Republic Day Pride

Like any other urban Indian student, Republic Day for me was like any other National Holiday. No school, Sleeping in till late and then hearing my father’s story about his time as a Sea-Cadet. The March past in New Delhi that he almost made to and how his friend lost the concessions form of the Railways and how he missed his chance to attend this prestigious moment of his life. My husband Kunal on the other hand, like any other geeky teenager sat glued to the television. Watched the Parade live on Doordarshan and marveled on India’s military prowess.

 I often say this, We are destiny’s Children. The astrological powers in our kundli had our fates written. A Friend’s father Is the current Minister of Law and Justice of India, the honorable Shri D. V. Sadanand Gowda. He has handled various portfolios, including the Chief Minister of Karnataka and the Ministry of Railways. He was so kind enough to extend us an invitation to witness the 67^th Republic Day Parade In New Delhi ! Oh what an absolute Honour it was. Kunal and I were elated. We sent our ID’s 2 weeks prior to the parade for our security clearance. Tickets were booked and our best suits were pressed for THE-DAY !

We reached a day PRIOR and for the first time I understood what a mission it is to live in Delhi ! The high security alerts at the airport, The multiple check-nakas to be passed before you get out into the city. The roads all marked off.  The 5 km Radius near India Gate was curfewed out by mid-night. The national capital, particularly the Central and New Delhi areas, were brought under unprecedented security blanket as thousands of personnel kept a hawk-eye vigil to thwart any untoward incident. There were intelligence inputs that terror groups may target some important installations in the city. 

 We were to meet at the ministers residence at sharp 7am. The following morning it took us a little under an hour of circling at the Tyag-Raj Marg to understand that we will not be able to enter the area – let alone the minister’s residence  without the required pass. A massive ground-to-air security apparatus was put in place in the national capital. Commandos with light machine guns were deployed at 10 strategic locations and anti-aircraft guns remained positioned at vantage points in the capital. The entire region of Central and New Delhi had nearly 50,000 security personnel drawn from Delhi Police and central security forces guarding every nook and corner.  Under this situation we stood in 7 degree temperature on a big round about and made a few calls. Mr. Shetty, our Minister’s P.A.  was kind enough to come on a long morning walk in his best suit to come give us our pass and allow us to enter the road leading to his residence.

We were greeted so warmly by this humble man. Mr Gowda reminisced about his days with the BJP party and his trials and tribulations to get to where he is today over tea and snacks. The day took on its course then..IT started with a flag hoisting ceremony at his residence after which I took my first ride in a LAL-BATTI walli car. I was absolutely elated ! It was the first time I understood that POWER is different from MONEY. We were a part of the 4 car convoy on our way to the saluting gallery. 

We went through the necessary security protocol and were shown to our seats. We were a party of a thousand people who were there to watch the nation’s pride. Slogans of Bharat Mata Ki Jai … Vande Mantram made the crowds swell with pride.

 French President Francois Hollande was among the guests of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi invited to view the spectacle of the parade held in New Delhi, filled with marching bands, floats, camels, military hardware, and stunt performers. French soldiers also took part in the parade. It is thought to be the first time a foreign army contingent has participated in India's celebrations.

 Colourful floats from various Indian states, traditional dances, and gymnastics by children were also part of the event.A Dog squad of India’s paramilitary units also participated for the very first time !

A total of 23 tableaux were on display at the ceremonial parade with 17 of them belonging to various states and Union Territories.  The tableau of Gujarat depicted rare and exotic varieties along with the Sidi community settled in the Gir forest, performing their traditional dance.  

The heart throb of the event was the Indian Aviation’s gallant display. A breath-taking ‘Trishul’ formation comprising three Su-30 MKI of No. 24 Squadron flew over the Rajpath. Trailing them was the ‘Globe formation’ comprising one C-17 Globemaster flanked by two Su-30s, followed by the fighters, where five Jaguars flew in Arrowhead formation, another five MiG-29 Air Superiority Fighters called the ‘Tridents’ flew in Fulcrum style.  

