Rina was taking care of our house, even before I got married. The transition was so natural that it did not matter to me at all that Rina (our maid) faces west when she prays to God and I face east for the same. She celebrates Eid with fire crackers and sweets; I do the same at Diwali. She has named her daughter Aarti because someone she trusts, gave her that name. It doesn’t bother her that people judge her or her daughter by the religious connotations attached to the said name.
But being hired as a maid is difficult. it is not difficult because of Police verification or lack of employment opportunities.It has several other factors to it. Infact, my recent visit to beauty parlor was a real eye-opener about employment of maid in any household. It was interesting to know what goes in the mind of a woman when she decides to hire a helping hand. Unknowingly I became witness to one such conversation going on in the parlor during my beauty therapy session.
I was not new to this particular subject of conversation, but I never bothered to listen to others. But this time the conservationists almost pulled me in to lend an attentive ear to peep into their world.
The main body of conversation was around the qualification of the maid to be hired. Religion and caste were being the first criteria to choose a maid (as if maids are available in plenty). Being born to a set of parents who belonged to a certain race can either hamper or improve chances of employment as a helping hand in a household, was a very new view of life to me. Also different ways of praying to go God is also a big factor influencing chances to get work in different households. At times belonging to a certain caste or following a particular path to reach to God is the only make or break reason to hire a maid or servant. A Bangladeshi maid was more than welcome, because she spoke their language and prayed to God the way they approved of. But our own country woman was not welcome, since she has different schedule of fasting than what they followed.
I always thought that clean crime-free background, Police verification, good knowledge of household work, cleanliness, culinary skills, etiquette, being responsible, affordable and more such factors were to be looked into before hiring a helping hand. So this revelation was an eye-opener for me that caste and religion comes much above for people, especially women.
When I got a micro-level view of the situation, it was even more interesting. Once the helping hand is hired, the work delegated is again also as per the casteism qualification. She will not enter kitchen, she will only help in food preparations and not cook the meal. She will not enter the in-house mandir, she will not clean the toilet, or touch the toilet seat, She is only for cooking and will not touch other stuff at home, etc.
What comes first is not whether the person is capable of doing the particular job or not, it’s their caste, religion that matters the most. Discrimination, which starts at our own house, is the discrimination, which discriminates us among our own people; in the name of Religion and Caste.
Are you also discriminating with human beings at some level?
Friday, February 11, 2011
It happened on a weekend
It happened on a weekend:
My husband had to got to Simla for a business trip for 2 days. As it was a weekend and I was by chance not working on that particular weekend, we planned to go together. We got our Volvo tickets done from ISBT, Delhi and reached there before time (I mean 2 hours before). It was too humid to even explain and too hot to even remember. Also waiting at the Bus stand in all kind of noises and finding a place to sit was a nightmare. My husband managed to find a suitable space for me where I could sit and at times take small naps too. As I got a place to sit, he went to fetch something to eat (I mean chocolates for me). This was the time when I had to be wide awake to take care of our luggage. So, I was looking all around to safe guard the luggage.
I noticed there were beggars all around asking for money, for food, even asking for what I was about to put in my mouth. I ignored as always. I, kind of do not believe in giving money to beggars except on Saturdays (You know what I mean).
But as my habit of studying peoples' body language and mannerisms goes; I kept on looking at the people around (beggars included).
Unknowingly, I put my eyes on a beggar who was far off and was of course begging. He was a young man who did not have any legs. He was pushing his cart by his hands. Dressed in a light-yellow shirt, sleeves folded up till elbow. he was wearing a Coudruoy pant of tan colour. I started following him wherever he was going, he was begging, but there was a dignity in his buying. He would push himself on his cart, reach to people standing, pull the crease of their pants and look into their eyes. Because there were a lot of beggars, so some would give him money, someone won't.
This young beggar looked different from others. To me he didn't seem to be brought up on streets. He was different and that is why, may be, he caught my attention.
Why is he begging, where is he from. who are his family? I was busy creating different stories in my head about him which made me lose track of him. He was nowhere in my sight. I tried to look for him but could not trace him. And it took away my interesting time-pass from me. I again went back to my half-asleep-half-awake mode. But this young boy was still running in my head (without limbs).
