Okay, then!

There are days, when I sit blankly in front of my laptop - awaiting the magic wand of inspiration to be more productive. The beads of sweat that dot the brow - are not born of hard labor : rather perhaps, the sheer willpower to not to throw the laptop away and run.


Life came with no manual on grief management. There seems to be no right or wrong way to know if one is okay. And what is being okay, anyway? Is it rather a superficial term to signify a neutral state of mind or a farce to make believe in the roses above the thorns?


The past few weeks after my brother crudely orphaned me, has made me skirt my innermost feelings and skate on the cracked surface of dry ice. Reality is but a mirage - the past more a testimony of truth than the 'clear and present danger' now.



These last few days, I have had tons of well-wishers including skeletons from the closet sending me warm messages of condolence, reminding me of my loss and the direction to be strong. My empty eyes mulled over the words sent - what did being strong mean too? Did the messages indicate that I should not be swept away with the winds of change / or let go of my own sanity and thereby being strong fundamentally is a cry for mental health management / is it a request for my willpower to automate the smile on my face, airing the tears away?


The words seemed puny - the wishes to 'be strong girl' - a sordid check on the complexity of the human mind. There really was no need to send a directive - a simple "I am there for you" could have sufficed. Funny how the well-wishers shifted the onus of action on the victim than be simple and humble enough to take it on themselves?


Maybe what the last few weeks did to me then - is to gain wisdom to  suddenly debunk the myth of "okay" and also discern the fake in all that we bake or make.


I am not okay.  I will never be okay. And that is okay! Its really not about how strong I am with dry eyes and a fake smile to prove that I am okay.


The reality that my enlightened soul was thwarted with, was also the facade of some of the gold-diggers - who were the erstwhile goldmines as friends. It did again point to the lack of humane connect and the disdain to disobey the set protocols - but be safe and exchange words of sorrow from afar. I was disappointed - but relieved. The masks had slipped and that was okay too!



Words, have always the most inadequate forms of expression. There are times, when there are no right words to share - yet let's not choose the wrong words then? It could save a multitude of neurons beings over-worked, trying to find the grain of integrity within!


Coping with loss is never easy for anyone. However, what I have realized is, if you do know of anyone going through this experience - do reach out and physically be there. You do not need words - especially directives such as 'be strong'. You just need to make your presence felt and perhaps share a hug. That's a far better comfort than mere words!



And if you are incapable of doing the above, do stay away and spare the unlucky one. There is enough on her plate, as it is.


Simplicity of human emotions need to be persevered through - not severed in the effort to be an instant well-wisher : the act itself a check-list, negating any sincerity meant!


What we also must realize is that - its okay to be anything. Labels such as weak / strong matter little - what one feels is beyond others' comprehension and that is okay. To be okay, is not a race against time. Its okay not to be okay (if you must follow the stereotypical explanation) and that is perfectly okay!

A love story

Valentine’s Day 2020. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stirred her hot chocolate. The smiley face on the froth, had made her smile too – just one of those days, when all seemed rosy and light as the childhood cotton candies that she used to share with her father, once upon a long long time back.  

The coffee shop, she sat in, reeked and breathed of love, that day. She saw the happy couples all around her. Some clinging onto each other to make the profound promises or have ‘the talk’, some clicking ephemeral photos to be posted on Insta and only to be removed when the next one came along – and there were of course some  lost in the smoke-screen of their phones. Putting her glasses on the table, she stretched her hands above her head, as she looked around. She smiled again. Today she was past it all. Been there, done that?

She had been one of them, just a decade ago. Just blooming out of her teens, she had stepped with a deep sense of righteous purpose, into her versatile 20-s. The MBA degree too added feather to her wings – letting her soar head and shoulders above than the rest. She had always felt different – not ‘normal’ – yet defining her own being, seeking comfort only in her skin.