The end of the parade was marked by a single Su-30MKI fighter pulling up vertically in front of the reviewing stand while carrying out so-called vertical Charlie rolls. I can still close my eyes and experience its vibrations in my heart.

Like all good things, the Republic Day Parade was all but 90 minutes. The sun came out a few times but the clouds kept us chilled but enough for us to enjoy the spectacle. The Afternoon ended with a hearty Indian Meal and a promise to play catch up of the parade every year even if we do not get these life changing experiences. The Invite to the event now is kept in a straight format with all the other important household papers and is something I am going to cherish for a long time !!

DEAR BLOOMINGVILLE, PLEASE COME TO MUMBAI

 i’m very envious of those of you living in europe right now. i kept seeing pins of these beautiful products and tracked them to down to a company called bloomingville in denmark. success! and then i discovered, alas, they are primarily distributed throughout european cities and i’ve yet to find any Mumbai online shops carrying bloomingville’s goods — but i did have some luck and found a few of their very lovely home goods and accessories carried atlifestyle attic. nevertheless, their beautiful lookbook catalogs are well-worth perusing for the styling inspiration alone. perhaps, if we ask very nicely, bloomingville will come to MUMBAI. pretty please.

Embarrassing Pothole Caricatures of Politicians Spur Action to Fix the Streets in Russia

I can’t speak from personal experience about the political climate in Yekaterinburg, Russia but if we take this video from the ad agency Voskhod at face value it appears the powers that be neglected the city’s infrastructure one day too long. After repeatedly commenting and complaining about the pockmarked streets of Yekaterinburg, local blog URA.RU turned to Voskhod to create a brilliant campaign: under the cover of night they would paint the faces of local politicians around the most unsightly potholes and potentially shame them into action. The response? It worked! 

Ladakh - where the sun and moon share 1 sky

Where there is bright sunshine, crystals of snow, white sands, blue purple brown mountains, glowing waters of the Indus and the Zanskar.. you know you have arrived in Ladakh. A slightly bumpy ride from Delhi flies you over the mighty snow capped Himalayas. Right before you land you see the early morning sun rise from in-between 2 mountains and the sun is below you. And when you think where on earth is the Runway amongst all this – The Leh airport’s tarmac glistens inviting you into the beautiful region of Ladakh in the state of Jammu and Kashmir.

Known for its picturesque landscapes and beautiful humble people, Ladakh bowled me over from the start. My friends Ami Gathani, Pankti Chheda and I decided to take this impromptu trip much against the critiquing traveller – some sighted breathing problems, others of bad weather and even so intense – a nose bleed !! Thankfully for us – We drove straight from the Airport to the little village of Saboo where stands our Hotel – Ladakh Sarai. We fell in love immediately. At first it looks slightly unconventional, the owners are playing a game of badminton in the front yard, the cook and his lot are serving hot chai and snacks to a few guests sitting in the cosy dining hall overlooking the mountains. The breeze and the sunshine cause the trees to sway and cast shadows alternating between silver and green.

We used our day 1 to acclimatize. It wasn’t that hard for us – the tents are sturdy and warm. You only just need to slip into one of their blankets to start dreaming ! Sometime in the afternoon we had lunch and slept again. Something I would advice everyone to do.. If you fall sick the first day, you will probably ruin it for yourself. In the evening, much against my own advice we took off to see the Leh center, the market. After about strolling half and hour, you realise you feel short of breath ! But working in slow motion always helps. We then enjoyed some Hot Lasagne and some Mediterranean bread at Bon Appetite. We did bump into a bunch of travellers from all over the world and played drinking games….!!

Day 2 we drove all the way to Alchi Monastery. The drive is one of the easiest Terrain in Ladakh as a whole.. and you pass a point where the 2 rivers of Indus and Zanskar meet. A point which is clearly visible by the different colours of the waters.

