Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Thursday, 4 April 2013
Wom-Ba-I
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Wom - Women
Ba - soul (Egyptian mythology)
I - the nominative singular pronoun, used by a speaker in referring to himself or herself
Wom-Ba-I: Women are the soul of Mumbai
A world without women would be like a body without a soul. Human beings were created to coexist in mutual harmony. Humanity CANNOT survive without either men or women. Increasing number of crimes in our country has fostered feelings of hatred and dislike for the opposite sex.
Willingness - to accept each other as human beings and to work towards a better society
Open-mindedness - to tackle issues without prejudice against any gender
Maturity - to accept others and treat them as you treat yourself
Boldness - to say no when necessary
Awareness - about what's happening in the society and always being on your guard
Inculcating - feelings of respect towards women from childhood
Ba - soul (Egyptian mythology)
I - the nominative singular pronoun, used by a speaker in referring to himself or herself
Wom-Ba-I: Women are the soul of Mumbai
A world without women would be like a body without a soul. Human beings were created to coexist in mutual harmony. Humanity CANNOT survive without either men or women. Increasing number of crimes in our country has fostered feelings of hatred and dislike for the opposite sex.
Considered as one of the safest cities in India, Mumbai is feminine in its essence. Mumbai stands for: Mumba: the name of a goddess and Aai: mother. But do women really feel safe in this metropolitan of myriad dreams? And is any place in India really safe for women?
For people like me who live in Delhi, Mumbai is a Utopian city - a place where dreams are nurtured, developed, and allowed to mature. But the underbelly of Mumbai has a different story to tell. It isn't immune to crimes against women. Sad stories do lurk behind closed doors. Open roads do not always lead to expected destinations. Be it home or a public place - safety isn't guaranteed anywhere. But change is possible.
Change begins at individual level. It is very easy to criticize the society as an armchair critic. Turning a blind eye to social evils depicts nothing but pusillanimity. Taking action is important and perhaps the only solution.
You too can bring about change through WOM-BA-I:
Change begins at individual level. It is very easy to criticize the society as an armchair critic. Turning a blind eye to social evils depicts nothing but pusillanimity. Taking action is important and perhaps the only solution.
You too can bring about change through WOM-BA-I:
Open-mindedness - to tackle issues without prejudice against any gender
Maturity - to accept others and treat them as you treat yourself
Boldness - to say no when necessary
Awareness - about what's happening in the society and always being on your guard
Inculcating - feelings of respect towards women from childhood
I recently attended an IndiChange Meet organized by IndiBlogger and Times of India in Mumbai. I realized that even one step towards positive change can bring about a revolution. On my part I am posting the train helpline number shared by TOI at the meet: 9833331111. Now your duty is to save this number and share it with at least five people. Make it viral so that no woman ever feels unsafe while travelling in Mumbai Local.
This post has been written for IndiChange: Mumbai for Women organized by Times of India and IndiBlogger. To know more, click on the banner:
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
A Traveller's Train of Thoughts
"If I am not for myself,who will be for me?And if I am not for others,
With each sip I think of people who have made my travels worthwhile... Would my trip to Lonavala be the same if there was no Lalita to bring me corn pakoras and 'cutting chai'?
Would Kerala be as exotic, if there was no "Baby" to drive us through the land of spices? Wouldn't Varanasi's ghats seem morose, if "Mishraji's" Hindi poetry didn't enchant me while sailing through the Ganges?
Would my trip to Goa be as musical, if I hadn't met "Prashant Malhotra" - a talented singer from Dehradun? Would Badrinath's majestic Himalayas seem so beautiful, if I hadn't met "Mamta Kulkarni", the little girl who sold beads to travellers? Would Kota-Delhi Jan Shatabdi seem the same if a newly wed couple (Ashu and Sangeeta) didn't narrate to me their romantic love-story?Every traveller I have come across shared something with me... something that connected me to him/her... And that something was - love for life.
A little three-year old peeps from the adjacent berth. He smiles at me and happiness spreads over my lips. A charming, cherubic face - beautiful smile juxtaposed against small dewy eyes. I play with him from a distance. The baby claps his hands and chuckles with glee. All I want is to make friends with him - talk to him, and let this interaction last forever... But a black coat comes in between and my train of thoughts comes to a standstill. He asks for ticket...I show him mine. It reads - Date - 26 February, 2012
Time of departure- 16:40
Train - Mumbai - Delhi Rajdhani Express
Class - 3AC
Passenger Details - Anukriti Sharma, 25F
Coach/Seat no. - B3, 32 (Side Upper)
I take my bag and climb over to my seat. Lying down on the spotless white pillow,I close my eyes and plug in the earphones."Anand" - Kahin door jab din dhal jaaye (Somewhere faraway when the day ends...) plays on my phone. The last few lines go deep within my heart -
"Kahin To Yeh Dil Kabhi Mil Nahin Paate,
Kahin Pe Nikal Aaye Janmon Ke Naate"
(In some cases, hearts in love never meet,
and in others,old relations awaken to life..)
