…..Life is a perfect melody and he my best present….

Showtime!!

As I inched towards the gallery I could see the medley of people gathered at the gallery portico. Heightened anticipation, some nervousness, some genuine concern for the future, some tiredness from the tireless, sleepless, food less working and convincing in the days  gone by, a plethora of support for all the war heroes gathered there for the final show and a little stink of dirty politics- all concocted together to make a potpourri of a surreal sort. I could see my opponents with my supporters, friends with their supporters, and my own supporters. The scene took on a nature of an intense trade-fair where the best deals are often made at the last. They asked me if I was tensed. No I wasn't.  That same feeling had descended upon me as it always does before taking on a huge audience- not calm exactly but that of no tension at all…it’s here, give it your best shot. The gallery was chock-a-block with almost twice of a thousand people. Religious chanting of the name you supported so that it registers in the mind of the voter, distribution of little strips of papers for the same purpose as an equal amount littered on the floor, numerous ringtones going off at random moments defying all norms of rhythm, and the final trial, and the same final push as in the final stages of labor. My supporters had come, they were scattered for the final showdown, positioned at different places for giving me the ultimate cover. It was war. The overheard conversations made it interesting. In one such instance, I could overhear a supporter telling his candidate- Don’t just stand like that man, work, mobilize!!

Some called this contest interesting because I was contesting. A woman. I did not feel different. It wasn’t revolutionary. My mother did it, my dad did it, and my friends elsewhere do it, men, women alike. No it wasn’t different. Only a little unbalanced for person to person meeting in my case was tad limited compared to those against me. But there’s no use complaining, for it never solved problems- in history, at present. The mechanism has been working for long now, the ball has been set rolling. It was Game of thrones right in the campus grounds. A thousand different faces, all with a mind…a battleground abuzz with a thousand and more working, thinking minds. Emotions, tactics and game plans lay bare and like jagged weapons. All of these people worked and talked since the past few days, fair and unfair. It was addictive in a different sort of way. That was the watershed of all efforts right up till the last pink slip was thrust in the tin ballot box. Adult franchise, democracy, politics. I’m an adult and I had an army of my own….in all of that a song constantly played in my mind- Queen’s- We are the champion, clichéd, but true. It wasn’t a cakewalk for nobody. And as the siren at 12 went off, signaling end of a game for this year, calm set upon everyone, it was visible. The efforts were wholeheartedly put in, the results were awaited but for all those involved in the game all that I know, the efforts were made, the results were awaited…. The game was played…

SHE

The day begins with her affectionate call in the morning-The mother. The embodiment of all cosmic love, an aura of beauty unsurpassed by any entity in the universe, the partaker of our souls. This is she. 

The lessons delivered by her soulful voice which seep deep into our beings preparing us for the battle ahead. The teacher. This is she.

When stumbling upon life's ups and downs and reaching in the dark a hand to hold firm, to share the soul's gravest insecurities and the deepest secrets, she is always there. The sister. The confidant we can confide in, the parent we can look up to, the buddy for a lifetime. This is she.

When she walks past, daylight seems a little brighter, the flowers more colourful and the spring air seems resplendent with a million fragrances as her one smile, her one glance paints the canvas of dreams with a magnificent variety of hues. Life seems spectacular. The lover. This is she.

The better half, the partner, the friend, philosopher and guide, the reason for a smile after the day's labour. The wife. The heart of the household, the soul of the family. This is she.

Her little fingers tracing the outline of my heart, as it melts in the fuzzy warmth of her love. Her tiny voice calling out my name, showing me a reflection of me in her bright eyes. The daughter. The part of me locked and secured away in my soul. This is she.

Yet the role play does not end here as many more avenues await her presence. Yet would you let harm befall her? Would you still lust her flesh and objectify her knowing fully well you were born from her. Your existence being a constant reminder of her conscious decision to bear all pain to show you the light of the day? Would you still harm her? Would you allow her to be consumed by the flames of unjust traditions and be deaf to her pleas of mercy for no fault of hers? Would you let your want for a preferred child turn you into an indecisive monster and show no compassion to the human form of the Goddess you offer prayers to? Would you let the yoke of traditions pin her to the ground and clip her wings, stall her flight and let her bleed unto oblivion where you cannot differentiate between her presence or absence? Would you still consider her subjugate to your superiority and still call it norms? Would you still? Would you? O let not, the people of the world. Allow her to spread her wings and

take flight into the far horizon where she explores the unknown and romances the unexplored. Where education becomes her real precious gem and she moves forward unafraid. Where the skies look as safe a haven for her as the national frontiers. Where she spacewalks her way to the moon and treats the ailing with a similar zeal. Where she constructs empires of concrete with the same panache as she sashays down the aisle of glamour. Where she rules the lands with the same efficiency as she makes her way towards victory in the ring. Where she captures moments of joy and sorrow, of love and empathy with the same ease as she dances her way into our hearts. Allow her to be the magnificence she really is, for she is one of the finest creation of the omnipresent, the gift of the age's wisdom. "She" is a woman. Not an regret, a mitigation or a victim. Not an ornament of desires alone. But Human. Human of flesh and blood, of thoughts and emotions, of intellect and labour.