As a sense of insecurity creeped in for my luggage I opened my tired eyes and looked around for my luggage. To my surprise, a pair of soulful eyes were looking at me. They belonged to the same man I have been talking about. His face, his features, his body language, and moreover his eyes, all did not look like they belonged to a street beggar.
Well...I pulled myself out of these chain of thoughts and searched for money pocket of my hand bag. I pulled out a 10 Rupee note and gave it to him. He took the note without even seeing at what I have given to him.
As he put his eyes on that 10 Rupee note, an instant but dignified smile brightened up his face and he looked at me smiling. As if nobody has never done that for him. I smiled back too. His smile filled me with contentment. He went away leaving behind a gaze so full of hope, dreams, unconditional love and a stress-free sight.
He gave me what I could never buy spending lacs of Rupees. A moment of peace, an experience of satisfaction, an evening of making difference in its own way.
We missed our bus somehow that evening. And my husband was almost in tears, as he wanted to take me to Simla for a long time. We came back home. He left for Simla the next day. I was alone, back home. But was not upset (for the first time for anything not working as per the plan).
What I could not have got going to any hill station, I got at that bus stand.
I can never forget those eyes. They become alive whenever I close my eyes in any moment of stress, anxiety and pressure.
Thank you young man.
Your soulful eyes brought me close to myself. Close to who I am.
I will be looking for you next time I go to that bus stand.
My husband had to got to Simla for a business trip for 2 days. As it was a weekend and I was by chance not working on that particular weekend, we planned to go together. We got our Volvo tickets done from ISBT, Delhi and reached there before time (I mean 2 hours before). It was too humid to even explain and too hot to even remember. Also waiting at the Bus stand in all kind of noises and finding a place to sit was a nightmare. My husband managed to find a suitable space for me where I could sit and at times take small naps too. As I got a place to sit, he went to fetch something to eat (I mean chocolates for me). This was the time when I had to be wide awake to take care of our luggage. So, I was looking all around to safe guard the luggage.
I noticed there were beggars all around asking for money, for food, even asking for what I was about to put in my mouth. I ignored as always. I, kind of do not believe in giving money to beggars except on Saturdays (You know what I mean).
But as my habit of studying peoples' body language and mannerisms goes; I kept on looking at the people around (beggars included).
Unknowingly, I put my eyes on a beggar who was far off and was of course begging. He was a young man who did not have any legs. He was pushing his cart by his hands. Dressed in a light-yellow shirt, sleeves folded up till elbow. he was wearing a Coudruoy pant of tan colour. I started following him wherever he was going, he was begging, but there was a dignity in his buying. He would push himself on his cart, reach to people standing, pull the crease of their pants and look into their eyes. Because there were a lot of beggars, so some would give him money, someone won't.
This young beggar looked different from others. To me he didn't seem to be brought up on streets. He was different and that is why, may be, he caught my attention.
Why is he begging, where is he from. who are his family? I was busy creating different stories in my head about him which made me lose track of him. He was nowhere in my sight. I tried to look for him but could not trace him. And it took away my interesting time-pass from me. I again went back to my half-asleep-half-awake mode. But this young boy was still running in my head (without limbs).
As a sense of insecurity creeped in for my luggage I opened my tired eyes and looked around for my luggage. To my surprise, a pair of soulful eyes were looking at me. They belonged to the same man I have been talking about. His face, his features, his body language, and moreover his eyes, all did not look like they belonged to a street beggar.
Well...I pulled myself out of these chain of thoughts and searched for money pocket of my hand bag. I pulled out a 10 Rupee note and gave it to him. He took the note without even seeing at what I have given to him.
As he put his eyes on that 10 Rupee note, an instant but dignified smile brightened up his face and he looked at me smiling. As if nobody has never done that for him. I smiled back too. His smile filled me with contentment. He went away leaving behind a gaze so full of hope, dreams, unconditional love and a stress-free sight.
He gave me what I could never buy spending lacs of Rupees. A moment of peace, an experience of satisfaction, an evening of making difference in its own way.
