A Friend for Life

So it was the first Sunday of August and the world celebrated Friendship Day. All around the world different people celebrated it in different style. Some went out with friends, some stayed indoors, for some their husbands are their best friends and while a few waved off this day as mere stupidity. I remember as a child I never truly understood what is the significance of these specials days but I still knew they are being celebrated even before any of my friend did. Well its nothing special. It is something that happens with many younger siblings who get exposed to various things thanks to their older sibling. I had an Orkut account while my friends started with Facebook.

As a child I always saw every year on a specific day my sister and her huge gang would come together after school and celebrate it like festival. Laughing, giggling, and giving each others what it looked like a band. Later I found out its something call a friendship band and that’s its friendship day; a day celebrated for friends and friendship. Sister’s friends bought bands for me as well, for to them I was their little sister as well and I was little indeed at that time. But who do I give a friendship band to I could not figure out.

I have always been a very private person. Even now I have like four people who I call friends, rest are all over familiar acquaintances. This was there even back then as a child, therefore I couldn’t bring myself to think about even a single person I would like to give a friendship band to and put a seal on our friendship that I assume would last a lifetime. Looking at my sister celebrating this special day with her friends somewhere broke my heart and one day I rushed to my mom, and asked her, “Ma, who is my friend?” Ma went on to count the names of all the kids who were my play partners and classmates. But I wasn’t satisfied by the answer, so I asked her again, “No Ma! A friend who I can give a friendship band to!” It is then that my mom understood my dilemma, and she immediately knew the answer. She pulled me close and reminded me of that person with whom I love spending time the most, Jethi (Badi Ma).

Jethi lived in my colony and was initially a friend of my grandmother and Jethu (bade papa) was in the same office as my dad and grand dad. When I first met Jethi I was three and we were living in a temporary accommodation at the Ordnance Factory Hostel after all our quarters collapsed after the earthquake of 97. I first entered Jethi’s place out of the mouth watering attraction of Imli ki Chutney, and from there my relation with Jethi began that cannot described by a word or two. Every morning I would wake up and singing the tunes of ‘Yeh Dil Deewana’ I would reach Jethi’s place. Jethu would bring me food and Mou didi would collect my clothes from my house, Chandan Dada would be my playmate and my entire day would go by then at their place only. Time went by, we all moved on to different accommodations, but my ritualistic visits to Jethi’s place never stopped. A very significant portion of my happy childhood memories belong from Jethi’s place. From having a pet monkey and feeding him the rotis Jethi made for her family to becoming Gangu Bai and pretending to be a house help, I have done everything there. And in the middle of all the fun and games I never realised when she helped me memorise my lessons and taught a huge number of rhymes. Jethi was not just another elderly person I was meant to simply respect, or some ‘moholle ki aunty’ I needed to avoid. She eventually grew up to be a very integral part of my childhood, and my entire life in turn.

I grew up, made new friends and friendship day became a festive day for me as well. Buying tons of friendship bands and spending the entire day with friends also became a part of my life just as I once saw it to be my sister’s. But for me this was always the Saturday as the actual day for friendship was still reserved for Jethi.

Years passed, friends faded away, many people came and many vanished, some left me and I left some, but Jethi remained constant. And yesterday when I was coming back from Jethi’s place after tying friendship band on her wrist and saying my last goodbye to her, on my way I saw all these kids from school laughing, giggling and just hanging out and celebrating the day with their friends, and making promises to each other, completely oblivious the vastness and ambiguity of the future. And it made me feel proud that I at least managed to make one friend who indeed will last a lifetime. No matter where I go, how far I go and what I become, this friend of mine will continue to be so, she will continue to be my Jethi.

Happy Friendship Day…

The Indian Television Circus

After a long time I am back to my blog and I am back with one of my favourite topics- The Indian Television. So I went away for some time to reorganise my life and set a few things straight. When I came back I saw a lot of things changed, but some remained just where there were when I last saw them, some even got worse. Now I can’t really decide which category does Indian TV fall into! Is it still the same? Or did it just get worse?