When you arrive at Alchi, the cobbled pathway are lined with prayer wheels. We went crazy trying to make each one move in tandem ! We also met an old man of 80 who decided to guide us through the old paintings.

The monastery is the house of the “OLD BUDDHA” – with paintings, carvings and stupas worth a visit. A little café that sells just canned drinks is a must visit – for the owners are an old couple who let you take pictures of them and their cute little 3 year old grandchild Dharma ! The lady of the house will even suggest you wear her attire if you want to be photographed.

Day 3 is one of the toughest drives from Leh to Nubra.. the highlight of this trip is that you drive through highest motorable road at Khardugla Pass which is 18380 feet above mean sea level. It was an icing in the cake when somewhere half way it started snowing !! It was the first time after Belgium that I saw snow flakes trickle down so gently. It started enveloping the beautiful slopes of the mighty Himalayas making it a breath taking sight. This drive can be rough for people like me who have sever motion sickness. A tablet of Diamox and some “kafur” to keep you sedated shall do the trick.

You know you have arrived in Nubra Valley when the landscape gives way to white sands. Where the moon and the sun share the same sky. When you see the 2 hunch camel sitting by an oasis. This is a fairly new venture for most hoteliers in the Ladakh region. The folks are Ladakh Sarai have a sister camp called Nubra Sarai. This is not as fancy as its counter part in Ladakh, but one can tell a lot by the warmth of the staff that they have been trained well to accommodate. So when we were freezing, the cook quickly cooked up some hot Apply Custard. A yummie treat our freezing bones. Ofcourse the meal itself cannot be undermined either.

The next day we took a day trip to Turtuk. The drive to Turtuk is absolutely breath-taking. Our tour organiser – Amit of www.goamit.com fame was the one who had suggested this newly opened for tourist region just 30 kms from the border of India and Pakistan.

We drove through the most beautiful bridges running over waters trickling down from the mountains. Enroute Turtuk – not only does the landscape become most subtle but also the features of people change. From Looking Tibetian-Ladakhi, the people have more sharper almost harsh Afgani Features. Their dressing changes too. Its striking !

We didn’t really get down and do anything at turtuk. It is just a small village. But we did stop at a small shop close to the waters who served us Pipping hot Maggie accompanied by the packed lunch provided by the Nubra Camp guys !!

We were a little content having lived in the place for 2 nights – the boiler wasn’t working, but thanks to dry weather, it was okay if we didn’t shower. We longed to get back to Ladakh Sarai. We were exhausted ! and couldn’t think of anything but the coal fed heater and the hot water bag to hug and sleep so thoughtfully planned out by the Ladak Sarai folks at LEH.

But the car journey was not over yet. 4 hours drive one way – something unimaginable now, was Pangong Lake where the last scene of 3 idiots was filmed. Ofcourse when you are travelling through mountains and finally after 4 hours when you get the first glimpse of Ultra Marine Blue in your face, you forget all about the bumps and the pee breaks at plastic walled toilets. You just cant stop staring at the Pangong lake once you get to a stone throw away distance from it. The lake changes colour with the changing sunlight and shadow and the time of the day. With atleast 5 different shades on blue in sight, you stop complaining and start appreciating the peace of the place.

Until some south Indian rookie starts singing and making unhealthy remarks. Indian Tourists sometimes don’t know how to behave in a place like that. He started screaming RANCHO Kaha hai… and Tofa Kabool Karo to his friends !! Ofcourse the Gora sitting next to me had no freaking idea what this man was talking about !! But such are the nuisances of a tourist spot !! I did not want to leave this beauty and serenity of this place – more so because of the drive back to LEH for another 4 – 5 hours.

We then used our remaining time visit the Thiksey Monastery, The 3 Idiot School, An Oracle. We also saw the sun set gently over the Shanti Stupa before we retired back to the Hotel for a Chat where the so kind and generous Director of the hotel and we retreated into the living spaces of the hotel for conversation about life, religion, culture and Ladakh over some Whiskey. The night ended with an awesome meal of Italian food – Veg Lasagne, Mac and Cheese and some Garlic Bread !!! How are we ever going to recover from this holiday is beyond me !!!