Like a movie, thoughts flicker in the depths of my mind - Meandering down memory lane, I see an archive of fragments...forgotten tales, lost memories, beautiful people and enriching experiences...
....
....
.... .... ....
July, 2010
I am back in Malabar Hills... At home
Mumbai...the city is drenched...swept by a ceaseless cloudburst...its drizzling since morning...the roads are jammed...high tide has anchored the sea...the temperature has ebbed... raindrops slip between my fingers...
the earth is wet... its smell is intoxicating, invigorating, inspiring...a cup of soup revives a few forgotten tales, poetry that was consigned to oblivion comes to life... I wish to compose them again...!
December 5, 2011
I am in a scenic village near Nashik...
Sharing chocolates with four tiny tots, who live in an unknown, sleepy village of Maharashtra... Omkar, Gayatri, Pappu and Amu... Having awesome dinner - home-made chicken curry garnished with love... cooked by a boatman's mother and served in a countryside hut... Pure bliss! What better way to celebrate my 25th birthday! Amidst innocent children, my country's tomorrow... In rustic villages... The essence of India. For most birthday means 5-star hotels and late night parties... But there are somethings money can't buy... the memories, smiles and happiness I take back with me to Mumbai - priceless!
25 February, 2012
I travel through the fascinating streets of Mumbai's Colaba Causeway - a colourful place, dotted with shops of artificial jewellery, handicrafts, scarves and whatnot. I stop at Leopold Cafe, a well-known joint for foodies in Mumbai. I'm with Beth - who has come to India for the first time... she is from my sister's University. I discuss a lot of things with her over huge glasses of Mango Lassi.
Her kaleidoscopic description reminds me of a short story by Anton Chekhov. I feel like the young lawyer of "The Bet" who discovers the world's beauty through words written in books - "I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sun rise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain-tops with gold and crimson."
December 4, 2011
Bhandardhara, Maharashtra
I am with my parents at a tea-stall... An old woman clad in tattered clothes walks by... Her saree is tied tightly across her waist... thighs are bare. She carries a huge vessel on top of her head... she seems older than history... wrinkles obscure her indistinct facial features... people fondly call her "mad". They say she waters the plants in the area - from early morning till late at night... incessantly... Climatic changes can't weather her spirit... Nobody pays her a paisa for what she does... Nobody pays any attention to what she does.
She is insane for the world. But for me, she is a role model... A woman who serves the humanity... If I ever go to Bhandardhara again and find green plants blossoming in the area...I will think about this old woman... her perseverance has germinated the seed of life in the area...
The train halts at Surat. I put a neatly folded fawn-coloured blanket on my lap. The satin edges seem like my experiences - beautiful against a rough life.
I take out a pen and paper from my bag and write down:
But then I realize...
Isn't it strange-all our lives we strive for permanence - a permanent residence, permanent career, permanent happiness, permanent love... Not realizing that we are mere travellers traversing this world. Why do we seek permanence when life itself is temporary?The cries of the cherubic boy jerks me to reality. He is crying with affliction... I look at him trying to do my best to lessen his pain... His parents seem distraught. The family sitting opposite me, nudge one another and mutter in hushed tones, "Don't you see, that child is mentally challenged... "
Ruskin Bond's lines resound in my ears again as a tear trickles down my cheeks -
"If I am not for myself,
who will be for me?
And if I am not for others,
what am I?
And if not now, when?"
This post has been written for Indiblogger's Around the World with Expedia Contest - Tell us about the interesting people you've met when you've travelled.
To participate click on the picture below:
You can see my post and vote for it here... Click on the picture below:
To explore the world of Expedia and travel with the World's largest online travel company, click on the picture below:
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| "What I am:", Jaipur |
what am I?
And if not now, when?" ~ Ganga Descends
Trees blur into the inky, violet-blue sky as I pour over the pages of Ruskin Bond's picturesque writing. I travel with him through the alleys of Landour Bazaar visualizing in my mindscape the 'livid purple' clocktower. Walking hand in hand we reach the market's dark, windy corner, where an old man sits 'hunched up over his charcoal fire, roasting peanuts'. Faint landscapes greet my eyes as I quietly sip piping hot ginger-tea.