Perhaps it was this insouciance, that had caught his eye. She remembered the first day, when their eyes had met – across the conference hall. She had to present the coffee brand’s creative strategy that was commissioned by him. So far, there was no face to the name. That day was the first. The suave, well-shaved, well-gelled man sat in front of her – his straight posture reflecting the control he had – over himself and the room. Animal magnetism attracted and locked their gaze for a moment. Yet it was enough to know that nothing would be normal ever again.

It was many months that their paths crossed again. But the form had not left her mind for a second.

There he was, shopping alone at the departmental store – his shirt loosely hung over his lithe frame as the Jeans were casually folded atop the Adidas slippers. His aura was too compelling – too powerful to avoid with some excuse of not having seen. She was drawn to him – a moth to a flame.

The first date happened then. A coffee shop and 2 hours of deep conversation. Both sapiosexuals found solace in each other – knowing suddenly that being judgmental that had formed the core of their being, strangely slipped away from its rigidity, in the shared time and space.

Soon the late-night messages started and the textroverts realized the common aversion to the human need to communicate orally. He was not a flirt – just a very secure man on his journey. And she was a passenger in his journey – someone who enriched the distance and enabled that time found its own meaning. Whilst he gave purpose in her life – opening her eyes to a magical world of infinite possibilities beyond the comfort zone that seemed to be her generation’s trap.

They never were the stereotypical love-birds. Rather old friends turned lovers – passion found in each other’s arms beyond expression. The frequent getaways become more a part of their life – the moments of exploration of new places stamped the DNA of their journey together. Deep-diving into the ‘unknown’, was a thrill shared and enjoyed to the fullest by each – articulation of the discoveries and the many conversations around them, an oasis of retreat and salvation.

Years slipped by – she felt wiser, happier and ‘evolved’. The eventualities of meeting the families were done smoothly too – all loved the self-made man while his family were besotted by the kohl in her eyes.

Nothing else mattered it seemed. The fear of ‘what next’ never daunted nor haunted their flight.

Soon the greys showed up in the otherwise black and white world. Her profession required networking – which also meant late nights and cab drops home by the many men whom she had befriended over the years. Her me-time involved a rich social life too – mostly with a tight knit circle of trust, where gender was a fluid concept. The time together cherished was celebrated – which often found mentions in her Insta or blogs.

It’s said that too much familiarity breeds contempt. It couldn’t be truer in her case – when the man started showing the deep ingrained patriarchal side of his – something that her love for him had blinded her over the years.

She had often filed away his acrid remarks on her male friends as a sign of protection – if someone wasn’t good, that was perhaps true, as she trusted his judgment above all. But soon the consistency of his remarks, patterns beneath the comments and persistent side-tracking of her social life, was an inadmissible testimony of the sinister side to him.

She had heard these observations about her partner before – from near and dear ones who were forcibly not so near and dear anymore. She had started feeling isolated and suffocated too – all that was happy, seemed to be bared to the bones now: a chilling wake-up call to the reality. Her kohl ran down her cheeks as he sunk into the wells of despair.

She had even overlooked the 10 times she had been ‘slut-shamed’ by the educated man – she had forgiven it as part of his anger at the very infrequent fights – which soon started gaining momentum too , as she climbed up the corporate ladder.

It was in 2019 when she finally decided to put a lid on the deep-seated patriarchy. He had not only bared her raw in front of all her friends – calling her a ‘slut’ – for wearing a skirt too short and drinking till late into the night with her male friends – but had dragged her home, to dominate her to submission. The bruises and scars are still there – now a mark to celebrate her own self-awareness – a tattoo of her own indomitable spirit.

It was that night, that she left – to never look back again. As the shards of ‘respect’ lay scattered – she picked up the pieces of her broken self to file the much-needed FIR. The man was arrested – past text messages and accounts from her friends helped solidify her case against him.

Today, as she reflected on her journey – she felt secure in the comfort of her own skin. Her love-story was with her own self – whom she prided above all.

She called for the check and left. Walking into the sunshine, she could not feel anything but deep love for her own scars.

The Circle

This last week I had been watching a show - The Circle on Netflix. Initially was looking for a light watch - seeking primarily a 'comedy' experience. I felt this would be the classic American parody where you keep laughing at the American IQ level and feel good about yourself!