We missed our bus somehow that evening. And my husband was almost in tears, as he wanted to take me to Simla for a long time. We came back home. He left for Simla the next day. I was alone, back home. But was not upset (for the first time for anything not working as per the plan).
What I could not have got going to any hill station, I got at that bus stand.
I can never forget those eyes. They become alive whenever I close my eyes in any moment of stress, anxiety and pressure.
Thank you young man.
Your soulful eyes brought me close to myself. Close to who I am.
I will be looking for you next time I go to that bus stand.
Missing you :(
He is traveling, and I am missing him a lot.
Every breathe seems stuck somewhere, every minute is so long.
My work is my passion, never realized, how quietly, he replaced my passion by "himself" and made me passionate about him.
His love, his care, his arms around me, his forgetfulness, his stupidities, his intellectual talks, our small fights, his walking bare foot in the house, his crazy love for Rice, his smile, he insisting me to watch those English flicks (which I resist all the time) Uff.... all is missed by me with every passing moment.
He has created a vacuum in me, which only he can fill.
I miss you Babu....
भूले भूलती नही
बस साया-सा साथ चलती रहती हैं
आंखों की नमी कभी
कभी साँस -सी साथ चलती रहती है
तुम्हारी याद
कभी ख़त्म नही होती
बस एक...और एक...और एक...
जुड़ती-सी रहती है
सर्दी में आग हो जैसे
कोहरे के पार देखने की चाह हो जैसे
गुड की डली-सी मुह में घुल जाए जैसे
तुम्हरी याद...
उफ़!! तुम्हारी हथेली की गर्माहट जैसी
सूखे पत्तों की आवाज़-सी
बेरंग घास-सी
रूठी हुई फिजा हो जैसे
तुम्हारी याद...
मटमैला आसमान हो जैसे
कड़ी धुप में तपती अंतहीन सड़क-सी
पानी की बे-इन्तेहा तड़प-सी
सूखे होठो पर लावारिस मुस्कान हो जैसे
तुम्हारी याद...
मुझसे ही परेशान हो जैसे
इन्द्रधनुष-सी सतरंगी
महकी-महकी, चहकी-चहकी
एक नई स्फूर्ती का आलींगन
तुम्हारी याद...
मुझ में भर देती है हर पल नया जीवन
हर मौसम में नया रंग दिखाती है
मुझे भी समय के साथ ढलना सिखाती है
तुम्हारी याद...
तुमसे अच्छी तो तुम्हरी याद है
तुम नही आते
पर तुम्हारी याद बहुत आती है
The best drive of my life :)
Driving, it seems gives him a high (as he abstains himself from any other consumable which can give him a high). He would drive with confidence, he would drive fast, and he would drive safe too, at times not so safe also. But he would drive the way he wants. We have a major crack on the front glass of the car: courtesy his driving. The speed breakers, the pits, the humps, all ceases to exist for him, the moment he is on the road (ofcourse driving). Concerning his safety and the fellow travelers safety (including me) I was forced to discuss this with him, but he always had his arguments ready to fight it. His office started talking about how fast he drives and it’s unsafe, but he would‘t listen. It made me feel as if he has stopped listening to me, or may be my word doesn’t make a difference to him anymore. I decided within myself not to talk bring this issue anymore in between our conversations, as it was leaving bitter taste in our mouths.
And then a week back…I woke up to extreme pain in my body, I could not walk straight, I had a swollen feet, I have lost my strength even to scream out of pain or cry. He wanted to drive me to the doctor. And, I was scared of the jumping car on bumpy Delhi roads, since even a single jerk was unbearable for me. But as I saw my pain in his eyes, I decided to go to the doctor.
As if I was walking on clouds. He seemed to have gained far sightedness, amazingly gazing every pit, turn, depression on the road, hump much before we reached that point. To my disbelief, he was driving at a speed he didn’t know even existed. Our small car (with average shockers) was almost sailing in a quite sea. And before and after every smallest of jerk caused, he would look at me with apologizing eyes and love twinkling there.
I have still not recovered yet and he is still driving safe, slow, smooth….only for me. Touchwood!!
Driving: After effects :)
I have fallen in love with him again.