But Ladakh leaves an amazing happy memeory in my soul. It gets under your skin… And all you know when you get back on the plane to go home is that this is not the last time you are going to visit LADAKH.

Pineberries

Has anyone tried these yet? Pineberries are a new hybrid of white strawberries that taste like pineapple. Don't they look like regular strawberries flipped inside out? I'm so curious to taste them, but I don't think they're available in the INDIA.

What's next... strawnanas? Hope so! or Manganans.. How about a smoothie to cool off ??? EAT PRAY LOVE all over again !

Dear Mr Subroto Roy... Sub : CWG

Dear Mr Subroto Roy,
Greetings ! This morning I woke up to the most pleasant full page advertorial I have seen. Without mincing any words, this publicly written letter has hit bulls eye with the people of India. This issue has been on my mind for many days now. But a letter from me to the EDITOR of Mumbai mirror was obviously lost in the mail. While you must have paid to get it published pulling your corporate strings. None the less, the point has been noted by our fellow country men. And for that i want to thank you.
What is the first rule of the civilized world ? If you are divided, then people will rule you. This international portrayal of India – publicly tarnishing Indian democracy, the government, the Indian companies on contract, red tapeism, bad infrastructure, Indian hierarchy, the board of the Common wealth games and their kith and kiln. Where is it going to get us ?

In some ways I think India is standing on the border – literally 2 months away from the deadline. What is it going to take to not only save the face of India but be victorious with as many soldiers un-wounded as possible ? This is the real question that needs to be addressed. But instead this constant humiliation of the Indian Way of doing things is creating such negative publicity.

I would like to bring to your notice, that South Africa who recently hosted the world cup games is the most dangerous country of this world. I personally know of 3 families who have lost their bread-earners in this unsafe country. And yet – right before the game, all one could constantly hear in chorus from this united country is their PLEA to attract people to their country. Where is this spirit in India. why haven’t we learnt anything from our past ? Why are we not united to save our country ? Why hasn’t the government put in additional forces to help save face ? Why is it that we only hear of pressure to resign or withdraw funds ?

As a little child I remember fighting with my siblings when the guests come with only 1 bar of chocolate. My mother would intervene and take that bar of chocolate away to avoid conflict. She would say you can fight after the guests are gone. Where is that mother figure in CWG committee and the rest of India debacle. Why is the media playing the STEP-SISTER ? Why can’t we first focus on helping meet deadlines and then talk about internal issues. If it has gone this wrong economically and politically, a little more damage will make no difference. But if we continue this way – damning the CWG then it will make a big difference.

So while the whole world is in AWE of our great country with our India shinning stories, the other half of us criticize those working towards achieving this honour to host the common wealth games bestowed upon us. Do not get me wrong, I am not in favour of the scamsters. But I agree with you when you say that this issue can be discussed internally post the games. This will save our faces when India is ready and bidding for bigger games like the Olympics or FIFA.. So that the international media can focus on What we are going to ACHIEVE, rather than what we are FAILING MISERABLY AT.

I hope this letter is digested well by fellow INDIANS. I am proud of your move !

Your Fellow Indian,

Disha Doshi

The Cherry Eyed Sherpa

“We have finally got a boy !” my mother squeaked into the phone. I would have been sad to find out that I will be now sharing my inheritance with 3 other people than the 2 already on the list. But I was happy – this boy was going to put an end to the riots in my house. A house-boy who will run around the house helping my mother in the kitchen, washing utensils, dusting the ever increasing memorabilia’s from our different trips etc. This one boy has to power to put my mother out of domestic misery. He was going to be our new house help.