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| Faint landscapes - Mumbai-Delhi Rajdhani - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
My life has been a montage of experiences. Having lived in seven different cities, I have met a variety of people and travelling has always been a fascinating experience for me...
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| Ginger-Tea - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| Rail experiences - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| Lalita in Lonavala - Picture Credit - Aakriti Sharma |
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| Sailing through Varanasi - Amarnath Sharma Photography |
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| Me travelling in Train; Goa - Picture Credit - Rushali Khandelwal |
Time of departure- 16:40
Train - Mumbai - Delhi Rajdhani Express
Class - 3AC
Passenger Details - Anukriti Sharma, 25F
Coach/Seat no. - B3, 32 (Side Upper)
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| The spotless white pillows - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| Sunset at Aksa Beach - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
Kahin Pe Nikal Aaye Janmon Ke Naate"
(In some cases, hearts in love never meet,
and in others,old relations awaken to life..)
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| Wave-like memories - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
....
....
.... .... ....
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| In conversation with myself - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
I am back in Malabar Hills... At home
Mumbai...the city is drenched...swept by a ceaseless cloudburst...its drizzling since morning...the roads are jammed...high tide has anchored the sea...the temperature has ebbed... raindrops slip between my fingers...
the earth is wet... its smell is intoxicating, invigorating, inspiring...a cup of soup revives a few forgotten tales, poetry that was consigned to oblivion comes to life... I wish to compose them again...!
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| With Radha in Maharashtra - Picture Credit - Abha Sharma |
I am in a scenic village near Nashik...
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| Tiny Tots - Gayatri, Omkar, Pappu and Amu - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| Beth at home - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
I travel through the fascinating streets of Mumbai's Colaba Causeway - a colourful place, dotted with shops of artificial jewellery, handicrafts, scarves and whatnot. I stop at Leopold Cafe, a well-known joint for foodies in Mumbai. I'm with Beth - who has come to India for the first time... she is from my sister's University. I discuss a lot of things with her over huge glasses of Mango Lassi.
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| Cloudy land, Lonavala - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
She has been a traveller... She takes me places through her narration... From the clear blue waters of Fiji I travel to the magnificient monuments of Rome... The cold snow of Rapid City brush under my feet as Japan's volcanoes come to life...
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| Golden Crimson Sunset - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
December 4, 2011
Bhandardhara, Maharashtra
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| Green Maharashtra, Clean Maharashtra - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| Having Tea in Bhandardhara - Picture Credit - Abha Sharma |
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| Even Gods reside here, Maharashtra - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| Nurturing the seed of life - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
I take out a pen and paper from my bag and write down:
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| Tales of the open Road |
Har reh-guzar pe chalne wale...
Mahv-e-safar hain hum.
(The one who walks on every path...
Such a traveller am I.)
Ahl-e-duniyaa hai badi khoobsoorat...
Gar waqt-e-karam hai kam.
(The people of this world are extremely beautiful...
But time for benevolence is less.)
~ Anukriti
Soon dinner is served... Chicken curry mixed with dal and rice reminds me of the delicious tales of Satyajit Ray. I think about all the people I have met so far... They have been such wonderful companions... I wish I could talk to them forever... Learn new things from them... ~ Anukriti
But then I realize...
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| Seeking permanence in a temporary life - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
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| A cherubic boy at India Gate - Anukriti Sharma Photography |
"If I am not for myself,
who will be for me?
And if I am not for others,
what am I?
And if not now, when?"
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| A tear trickles down my cheek; Picture Credit - Sambuddha Jash |
To participate click on the picture below:
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
Zahera
Zahera is a Turkish/Arabic name which has various meanings attached to it. Zahera is radiance, she is a white, blossoming flower, as bright and luminous as dawn... Zahera is you, Zahera is me... She is in each one of us. The little moments of brightness in our lives is what Zahera is...
This is my first attempt at writing a Urdu Short Story. I have presented the first part of the story in this post. The Video or A/V is a vocal rendering to the words written by me. I have attempted to translate my words in English. You can refer to the translation for reference. The ghazal/thumari has been selected from various sources. The voice/narration/composition is my own, and the photographs have been taken from the Internet.
Suggestion: Buffer the entire video and play it on full screen
Original Text:
Zahera - Part One
Unki aab daar aankhon se maano aansu rukte nahin the... Har lamhe ko masroofiyat mein badalne ki hazaaron naakaam koshishon ke baad unhone socha ke ab is bechain ,beqaraar jism ko fursat ke kuch pal de dein. Jism maut ko mujassam hona bhi na chahta tha. Yaadon ke qafas mein naa jaane kitne khwaab batore rakhti thi... 'Khaalah' 'Khaalah' keh ke pukaarte the log unhe... Jab mukhaalif ne bhi yaaron ki tarah dagaa de diya aur apni mehfil se door kar diya to khaalah ko maano aise khaalipann ne gher liya jaise burkhe ke saaye mein chupi timtimaati sard aankhein ho. Puraane postcardon ka ek majmaa banaye rakha tha... Zahera ke bheje postcard the woh.