However, a couple of episodes down, I was addicted. To the sheer audacity of how the participants chose to be human.

Judging a book by its cover is wrong - and so is writing someone else's story. But what really leads to a strong bond is the impact of authenticity - how real one is, how honest and genuine one is to work on values of harmony, collaboration and togetherness and lastly how sincere one is to be true to those promises made.

What spun out, was a good old tale of bromance, friendship and the vow to have each other's back till the end. Flirts and flirtation was avoided - brains celebrated over beauty and a healthy bond instead between the genders.

It got me thinking - isn't that what we want too? In our personal and professional lives? Aren't these the values we stand for too?

Professionally speaking its difficult to find allies and friends at work place. Ego takes over. Perceptions are based on how you seem 'visible' and 'jovial' to all - basically people celebrate the 'shallow' over the 'real and deep'.

Its the world of deep-fakes then. Where courage does not assist one to open up and dare to be an open book. The bonds made then - would be just as shallow, right? And would they be worth it? Worth the energy and time wasted?

The Circle brought be back 360 degree to my own rooted values. The show was actually one of the multiple signs I had been greeted with this last month - on how vulnerability and authenticity guides you to the right kindred spirits.

On one hand, there are the twin horns of Resident Ego - the pallbearer of what is right that is subjective unto itself. Yet they feel it's their right ti impose their version of 'right' onto others. What I have realized that 'fakes' love conformity and the herd mentality - to follow the path only known to all and therefore be 'right' and never left out. Yet fakes must come across as intelligent too - so they try to play chess with their fake brains - trying to phish and pawn real people - so that their ego stands vindicated.

It's a tough world for the 'real' people then  - who seek the real deal and nothing less. Alliance with the 'fakes' seem to be a compromise.

On the other hand of my people spectrum, I have the genuine and sincere versions of hard-work, labor of love and the spirit of creativity that sparks bright and lights up others' world too. This tribe is made up of infinite possibilities - the do till you die attitude and scoff at all things shallow. Brings to mind, Howard Roark? No wonder, then , I have retreated back into reading Fountainhead for the second time - to only dig my deep roots deeper and vibe with the right tribe.

The Circle and my own current Circle make me realize the value of valor lies in affirming the boldness of truth ruthlessly - standing up for the entire tribe as one, sharing out loud the one story  in one voice and having each others' back all the way - until the very end.

'Fakes' are so shallow that they are rid with insecurities and constantly on the look-out for trouble - self-created for self or others for their sadistic delights. They lack confidence to hold their head high, facts to hold their spine upright and real gumption to stand in the crowd without sucking in their gut.

So long social conditioning had made us try to prioritize these fakes over the reals - as fakes were less trouble. But are they?

Are these social conditioning programs now breaking down? Are we slowly realizing our own worth and finding our own pack of wolves to carry us to the light? I suppose so. I clearly have found and nothing feels stronger than that dawn of awakening! 

Small town boy

The cave-man is often an allegory that is abused. When used, causes ruffles and ego hurts - however deep-down everyone knows the truth. Plato, in one of his theories, had brilliantly used the allegory to talk about the shackles of ignorance that blinds us from our 'goodness purpose'

All that is great - if the cave-man inside is a beast that reduces your consciousness to mere dot instead of being the infinity unto itself. Instead of the Pygmalion effect - the cave-man causes the corollary - the famous (or infamous) Goleth effect.

Now, why would I delving deep into the cave-man today? Its my food for thought for today - something I'd been avoiding for the last 8 years

Perceptions - or the trap of it - causes you to close your eyes willingly to the signs that stand out blatantly - for you to acknowledge if not pay heed to.

You meet someone - eyes and mind glaze over by suaveness. The concept of 'man' gains a new definition and form. With every passing year, you find the magnitude of thoughts expound in magnanimity of his being - you wonder what you did to earn such luck!

His words glide through - a smokescreen to the craggy hemisphere. His mannerisms engulf - and finally suffuse. His demeanor so gentlemanly - yet finally unearthly!