A friend of a friend of a friend had suggested this little boy of 15 from Nepal who was going to come in. Of course the only reference was that this little boy’s Mama works in this friend’s house. And this boy is 4 days old in Mumbai. The common friend was going to drop him of at our house. So we prepped his bedding, his pillow and a few basics ready so that he instantly feels welcome and likes our home and agrees to serve us till the end of time. At 4, I go down to fetch him. At first I can only see the Aunty driving the car with an empty back-seat. I was surprised she had come alone. Then when the car stopped a little boy no taller than 4 feet something jumped out of the car. “aunty, I thought you said he was 15. This boy looks like he is 10” I screamed at her. I was surprised and dumb founded at this little thing waiting with one plastic bag in his hand. “He says he is 16, his mama claims he is 15 ! What do I do ?” She left him in my care and drove away.

While waiting for the lift I suddenly realised he had just 1 plastic bag. Upon enquiring I found out that there is nothing but a pair of clothes inside. And that is it. This shabby looking Nepali boy had nothing but 2 pairs of clothes and rubber slippers. He looked weak – but he put on a tough exterior. “Mein Shab Kuch Kar Leta Hoon” he said in his cute nepali accent – and that’s the only thing he knew how to say in correct Hindi. When the lift came, this little being got scared. Hesitated a moment and then ran inside. It was probably one of his first times he has ridden a lift.

Once in the house I gave him tea, glucose biscuits and some hot snacks. While he ate I asked my neighbour to send her little child’s olds clothes. Then I sent him inside the shower but this little Sherpa looked at me. He did not know how to run the shower. So I showed him his way through all the knobs. Since he didn’t have anything, I took out New Toothbrush, paste, a bar of soap, some powder, a comb, a towel – the basics. He lacked THE BASICS !

While He showered and got dressed my mother made quick calls back of forth enquiring with my father what to do. My father put his foot down – “This boy will not stay in my house ! He is too small. It is not only a criminal offense, but a social one !” He screamt down the line for my mother to return him back through the link. It was when we were telephoning and devising a plan this little boy emerges out all clean and freshened up and announced to us that he had not only showered but also finished clearing all the vessels in the kitchen. It was spic and span.

This little cherry coloured eyed boy of Nepal was the eldest of the 6 siblings. His father has 2 wives. He lives in a small town called Dotti far away from Kathmandu. It’s a shame that we knew only one town of this country and asked him directions from there. We enquired about his family and how he had come to India, managed passed the borders etc? It is a real surprise how we get rejected VISA’s and they just waltz into our majestic country. Of course by waltzing in I meant that he had taken a BUS which travelled for days before he boarded a train from Mathura. From where he came to Mumbai. How on earth did a BUS go un-noticed on Borders? He said he had a BAJJI which is basically a piece of paper from which we could read nothing which allowed him in.

It was probably a lie he was asked to tell by his mama. He had probably travelled on a BUS to the border, then crossed it on foot as he was trying to brush away the topic of how he got here. But he is all but 10 years old. And their innocence is often reflected on their faces. But this boy is brave. I remember being away from my parents when I was 21 for just 7 months and I had cried my heart out at the airport. And here there was this 10 year old bravely telling us stations and routes.
Finally night came. And my mother asked him to sleep alone. My brother who is 18 still runs into my parents room when he had bad dreams. Where is this child going to run ? What will he do when he is scared to death ? Why is he in Mumbai, when actually he should be cattle grazing his family herd in the mountains of Nepal ? He had never slept under a fan – and thus asked me to turn it off. The A/c throughout the day had given him a cold. I gave him child cough medicine which soundly put him to sleep.

This morning when I woke up at 6 30, this little boy was up. He had bathed already and was folding his blanket and bedding neatly onto the pile. I was surprised that he was even up. We fed him breakfast and then returned him back – fully knowing that if not us, some other heartless person will hire him to put of their misery – THIS IS MUMBAI.

We had a heated argument with our father. We wanted to keep him – because at least we know with us this little one will be safe. We had planned that we would not make him do any work. We would just let him live till he turned of a certain age. Send him to street school just outside our house. But my father was adamant. “We cannot keep anyone illegal” he said. He was right. But we were right too.