And then a week back…I woke up to extreme pain in my body, I could not walk straight, I had a swollen feet, I have lost my strength even to scream out of pain or cry. He wanted to drive me to the doctor. And, I was scared of the jumping car on bumpy Delhi roads, since even a single jerk was unbearable for me. But as I saw my pain in his eyes, I decided to go to the doctor.
As if I was walking on clouds. He seemed to have gained far sightedness, amazingly gazing every pit, turn, depression on the road, hump much before we reached that point. To my disbelief, he was driving at a speed he didn’t know even existed. Our small car (with average shockers) was almost sailing in a quite sea. And before and after every smallest of jerk caused, he would look at me with apologizing eyes and love twinkling there.
I have still not recovered yet and he is still driving safe, slow, smooth….only for me. Touchwood!!
Driving: After effects :)
I have fallen in love with him again.
zindagi yun hui basar tanha
Its been a year....since I got married. At times it seems, so much of time has passed, at times it seems...'Just Married'....mixed feelings, mix of emotions, so much of mixing that I start doubting my judgement at times, sometimes I am confused...but most of the times....I am in a state of mind where I know nothing matters more than my sanity in this new found relationship in my life called "Marriage" or shall I say Marriage: After effects
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Acknowledging romance
For quite some time I have been feeling as if romance is non-existent in my life. But before zeroing in on this feeling, I wanted to do reality check. So I started my journey in reverse gear.
Being infected by Raj Kapoor-Nargis movie romance in early childhood, Guru Dutt style shadow romance and Jagjit Singhs’ ghazal flowing in my veins, I already had my frame of romance fixed in front of me in my teens. I refused to delete this frame even in my twenties. And thirty today is new twenty.
Enter Harsh Vardhan Singh Rana. Very blunt, he cracks rude jokes but amazing sense of humour. Heart of Gold (now I know, then I didn’t).
He stood by me when I needed votes to prove my point in a fiery discussion with a friend concerning “To be fearful of God or not”. I am not gonna discuss it here. (Marriage makes your faith in God stronger day by day. You know what I mean). That day I got to know that he is also God loving, not God fearing, that we have similar beliefs. I never acknowledged, but yes for me that moment was romantic.
I didn’t feel the romance when he sat in my car that evening and said, “I will drop you home” and came back 18 Kms walking in the middle of the night. I actually felt bad for the poor guy, but refused to see the romance there. It wasn’t a part of my FRAME. But today I know it was very romantic.
I never thought of it or expected that he will ask me for a date. He anyways is very different from regular guys. Of course I was shocked when he asked me “Can I take you out for dinner tonight?” I refused to even acknowledge it as a dinner date. Because it wasn’t in that special way as I always dreamt of. I wasn’t dressed my best, I was smelling like an office file and we had very little time in hand. But the way he made me feel special, despite of all this, was very special, very romantic.
I wanted that moment to be very special when The person says I love you.
I forced him to be my salsa dance partner. And during a class, when I was practicing my steps with him chanting 123 567, in the same flow he said I love you-I love you. Not giving me any time to react and didn’t even let me miss my step. That was romantic.
He never proposed me in style (You know what I mean, flowers, ring, romantic place, etc).
In fact he never proposed me. We were going back to our respective places, he had kick start is bike, when he said, “haan to shaadi kar lete hai. Mummy nahi manengi, par koi baat nahi. Mridula Harshvardhan achchha lagega. So decided we are getting married.” And he left me standstill. Nothing romantic about it, but today I use his name as my last name, as he suggested. This is romance.
He doesn’t like to get wet in rain. And thats the 1st thing I can think of when its raining. There is a big NO from him whenever I want to get wet in rain. But that evening, he said, “Okay, Go, Get drenched, achchhi barish ho rahi hai”. And he kept looking at me standing there. That rain was special, that moment was romantic.
In all these unromantic situations, where I found my unusual romance, my vintage frame got lost somewhere. I am happy to lose it. Because now I have the freedom to create my own romantic moments. Harsh in his unique style, but unknowingly have deleted the frame from my thought process.