When you flow into the comfort zone, you will yourself to cross the tepid waters to be yourself - un-peeling all your layers - to reveal the self made of simplicity. You gall yourself to face him - with a face devoid of make-up and naked eyes kohl-unlined. It takes courage to show the true self - made of nothing but a wonderment of being and exploring. The concept of togetherness gains harmony - regains trust.

The child in you finds faith in the innocence - the hand you hold assures you of the safe path ahead. You find shelter and security in the broad shoulders - the musk of the cologne familiar yet so fresh. Life is a refreshing concept again - livable once more.

Cheeks aflush, eyes rosy - the future looks bright in the tinted glasses.

Then you see the cracks. When what you supposed as normal in your growing up days - suddenly gets questioned. Suddenly there is a barrage of words - garbage akin they fall on you. Instead of rosy petals - you find yourself shrouded with the fallen leaves.

The naked truth finally glares at your face - while you stare at the perfect picture torn into pieces.

You're labelled the most common word in the dictionary - which all insecure men reserve for their women - when threatened. You find that label then suddenly defining your self worth and life.

Every day then just drags on. The cave-man has revealed its true beastly form - he is made of violence, putrid fury and insecurity. He lashes out at the woman. He strikes her and labels her some more.

Finally when he reaches out to her kids in the same fury - she snaps finally!

She decides that she has no time for the cave-man. The 8 years were the black-hole of energy, space and time.

She sees through his facade - and his charade to be the metro man. Despite years of education, degrees and almost 2 decades of work experience - he is at heart, a small town boy : insecure of the city girl and her ways.

His face then permanently remains etched in her memory with a sneer. His presence becomes a  jeer unto itself. He fades away - as she takes strides away from him. Because she is the city girl "made of bold" - no time for the "old"

She feels nothing but pity for him and hurt at the lost time. Yet, through it all she has learned. The mental checklist has emerged and the coolness to nerves has been restored.

Inkaar!

Inkaar is a movie that has run parallel to my life. The plot is the pallbearer of #METOO perhaps. I had seen it once, at a happier time of my life - and yet again now when life has taken  180 degree turn.



The film brought to life, emotions forcibly suppressed. The music had the eerie tones of faded nostalgia. Familiar tears pricked eyes - the sea-salt taste merged with the bitterness of being.

We all chase the eternal concept of love - to last a lifetime. Yet certain actions reduce it to ephemeral. The romance is perhaps is in the chase then.

What if burnt expectations and lost dreams, twist the deep-seated love into pure hatred? Does hatred consume you? When is the moment that you realize that its not you, but your id suffused with hatred - that has given your voice a hard edge and your demeanor the sharpness?

The film roves through the bitter-sweet journey of love's labor lost and words chosen to be unsaid. Instead actions that spoke louder than words - were enough to push each other away. Yet, the underlined reasoning was basis the purity of emotions.

Question therefore, in the turbulence of life - when all is distant and self -access is remote too - lost in the virtual threads of the many realities we wade through each - is it possible to subvert hatred into its pure form of love?

Are they really the two sides of the same coin?
Can they exist without each other? And what about with each other?
What if the hatred is too deep to let go - yet your entire being cries for its release?

What really is the path to light? 

Jai Shri Mere Ram

जय श्री मेरे राम

मंदिर की अब लेके मांग

जोर से बोलो जय श्री राम

अब हो के रहेगा ये संग्राम

हर ईंट पे लिख दो जय श्री राम

रोके कोई तो लो गर्दन थाम

राम राज्य का करो ऐलान

हाथ में भाला हो या बाण

दुश्मन का न बचे निशान

दूजे धर्म के लोग हराम

बस कर दो उनका काम तमाम

हर योगी अब परशुराम

ले लो कुर्सी और बनो प्रधान

पर मेरे राम का क्यों लेते हो नाम

ये पाप न धुलेंगे चारो धाम

स्वयं कहेंगे मेरे राम

ना "तुम" मुझको करो प्रणाम

करते हो तुम ऐसे काम

लगते हो रावण संतान

कितने भिन्न है अपने राम

लगते नहीं है एक समान

कृपा सिंधु थे मेरे राम

और आपके मांगे किसकी जान ?