Zahera... Zahera... Zahera.... yaad karte karte, khaalah ki boodhi aankhon mein aisi saqib nazar aane lagti, maano jaan atki ho unki us ladki mein... Train mein mili thi ek roz... Dilli se Lakhnau jaa rahi thi woh bhi... Saamne waali seat pe baithi thi... Chikan ka kadhaidaar dupatta maano sar pe tik ta hi na ho... halki gulaabi salwaar ke silvatein kaale naqaab ke peeche se jhaank rahe the. Un mein maknoon narm nange paon mein bandhe dhaage jaise do bareek chaandi ke paazaib chipe the. Unki sheereen mauseeqi jab Khaala ke kaanon pe padti to maano raag-e-dil ko qaraar mil jaata.
Khaalah bachpan se hi baatuni qism ki thi. Mauka milte hi logon se humnavaaii kar leti. Zahera se bhi kuch aisi guftagu hui ki rukne ka naam na liya. Do tanha be-kas aurton ko masroor hone ka isse accha kya bahana milta? Zahera ne bataya ke uske shauhar barri fauj mein sipaahi hain. Watan ki khidmat mein Kashmeer ki vaadiyon mein hi unka basera rehta. Do saal ho gaye the nikaah ko gar deedar bas ek baar hi hua tha. Muntazar ke intezaar mein tanha raatein fughaan ke shab mein badal jaati... Har saher , darvaaze pe hasrat-e-deedar hota. Magar unka aana to maano ab khwaab sa lagne laga tha...
‘Nakkhas’ ki un tang galiyon mein ek chote se makaan mein Zahera ne apna aashiyaan banaya tha. Aangan mein jab achaar ke martabaan bhar jaate tab woh unhe sametne jaaya karti thi. Dhoop mein chamakte woh rangeen shishiyan bhi uske tanhaaii ke aage pheeke lagte. Kabhi kabar ek purane se takht par baith woh kuch gungaati nazar aati thi. Maano khud se baatein kar rahi ho. Padosiyon ne bhi kayi majrooh kar dene waali ghazalein suni thi...
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| Painted by Anukriti Sharma, Nov 1, 2011 |
Translation:
It seemed that her bright eyes could no longer behold tears. Failing miserably even after innumerable attempts to change every moment into comfort and leisure, she thought, why not give this anxious, restless body a few moments of rest. But her body did not want to embody/embrace death. She kept countless dreams collected and captured in the cage of memories. ‘Khaalah(Aunt) , Khaalah’ that is how she was known to the world... When opponents too betrayed her like her friends, and abandoned her, Khaalah was enveloped in a cloud of emptiness... This emptiness seemed like a woman's cold, twinkling eyes, hidden behind a veil (Burkha). She had stacked a lot of old postcards... All were sent by Zahera...
Zahera....Zahera...Zahera...whenever her thought crossed the mind, Khaalah's old eyes filled with brightness... It seemed that her life depended on the girl... They had met in a train...Zahera too was travelling from Delhi to Lucknow... seated in front of her. A Chikan embroidered stole constantly uncovered her head . The creases of her light pink Salwar(Pyjamas) peeped from the black coloured veil... Hidden within its folds, tied on smooth, nude feet were two thin thread-like anklets. Whenever its sweet melody reached khaalah's ears, the strings of her heart played musical notes.
Khaalah had been talkative since childhood. Given an opportunity, she could befriend any one. Even with Zahera, the kind of interaction she had was so delightful that it continued endlessly. What better way to rejoice/please two helpless, lonely women? Zahera said that her husband was a soldier in Indian Army. Dedicated to the service of the country, he had made the valleys of Kashmir his abode. Even after two years of marriage, she had seen him just once... Waiting for one awaited, lonely evenings turned into nights of lamentation... Every morning she awaited his arrival standing at her doorstep. But now, his homecoming seemed like a faraway dream...
Zahera had created a little home for herself in the congested alleys of Nakkhas (part of Old Lucknow). When her courtyard was filled with pickle pots, she went to assemble them. Even those colourful glass pots, illuminated by sunlight, seemed faded in the face of her loneliness. Sometimes she could be seen seated on an old armchair, humming verses ... as if talking to herself. Even the neighbours had heard many heart-wrenching couplets/ghazals/songs..