Perspective and the bitch called Karma

With age changes perspective and the advent of such change are those turning points of life which ultimately decide the course of one’s life. The image of life being a huge sugar gilded jujube takes a toss as random occurrences lifts the sheer veil off the imagery and reveals unto us the chess like game of life. You have your own army, your own accepted wisdom and most importantly your set of laws to guide you through to usurp and overthrow the power of your opponents, those inner and outer demons you constantly battle day in and out in every walk of your life.

They say life is a constant battle between the good and the bad, the right and the wrong, the virtue and the vice. And the sum total of all the choices we make defines the person we are. But why paint such a monochromatic picture when there are a thousand more colours to be explored in between? What was taught to us as the ultimate truth, unquestionable and rational enough to be truly believed may not be so. As the cliché goes there’s more than that meets the eye. Over the time as the circumstances change, so does change our perspectives. What seemed right and noble sometime ago may not truly be so. And what might seem like wrong might have underlying reasons for not complying with the society laid norms. What exactly matters is the perspective. Experiences, both good and bad, are in fact the necessary lessons learnt by man in the due course of his journey of life which decides in what projected light a man finally sees the picture. Often as happens to be the case it never pays to be judgemental. The picture is too big to be comprehended in only one angle.

But in no circumstances does man become competent enough to earn the licence to inflict upon another man pain, either mental or physical. You cannot be partaking of another man’s curse every living day of your life. What is done in pure innocence is forgivable as a mistake but a repetition fosters your position in the tight spot. The point is rationalisation. It is about justification. It is about the balance of the scales. The conclusive justification of your actions might actually not make you the wrong doer. Question arises- Does a change of perspective help here? Well not really. A change of perspective will give you points enough to prove your end of the story but who said the good would turn to bad and vice-versa?  The black don the garb of white?  All that will come of it is the ability to balance those colours in between logically enough to appeal to the greater senses. But at the end of the day it is that tiny voice, deep seated in some abject corner of the brain ringing constantly in keeping with our actions, which reveals unto us the truth way before the world judges it, way before we ourselves come to a meticulous conclusion about our actions. In a way it is always about karma and somebody long ago called her a bitch!!

The allegory of nothingness....

Like the scent of a distant unseen blossom, it drifts in the midnight air, crude yet hypnotizing, doubtful yet substantial. You tend not to question its existence for you know your senses may give away in the quest for an answer. You live in its bounty asking not its presence but basking in its omnipresent sheen. For a fraction of a moment doubt does tend to cloud your senses but too long have you submitted to the clutches of this venomous serpent and yes it was by choice. You want, for a change, to break free from the shackles that had been trying to protect you from a fall. The soul within yearns to fly this time and think not of the consequences-overcoming fear, regaling in the thrill you've been abandoning for so long for the fear of falling over the precipice and being failed by the ones you trusted. But no longer. You throw caution to the winds, spread your wings, as the sweet nothing beckons and pursue it zealously. Life gives you a satisfactory smile because for once you've learnt to live life in "today" and not "tomorrow".

The walk…..

Not long ago had I contemplated my next move. It was not a conscious decision but one taken in haste. In pure haste. But it let things happen to me. What don’t ask. I don’t know. I haven’t catalogued what they are, were or are going to be. I just let them happen to me. They ripped me….i bleed…..they tortured me……left me maimed…..but I moved on……for at times they just made life worth it. For the sheer joy of the wound healing is sweet to put it brusquely. That makes you realize the worth of things- many deemed so worthless by many of us that we wouldn’t stop to take a second glance at them were they sold in supermarkets- but “simple little things” in your life sometimes makes you smile, and man would pay a million dollars to smile like that.  The road might not be the city highway you imagined where you would flaunt your swish car in full glory but a countryside “bumspter” (looks like I invented a  word eh?) and you are no better than the country bumpkin……dragging on with life……but with the motive of reaping your harvest.  Yes the golden harvest which awaits your loving hands to caress them and for you to soak in their freshness, warmth ,beauty and tranquility…………., something you would be left searching for in your concrete jungle……and suddenly you realize your heart is all flesh and blood not nickel as you imagined…………