कबीर तुलसी उन्हें करे प्रणाम

राम कथा का देते ज्ञान

पल में छोड़ा राजा का मान

सौतेली माता का सम्मान

क्यों छोड़ा अपना जन्मस्थान ?

क्यों ना किया युद्ध ऐलान ?

वचन पूर्ति में दिया बलिदान

वनवासित हो गए मेरे राम

केवट शबरी एक सामान

भेद न वानर ना इंसान

दुश्मन का भी हो सम्मान

लक्ष्मण को वो देते ज्ञान

हर मर्यादा का सम्मान

इसीलिए पुरषोत्तम मेरे राम

आपको कब समझेंगे मेरे राम

ये ना इतना आसान काम

पहल द्वेष को लगे लगाम

क्रोध को दो थोड़ा विश्राम

व्यर्थ है मंदिर की ये मांग

जब तक ना समझे मेरे राम

मंदिर बांधो या गुरुधाम

गिरा के मस्जिद बनो बलवान

पर ना करना दुष्टों का काम

लगा के नारे जय श्री राम

जब दिल में बस जाए मेरे राम

तब कहलाओ तुम हनुमान

परम भक्ति का वो है मान

तब तुम कहना जय श्री राम

जब तुम पाओगे मेरे राम

लब  पर होगी एक मुस्कान

शांत चित्त से हम करे प्रणाम

नारा नहीं पर भजन समान

रघुपति राघव राजा राम

पतित पावन सीता राम.

Gunahgaar - The Guilty

कभी दिन ढले उसे मेरी कब्र पर देख कर, मुझे ये डर सा लगता है

की कहीं आज वो पुराने उसी हिसाब की बात ना कर दे

हिसाब तो आज भी काफी बाकी है उसके एहसानों का,

कहीं आज उन एहसानों का बोझ हमे पराया ना कर दे

उन एहसानों का कहाँ मुझपर कोई भार था,

 क्यूंकि हरेक एहसान तोह बस एक मुक्तलिफ़ सा औजार था

कुछ एहसान तो शायद चुकाए भी थे मैंने,

पर इश्क़ कहाँ एहसानों का बाजार था?

खौफ तो है उन ज़ख्मों का जो जाने अनजाने में कुछ उधार से रह गए,

जब दरिया -ए - जिंदगी के सैलाबों में हम कुछ लाचार से रह गए

कयामत के इन्साफ का तो पता नहीं है यारों,

पर उसकी नादान नज़रों में हम गुनेहगार से रह गए

क्या उन ज़ख्मों की याद नहीं आती होगी उसको,

क्या ये कब्र उनकी याद नहीं दिलाती होगी उसको

मौत में भी सुकून ना पाया हमने यारों,

पर क्या वही बात आज भी रुलाती होगी उसको

दरिया -ऐ -दिल है उसका यह तो मैं भी जानता हूँ,

वक़्त एक तिलस्मी मरहम है यह मैं भी मानता हूँ

भूल गई होगी शायद वो उन आंसुओं का दर्द,

पर उस हरेक आंसू की कीमत तो मैं ही जानता हूँ

बड़ी हसरतों से हमने ये एक आशियाँ बनाया था

हरेक ख़्वाब को पिरो के ये मकान सजाया था

रह गयी दरारें मेरी गलतियों की इन दीवारों में काफी

पर हरेक दरार को उसने झरोखा मान के अपनाया था

चलो खैर - इन सिलसिलों को हुए ज़माना भी गया बीत

रिश्ता ये मजबूत सब उलझनों से गया जीत

मशगूल हम तो हो गए ज़िन्दगी की लहर में

आज के हर हमले से मेरा कल होता गया अतीत

इस मुकम्मल मेरे रिश्ते की एक दिलकश सी वजह है

हर अँधेरे की रौशनी है वह, वह मेरी सुबह है

पर फिर भी कभी दिन ढले उसे मेरी कब्र पर देख कर लगता है

उन गुनाहों से क्या मेरी ये रूह रिहा है?

