Musings, facts and fun

When the question of sexual harassment and violence against women comes up, many of us believe that such acts happen due to some estranged and perverted extremists out there. We shirk it off by saying 'They are a bunch of psychopathic weirdos.' But are 'they' different? Do 'they' differ in terms of ideologies towards women? The point that many of us miss is that such people only represent a surface of a much larger issue which looms, or should I say engrained deep into our societal fabric which we all happen to subconsciously endorse. That such people share mindsets like us. Losing Honor Take for instance our colloquial language, the act of rape is manyatimes referred to as 'izzat lootna' (In English this translates to losing ones honor). The victim did not commit any crime; she did not venture forcedly into someone else's personal space. How, then, could she be desecrated because some feral man decided to impose himself on her? What doe...

I love her. She is the only one I have in the whole wide world. I can do anything for her. Anything. Even the agony of the long days when I sit at the window waiting for her to return, melts away in seconds at the sight of her getting down the car and a precious dimpled smile appearing on her face as she looks up and spots me. She would run towards me, calling out my name loud and hug me tight. I love the feeling when she tightens her grip around me, her fingers tickling my back. No matter how hectic a day she had in office, she ensures we go out for a stroll outside every night. Those 30 minutes constitute the best time of the day for me. Sometimes we run, or walk or play. Manyatimes we would just sit beneath the shade of the large mahogany tree as she relates the proceedings of her day to me. Sometimes she would be sullen, probably pissed off at her work but her way of narration in a chirpy tone and with full gestures always takes my heart. It was another such day. The sun w...

I recently visited an art store for buying some supplies for oil painting. While skimming through the shelves which were pretty overloaded with a vast range of art goodies, I came across some sets of oil pastels. I was curious to try them out for it has been ages since I did so. The last memory dates back to my primary school days when pastels and crayons were the only mediums I had explored. Quite unsure of my ability, I picked up the student quality pastels(junior level) instead of the myriad professional ones available. It took me a few days to finally overcome the inertia and get started with the new medium I bought. Very surprisingly, oil pastels have proven to exceed my expectations drastically. Simply put, oil pastels can weave magic even for someone who is just starting with this medium. Everyday I unravel something exciting. Well, there is a lot to explore in this domain and I very earnestly look forward to whats in store. Posting some experiments here. 1. Start wit...

He tries relentlessly, reaching out to the stars For they are too high And he doesn’t care for scars The ambition is strong, the will undeterred Night and day he works, Everything else was just blurred Sometimes he would delude, but then remember his goal again He would resume on his stride, Picking up his pace main He was joined by others but he has his vision on the stars set No matter what happened, He would not settle for anything less People came and left but he went on, for he believed his belief That the stars he was headed towards, Held an end to all his grief He looked down and reveled as he had come a long long way The mighty world was down under, The heights he attained was way too great He stepped ahead with bated breath, as he finally found himself standing in stars amidst Stretched out his hand to feel them but they dissolved as if made of mist Startled he looked around, to question what just happened if in a myth He was standing at the peak ...

“What is this! Just a few lines strewn on a canvas and they cost you thousands. Sheer daytime robbery!“, Sahil mumbled as he came across a large painting. He had already been to several other rooms in the exhibition and everytime just came out with more exasperation. The girl standing next to him who was also looking at the same painting overheard his remark and turned to face him. Her eyes caught his as she spoke,  “Well I think there is always more to something than what meets the eyes, whether it’s the case of a person or a thing. Same goes for the paintings.”. She spoke with an endearing smile on her face and walked ahead to see the next painting. He was in a daze for a moment as he quickly assembled himself and caught another glimpse at her. She was a dawning beauty, wearing a white linen tucked in shirt and stone washed jeans, her hair flowing as she glided to the next sculpture. “What can really be there behind those random lines that could mean anything...

Let me start off with some little incidents: Scene 1: Hyderabad Airport  I am waiting for a bus back to home with a friend after seeing off my mum at the airport. Lost into conversation and in my eagerness to board the bus, I leave my wallet on a bench at the stop. I get into the bus, racing to grab a window seat completely oblivious of the non existence of my wallet. After a substantial 20 mins in the bus and my blissful ignorance, the conductor comes in to announce that he received a call from the stop that somebody left a wallet there. This freaked me out as I realized that the somebody was me and the wallet had all my bank cards and IDs. Since the bus had already travelled half the distance, I was told to wait at the destination stop for the next bus to arrive. After another half an hour of anxious wait, the next bus came and didn't fail to disappoint: the driver was carrying my wallet wrapped and taped carefully in newspaper. Scene 2: Madhapur Hyderabad My friend co...

It was an unforgettable day for me. I handed off 50 bucks to the auto-wala and hesitatingly entered the college gates for the first time only to be welcomed by an amazingly never seen before spectacle. “Is this supposed to be a place to study!” were the first thoughts to cross my mind as I saw a bunch of guys sitting in a pool of smoke in a corner, gaudy graffiti written on the cafeteria walls and girls promenading in the smallest of clothes. I was myself in a total chaos at that moment, wearing an old pair of jeans and a loosely fitted kurti iced with unkempt hair, a combo which left absolutely no stones unturned in making me out of place. I silently gruntled at my parents for having me admitted in a place where apparently only the creamy class studied; or seemingly caroused for that matter. “Why did dad get me admitted in this madhouse; how am I going survive a single day here, let alone 3 years”. As I walked past looking from one side to the other; I was taken aback by the eno...