This little boy had no idea why we had provided him with everything only to reject him and let him go. We all cried. Some silently and others literally. We felt helpless as he drove away.. My little Sherpa is going to be a street boy some day... Mumbai is his new home. He probably will never see his family or Nepal again. And all I can do about this is blog about it... and cry my heart out !
What do you think I should have done ?

CD Covers DIY

Today is India Bandh... So i came across this easy and quick DIY project. So bring out all your old CD collections. Ever thought what to do with your favourite pictures/ extra wall paper and the plastic from all those CD covers ? Stick it on this plastic part with a masking tape and make attractive designs. Make yourself Re-cycle friendly.

Bare Essentials v/s Accessorize

My aunt and her children recently came back from the United kingdom. They were away on holiday. Whne they came back I asked her if she liked it there ? she said it was okay ! I probed her to talk, as clearly she had a very strong opinion - for she liked it Okay. Not too good or excellent or too bad or horrible.

She pointed out from Channel to dior to zara to Prime Ark each one sells the same long black leggings for example in different fabrics and qualities. But in the end they make the person look the same. She believes each one look generic. As compared to india - where ready made clothes are no biggie, so each one has their unique style. People dont look like each other's clones.

So the brighter side of this whole point she was trying to make was
1. how unique each one looks
2. because we have unique clothes we do not need to stress out about the accessories to make a dress look different
3. Even jewellery has starting to become common, and hence the make-up and all the stress about being immaculate.




Man - is it stressful to dress up ? Or will india never come up from its dress-down code that it has been following for years ? only time will tell.

Child Sexual Abuse

“I asked you for help, and you told me you would
If I told you the things he did to me.
You asked me to trust you, and you made me
Repeat them to fourteen different strangers
I asked you for help and you gave me
A doctor with cold hands
Who spread my legs and stared at me
Just like my father.
I asked you for protection
And you gave me a social worker.
Do you know what it is like
Ihave more social workers than friends?
I asked you for help
And you forced my mother to choose between us.
She chose him, of course.
She was scared, she had a lot to lose.
I had a lot to lose too.
The difference is, you never told me how much.
I asked you to put an end to the abuse
You put an end to my whole family.
You took away my nights of hell
And gave me days of hell instead.
You have changed my private nightmare
Into a very public one.”
This is a poem written by a 12 year old girl ! Which girl has written it hardly matters, what is written moved me to tears. I came across a book called BITTER CHOCOLATE by Pinky Virani a few years ago. I was only a little child back then, but the fear of something like that happening to me looms over me each day, even today. I can’t even begin to imagine what the Victims of such a heinous crime would have to go through, living with someone their own, each day.

The book talks about the Child Sexual Abuse (CSA), and how it is so very common in India. Mira Nair portrayed it so subtly in her movie – MONSOON WEDDING. More recently we heard about the Austrian case and then about the astrologer – dad-child-mother quadrilateral case in India about incest’s ! It sends shudders down my spine. It is so prevalent, time and again I have heard stories, until I saw it for myself ... SHOCKING , but TRUE !

Each morning I pass this 1 street to get to work. The routine included the looking at the over-crowded bus-stop, the magazine vendor, the Unch with a tattoo of a scorpion on one side of the stomach, the beggar woman with a bad limp, the pandu directing the rush hour traffic and a little girl sitting on the side bench. She was not a beggar child. She wore new clothes each day, sat only when there was space on the bench, else stood there waiting her turn. Her eyes were deep, but revealed only how deep the hollow within it was. They talked about the pain and anguish on her life. One cannot forget these sights of their everyday life. It’s only a routine.
But my routine got disrupted the day my car broke down. From the comfort of my air conditioned car, I had to now look for an Auto-Rickshaw to get into. But Bombay being Bombay I didn’t find one coming my way. I then tried getting into the Bus ! I tried once, I let another one go. And then my friend called – she offered to give me a lift if I waited there for 15 mins. Beggars can’t be choosers and so I waited there for her.