Folklore Retold

<Inspired by a true incident>



August 15th , 2017. "Dry day in all senses - blistering weather outside and no scope of buying my booze for the night. How will I live through another night without my placebo boosters? Why did I not think of stocking up?", thought Aman - furious at his own callousness.

He looked at his watch - FitBit Charge - given by his sister on Rakhi, to mark yet another year of the virtuous cycle of sibling rivalry. Aman's sister, Preeti, of a calm mind and a calmer disposition - had got it together early in life. Signs of her life's stability, had been evidenced early in their teenage years, through the cleverly organized desk. Her life redefined and justified her nomenclature.

On the other hand, Aman's life was very distant from the true meaning of his name. "How ironic!" he used to think, sarcastically to himself - on moments when after 3 pegs of his favorite Scotch liquor, he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity. He did so, also to escape the daily nightmares of murder and deceit that he kept seeing - of faceless strangers, yet so familiar.

It was 5 mins past 6 am, when Aman had looked into his watch and thought that surprisingly he had woken up before his alarm, scheduled at 6.30 am. Nowadays, he had a motivational podcast as his alarm. His FitBit flashed a notification of the workshop he was due to attend - Family Constellation - as suggested by one of his office peers, to bring some "aman" into his life.

When Aman walked into the workshop venue, he was greeted by an eclectic mix of attendees. All seemed nervous - as if scared about what could be revealed. More women than men - not surprising again, Aman thought. Men may think this is too sissy.

The moderators had arrived and were helping to introduce the group to one another. That done, the overarching premise of Family Constellation was explained graphically and the possible impact discussed at great length.

Volunteers were called forth. Aman raised his hand - he liked being the first at most things in his life.
Confident in his stride, he walked over to the moderators and articulated his 'issue'.

"I am here as I seek to understand how to belong. I often find myself misplaced - or as a misfit in my family. Sometimes not loved enough, not respected enough or seen as a black sheep for the anarchic choices I may have made that had caused a rift in my family. Today, I want to understand what really has triggered this slight animosity towards me by my family members - for no fault of mine. Even though I am unfailingly courteous to everyone - even Tiny the Shi Tzu pup that my sister has adopted!"

Moderator 1 - "Aman, pick people whom you feel, can best represent you and your family members"

Aman selected 3 amongst the audience. The role play began - with dialogues flying back and forth.
Aman was close to his father but felt neglected by his mother. His parents' perfect harmony served as an anxiety to him - as it was unveiled that he himself wasnt able to hang on to his partner.

Aman sat at the corner - watching the role-play. His curiosity was abound - his eyes had a peculiar look. Suddenly from the audience, a woman stood up - "I feel wronged. I belong here. But I have been abused. I feel wronged. I need my justice!"

Silence descended in the room - like a heavy drape that dumbfounded the passive spectators. The woman got up - she was one among the group attending the workshop - however, the energy shift in the room affected her to play a different persona.

Moderator 2 asked her to take a position in the constellation formed. She went behind the man playing Aman and stood - clutching on to him. "This boy is mine!" she proclaimed. He gives me voice. He will avenge me.

Stunned, the real Aman looked on. "What was this folklore unfolding? Who is she?" he thought. Exact thoughts percolated the mind-spaces of all involved.

The woman then dragged the man playing Aman to behind his 'parents' - indicating that she was from a generation too many apart.

"I was abused here. No-one gave me my right. No-one claimed me. No-one made me feel belonged. I was murdered. I was hidden. My child taken away. My body thrown into the sea." the woman continued in a ghostly whisper - while the on-lookers peered on, at the spectacle unfolding - aghast at the possibility of a ghost's voice descending in the room.

It was spooky and yet riveting. It was like a Bollywood film - only too real to be ignored. Aman was stricken as a horrible thought struck him. "Is it...?" he kept thinking, frantically.