But I still love it when Guru Dutt-Mala Sinha moves like a dream and sing “ Hum aapki aankhon mein, iss dil ko basa dein to”. When Shammi Kapoor- Sharmila tagore sings “Isharon-isharon mein dil lene wale”. Or when Bharat Bhushan is singing remembering Madhubala “Zindagi bhar nahi bhoolegi wo barsat ki raat, ek anjan haseena se mulaqat ki raat”. And when he and I sing," Rimjhim gire sawan, sulag-sulag jaye mann"
There are times when I don’t see what is there, because I am too busy chasing what I want. But I want to stop and feel the rain, smell my old diary pages, write a few more poetries, acknowledge more people in my life.
Today I stopped to do what I wanted to do. Acknowledging romance in my life.
Acknowledgment series part 1.
Being infected by Raj Kapoor-Nargis movie romance in early childhood, Guru Dutt style shadow romance and Jagjit Singhs’ ghazal flowing in my veins, I already had my frame of romance fixed in front of me in my teens. I refused to delete this frame even in my twenties. And thirty today is new twenty.
Enter Harsh Vardhan Singh Rana. Very blunt, he cracks rude jokes but amazing sense of humour. Heart of Gold (now I know, then I didn’t).
He stood by me when I needed votes to prove my point in a fiery discussion with a friend concerning “To be fearful of God or not”. I am not gonna discuss it here. (Marriage makes your faith in God stronger day by day. You know what I mean). That day I got to know that he is also God loving, not God fearing, that we have similar beliefs. I never acknowledged, but yes for me that moment was romantic.
I didn’t feel the romance when he sat in my car that evening and said, “I will drop you home” and came back 18 Kms walking in the middle of the night. I actually felt bad for the poor guy, but refused to see the romance there. It wasn’t a part of my FRAME. But today I know it was very romantic.
I never thought of it or expected that he will ask me for a date. He anyways is very different from regular guys. Of course I was shocked when he asked me “Can I take you out for dinner tonight?” I refused to even acknowledge it as a dinner date. Because it wasn’t in that special way as I always dreamt of. I wasn’t dressed my best, I was smelling like an office file and we had very little time in hand. But the way he made me feel special, despite of all this, was very special, very romantic.
I wanted that moment to be very special when The person says I love you.
I forced him to be my salsa dance partner. And during a class, when I was practicing my steps with him chanting 123 567, in the same flow he said I love you-I love you. Not giving me any time to react and didn’t even let me miss my step. That was romantic.
He never proposed me in style (You know what I mean, flowers, ring, romantic place, etc).
In fact he never proposed me. We were going back to our respective places, he had kick start is bike, when he said, “haan to shaadi kar lete hai. Mummy nahi manengi, par koi baat nahi. Mridula Harshvardhan achchha lagega. So decided we are getting married.” And he left me standstill. Nothing romantic about it, but today I use his name as my last name, as he suggested. This is romance.
He doesn’t like to get wet in rain. And thats the 1st thing I can think of when its raining. There is a big NO from him whenever I want to get wet in rain. But that evening, he said, “Okay, Go, Get drenched, achchhi barish ho rahi hai”. And he kept looking at me standing there. That rain was special, that moment was romantic.
In all these unromantic situations, where I found my unusual romance, my vintage frame got lost somewhere. I am happy to lose it. Because now I have the freedom to create my own romantic moments. Harsh in his unique style, but unknowingly have deleted the frame from my thought process.
But I still love it when Guru Dutt-Mala Sinha moves like a dream and sing “ Hum aapki aankhon mein, iss dil ko basa dein to”. When Shammi Kapoor- Sharmila tagore sings “Isharon-isharon mein dil lene wale”. Or when Bharat Bhushan is singing remembering Madhubala “Zindagi bhar nahi bhoolegi wo barsat ki raat, ek anjan haseena se mulaqat ki raat”. And when he and I sing," Rimjhim gire sawan, sulag-sulag jaye mann"
There are times when I don’t see what is there, because I am too busy chasing what I want. But I want to stop and feel the rain, smell my old diary pages, write a few more poetries, acknowledge more people in my life.
Today I stopped to do what I wanted to do. Acknowledging romance in my life.
Acknowledgment series part 1.
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