Now I am the kind of individual who will strike conversation at a drop of a hat. So I the little girl on the bench something. She didn’t say anything. She just stared into my face and then looked away. I asked her again, “ Whats your name ? You know, I see you sitting on this bench everyday...” She looked back at me, this time tears started rolling down her eyes. I told her, oh I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I got scared and walked away, and stood below the shade on the bus-stop. My friend came after 25 minutes, but I hopped into her car without complaining.
The next day I passed that place again. This time I rolled down my window and waved at her. She just stared in my face and let me pass by. A few days into the routine of waving, she finally waved back. I was content with this acknowledgement and that at least I didn’t scare this little being anymore. A few months passed by, she was growing into a more beautiful girl than I had imaged her to be when I first took notice of her. The seasons changed and then came monsoon.

On days that it rained I saw her sitting below the bus-stop. Days when the sun came out it seemed as though it was all on her... Until that day when I saw her crying in the rain. I felt as though I owed it to our routine to stop and ask her if what was wrong. Maybe she was hungry? Maybe she was hurt? Maybe she saw a new stranger like me, who scared her? The car stopped a little ahead and I walked back to the bench. I held my umbrella above her head. For a minute or 2 she just thought the rain had stopped pouring, until I snapped her out of it. I asked her what had happened?
And she told me the most shocking story ever. Here is what she had to say ...

“My first memory of abuse was at a very early age, with my father abusing my mum or should I say bashing with closed fists, it seemed to be a regular event in my life. My father works at a beddi factory earning daily wages. He is a big solid man and demanded and expected everything to be done his way and if wasn't there was hell to pay. My poor mum's life consisted of being a housemaid and wife. There was nothing more to her life other than this routine. She was not allowed friends except for the neighbours. But the neighbours kept their distance for my mother’s sake in fear that my father would torture her till the end of the night, when he would collapse on the floor from all the drinking. Meals had to be at a certain time and that included a hot meal at 12pm as father would come home for lunch and dinner at 9pm on the dot. Dinner was only for him, for the rest of us it was daal and rice only.

My worst memory of mum’s abuse was one night my dad had gotten into a fight with his boss and was thrown out of his job. We were pushed into the neighbour’s house for the rest of the night. In the morning when I went into the house to see how my mum was, the memory of which is still with me today, my mum’s face was black and blue swollen beyond belief and dried blood not only on her face but up the bedroom walls. Even as a young child I tried to defend my mum only to receive a smack across my head.

My mum’s world was our world too, my brother and I knew no different and even though my mum endured all this she still idolised my dad. A few days after this episode my mother collapsed. With the help of a neighbour we rushed her to Cooper Hospital. The doctor pronounced her dead. He said that the beating has caused internal bleeding and today she bled out. That night my father came home drunk once more. This time it was my brother’s turn. He bashed my brother up for not taking care of my mother while he was away. I urged father to sit down and eat. I served him daal and vegetable with rice that had been cooked by my mother that very morning before she collapsed.

What was surprising was that my father was not grieving. He ate the food like a scavenger and left nothing for my brother or I. On the pre-text of going and getting some food my brother left the house never to come back. A neighbours’ boy told me that he was sorry for my state, and that my brother promised he would come back for me, but he needed to get away and had apologised. I understood him, and was happy that at least he would find a solution.

Days turned into weeks and then my agony started. My father came back home one night sober. He asked me to come and sit on his lap. For a moment I thought I was living a dream. I ran into his arms and hugged him really tight. He started stroking my head, and then my back and was now slowly getting down to his dirty business. I was ranting about how I missed my mother, while he went down and further down. I was now slowly feeling his hand under my frock on my thigh. I looked at him in disbelief. I didn’t want him to touch me there. But he was, he put his hands into my underwear. At first he stroked me gently, but then it was hurting. He fingered me so hard, and then he rubbed his hands against my breasts. I tried to get up and walk across the room, or run out of the house but he held me very tight. I couldn’t break free from his grip. I started crying. He shouted and screamt and ordered me not to cry, but I couldn’t help anything that was happening. He slapped me. The blow was so hard that I fell against the floor. I felt as though my ribs has crashed against the floor. I could hardly get up. I crawled into the next room and sat in one corner. I was scared. I just hugged myself and listened to some activity in the other room for a while and then he fell asleep. From the small window overlooking the nalla I could see the night turn into day.