Suddenly another gentleman of medium build and a red face with teary eyes stood up. His tears streaked down his salt and pepper beard and matted the hair that lay plastered to his cheeks. He gave loud sniffs and quietly stole up beside the woman - again generations beyond.

"I am sorry. I had wronged you. I had to let you go. No-one knew about us. Yet I had so wanted others to know our love story." the sobbing man continued.

"Why?!" the woman screamed out. "Why was I the victim of your hypocrisy then? Why not Sharda? Why not your younger brother, Suman?" she railed.

"Oh my god. It's true!" Aman thought. "The family folklore was true. There really was a second marriage and a murder in my family!"

The sobbing man continued to beg forgiveness. "I am sorry, my love. It wasn't meant to be this way. I had to keep you a secret. We married when we were young and then you had a bonny boy. But I never had the courage to defy my Babuji, who already had selected a bride for me. I had to marry her. Sharda was very innocent. Your boy..our boy .. now is a grown up man with his own family. A grandfather too. I watch over him...he had to go.. he was the symbol of our secret.."

"Why did you murder me? Why did you take my child away?" the woman screamed - her agony apparent.

The real Aman, sitting in the audience, marveled at the participant's enactment. It wasn't acting - he was sure. These were quiet and buried family secrets - never to see the daylight.

"I did not. My brother did... he had to protect the family honor.." the man, whispered.

Moderator 1 stepped in. "I think its clear what is happening..her soul needs to be honored.. " So let's all pray ....

"Wow" thought Aman. "What was she trying to tell me all this while then? She was then never truly at peace. She wanted me to enable her to hear a confession - that she deserved. Did she get her peace? The adage is so true - "age deserves honor!" ...

And suddenly Aman felt that a great weight shifted from his shoulders. He felt lighter - the everyday headache that he grown immune too - suddenly disappeared. He felt a hand caress his head lovingly - and the woman beside him enacting the aggrieved soul - whispering to him -"darling boy.. thank-you. I had known that you would help me. You are free now. Go live your life. I'll watch over you.."

CANDLES

This is Eva Mozes Kors. She was one of the Auschwitz twins, who survived the Holocaust and the twin experiments by Mengele. I had read about her earlier, when she gave an impassioned speech , as CANDLES founder - where she preached on the value of love and kindness out-witting human folly of hatred, negativity and treachery. Now she is dead - but her legacy lives on. 

I had first read about the twins experiment in a Mauve Binchy's book - the gruesome details shocked, saddened and yet enraptured. Mainly because the details seemed so inhuman. Nazism and I suppose other forms of insanity the world over - are quite the permanent and ever growing footprints of human inhumanity. 

Eva had written and spoken extensively  about , how she had been taken captive by the Nazis on the basis of the Jew bias - her family, sans her twin, were put into gas chambers. She and her twin, Miriam, suffered the brutality of the experiments - where they were injected different germs and hormones as Nazis sought to 'create' the superior race in the world. 

Luckily, one night both escaped - as the camp was liberated by the Soviet army. Her mothers friend helped take charge of both - finally enabling them to live a 'normal' life. 

Miriam however, was in Austria, while Eva had to make the long journey to USA - where she made her new life. Later in life, Eva suffered numerous miscarriages as a result of her treatment in the camp. When she did have a child, she developed cancer. She also developed tuberculosis. Miriam had kidney problems because her kidneys never fully developed. Eva gave one of her kidneys to Miriam, saying: "I have one sister and two kidneys". Miriam died of kidney cancer.

It was in 1984, that Eva founded CANDLES - where she helped bring to light the gruesome experiments. Till then, the knowledge had not been out in the open / accepted by people the world over. With that she proclaimed, that even when she was tortured, she kept the values of forgiveness, love and kindness, at heart - beseeching the Nazi guards who even injected her arm full of unknown elements. 

CANDLES became the hallmark of a virtuous cycle - to forgive and understand. That was Eva's legacy. 

Very few of us, practice this. There is an inherent quality in most, to negate, resist and attempt to fade out the 'goodness' of life. 