The next morning, it was almost as though everything was k. He asked me if I had slept alright. He said he would be back for lunch and left for his factory. In the next few days he found a new job. His new job took a toll on him. The long hours gave him just enough energy to trudge back home, eat and sleep to renew his energy for the next day. I didn’t know who I could speak to, cause father forbade me to have any contact with the outside world. He said if I did he would throw me out of the house. The memory of that hell-braking-loose night was fading. But such a happy arrangement didn’t last long. He started drinking more, and went to work with a hangover. After several warnings he was fired again. This was 2 weeks ago. He now started drinking in the house. We had more empty alcohol bottles in the house than the other things put together. Hewould drink and drop and in between his drinking he abusse me, sometimes 3 – 4 times a day. He would insert all sorts of things in me, some even sharp that have left scars. I cannot move as the pain in between my legs is so intense that I just want to die. I have lost control over my urine. I drip all day long. The dripping is causing a foul smell. If I wash myself with soap it burns... and .... and .... and”

OH MY GOD !!! I didn’t have the heart to listen to this little girl anymore... I was shocked, I was horrified... It caused some acute pain within me. I said to myself I had to do something about this. The first thing that I thought was of a Police Complain and Social Service Organisations who know how to control these things. I wanted to take her to the hospital. I had a 1000 thoughts in my mind running at the same point in time. My heart went out to this little girl. I told her if she wanted me to help her I would. She said this has happened before. People take on a cause like hers, and then forget all about it. The momentum was lost somewhere. She didn’t want to lose hope one more time. She asked me to get going with my day. I urged her to let me help her. She said she could do with some money to buy some medication. MONEY!!! You want money!!!

When she asked for MONEY, it ticked me off. An urban INDIAN is so used to beggars and CON men , that I thought this was some ploy to get some money out of me. I asked her how much, she said Rs 1000. So now, this was it really! A 1000 bucks once every year v/s the 10 rupees everyday!!! Was my sympathy to take her to the hospital not enough? I insisted that I pay it myself. She said she wouldn’t go with me. I thought this was a foul play. I said to her I didn’t have the money, knowing full well I did. She insisted only on the money.

I left the bench in a fury !! This girl had wasted so much of my time on a Wednesday morning!!! I went through the day. I was so upset. I didn’t understand why beggars were becoming CON-MEN. I ranted about this episode to my family and kin throughout the day. What is the world coming to,??? said my mother. My grandmother screamt – KALYUG !!!

The next day I passed by the same bench, only to find her still there. But this time she was in her same clothes from the previous day and she was not sitting but she was sleeping on the bench. Some passersby looked at her for a moment and turned away. Most people covered their face with their handkerchief indicating foul smell. Then someone screamt and a huge crowd formed around her. I was looking at this scene from my rare-view mirror now. I felt inquisitive, I pulled up. I walked back to the bench only to find her dead. I called for the ambulance and rushed her to the hospital. The doctor recognized her from a few days ago. He has suggested her a Gynac. The Gynac at this government hospital has asked her for a minor surgery to be performed on her. It would cost her Rs 1000.

Maybe she couldn’t move when I offered to take her to the hospital ! Maybe I didn’t give her a chance to end her story ! Maybe she was scared I would inform her father. Maybe we are so pre-judgemental in our daily lives that an apple cannot be an apple always. I feel partly responsible now for not looking out for her. I feel as though I didn’t fulfil my purpose. I ask the universe for forgiveness today ! May her soul rest in peace. But her story needs to be told, so that we can break out of our mansions and beautiful lives to commit to a cause !!

I have found my cause – People against CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE ... !!