Even in our day to day dealings with people, where most of us are so pathetically transactional - we forget that one day - way back in the past - we must have been taught these values in school. When and where did we lose touch and sight of these values - is unbeknownst and a shame!

Today, Eva came to my mind. Today, my best birthday present from my SO was realization of the lost values and the need to refresh my belief system too - along the way. 

In our struggle to live a 'normal' life - we forget the core / root / base that anchors us. We look at the green vales, blue skies and the gold of the luxurious life - forgetting the labor of love, that went behind such creation. 

Its funny - how in our mundane relationships- we forget the smallest of smiles - as a token of appreciation, value and love. We are perhaps, scared to show the love to others - which we know we have, locked deep in our hearts - afraid to let that shine out. We disarm love to be defenceless, powerless and therefore fruitless. 

I believe, that every day, we must make that attempt to simply smile. At others who smile at us. Thank others who help us. Be empathetic to people who may not seem to have heard us.  And above all, love the real people in our lives with the integral values of love, kindness, respect and unconditionality.

Hail eva!!

Umut

Lately, I am quite addicted to Turkish Dramas. It all started with Fatmagul. The next one to stir my conscience was Kordugum - Turkish for "Intersection"



Predictable yet unpredictable in its flow and plot -  Intersection gave me sleepless nights, puffy eyes and red eyes - as each episode kept me up till late nights.

It all starts with a marriage on the rocks and the woman fatefully meets Ali Nejat. Love does not have its usual trajectory - there is no high point of passion shown : rather the delectable and shadowy bonds of the human mind.

At the heart of the plot is a little boy, who's destiny lets him to leads him to tread un-chartered waters everyday - as he tries to make sense of his reality. The drama unfolds the bond of a new father with a son he had been unaware of - as well as explore the intricacies of the human expectations across relationships.

Why this particular piece is titled Umut is because the character seemed very similar to a personal episode. Umut is a typical man we may come across everyday - seemingly frustrated with the lack of direction in his own life, perpetrator of a rocky marriage, suspicious and jealous of his partner. Interestingly Umut is Turkish for "hope" - however, life paints him quite, hopeless.

He comes across as a personality who keeps shouting, throwing things around, being volatile and the kind who fails to use his ears properly. He is the victim of his own insensibility.

In the end, the protagonist decides to leave him - as he with one blow ends their "hopes" for a future (Naz has a miscarriage, following a fight with Umut when he pushes her and she falls losing her balance).

To me the series was an epiphany - a particular toxicity lives, witnessed live on screen. I have realized, no matter how "open", progressive or broad minded men could be about many spheres of life - yet, when it comes to the fundamentals of a relationship, roots speak for themselves. A tier 2 man will forever be stuck in his origin story.

Despite the professional or corporate progressive attitude, if the mind of the man is stuck behind - "who is she talking to, she is a slut, she cannot be trusted.." - sadly, it speaks of the regressive character and mindset behind that so-called evolved mental make-up.

A man like this believes that 'slut shaming' would somehow be destructive and even moralistic - may also stretch his imagination to believe that the upbringing was faulty or the school lacked suitable moral science lectures. So this kind of a man- spearheads mankind - in his dexterous and arduous attempt at correction and correlation.

A man like this would also love to blame the woman for everything - feeding off on her insecurity and elevating it to a fever pitch so that she coils around him. And when the coil becomes a recoil - he automatically moves on to the offensive - attacking with spite and a few chosen words that enact his chiseled intelligence.

Take for instance, a particular issue the woman might seek his guidance on or merely a listener-ship if nothing else. The man is the self-appointed ruler of the moralistic kingdom and instead of being a friend becomes the soothsayer - all eventualities pointing unfairly and unfavorably in the woman's direction.

This kind of a man comes from his own set of superiority values - he believes he is above all though he lives under his own faux pas of inequality. Specially in a relationship, this man becomes the God - worships his own way of the world and seeks deference or fear in place of unrequited love.

Wonder what is really the "Umut" for such Umuts?!