Once upon a time I used to watch a lot of TV. Apart from cartoons I particularly enjoyed some shows like Dekh Bhai Dekh, Hum Sab Ek Hain, Hum Panch, Tu Tu Main Main, and my all time favourite, Sarabhai VS Sarabhai. As a teenager I also loved watching Miley Jab Hum Tum and Remix. However there are some shows I remember watching which left a lasting impact on my mind. I grew up in a Bengali household, and for those who are from a Bengali family will know how literature occupies a major portion of our lives. It can be any form of literature, Bengali, Hindi, English, Contemporary, but it is there. I was more into Bengali and English literature. Now, every literature has some stories and books that serve as the backbone to it, and one such book in Bengali Literature is Subarnalata. It is the second book of a trilogy written by renowned authoress Ashapoorna Devi. The trilogy marks the journey of three women from three generations, and their struggle to get their daughter educated. A simple tale of a free spirited woman living behind the thick walls of a dreadfully conservative society, her constant struggle to make everyone around her realise that she too is a human being and have got dreams, desires, and emotions. A few years back Bengali television decided to recreate this story as a TV show, and I am so glad that they did. I was a little apprehensive at first because I wasn’t sure whether they will be able to do justice to the story or not, but that serial took me by surprise. I haven’t seen a show as remarkable as that in a very long time. Acting, set design, dialect, costume, makeup everything so much on point. So much that when the show ended gracefully in its due time it literally left all its audience with teary eyes.

Another show that left its mark on my mind was ‘Ladies Special’ that used to air on Sony TV. Ladies Special was a local train for ladies, and every day several women boarded that train with different destinations to reach. There four women of different age and different situations become friends. Ladies Special is the only place they meet every day, and share with each other everything that has been happening, and counselling each other for problems. Each fighting a war of their own and this half an hour with each other serving as their driving fuel. A very beautiful series of limited episodes very remarkably managed to showcase a few pages from a woman’s life.

But now when I turn the TV on I can’t help but think where did all the creativity go? The serials are about a limited topic, marriage, love, ideal daughter in law, shape shifting snakes, black magic, witches etc. Not a single episode is seen where the family just casually sits and drinks tea while talking about random topic like a normal functioning family. Every episode is full is of loud background music, equally loud acting and expressions, over the top dress and makeup, and mindless twists.

When the world is coming up with eye opening shows like ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’, we are coming up with season two of ‘Kasauti Zindagi Kay’. Where ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ shows us on point that what happens to country which goes wrong, where religious extremism touches the sky and the corrupt government is thrown away only to be taken over by rigid religious extremists and reinforces patriarchy, our Indian Television is still dancing on the tunes of shapeshifting snakes and telling us about the destructive effects of a “Dayan’s” curse.

Well, now I know why youth is on Netflix. The web series have got some good content I have heard. It is time for me to board the Netflix Express as well.

Stood for Peace, Thrashed by Hatred

India & Pakistan; the two names that do not go quite hand in hand and has been a reason of dispute ever since they came into their individual existence. But from the last few years, this fire of hatred has been consuming the country not only at the borders but also from within. In the midst of all the raging fire a name that caught the mass’s attention is Gurmehar Kaur.

A year ago she released a video seeking peace between both the countries and this year when certain universities in Delhi are burning with the fire of revolt, protest, and hatred, one particular screenshot of her holding a placard reading “Pakistan did not kill my father, war did” spread across the internet like wildfire and since then she is heavily criticised in every social media, news portals and so on. She has been given away the tag of being “attention seeker”, “anti-national” etc.

But while everyone was busy thrashing a 20 year old girl who originally made this video not just asking for peace but also asking the government of both the countries to take appropriate steps toward this, they all missed out one small step; to ponder upon her thought and at least once go through her video. Everyone is going gaga about that one placard but what about the rest? Following the latest trend of the internet these days; i.e., bullying anyone and everyone who even slightly speaks opposite to what we think or we presume they did so, everyone did the same to her. While we proudly promote hatred and demand war, we miss out one single fact; it’s not us who physically fight the war but the soldiers do. They are the one who suffer the most and then their families.

In her video she has also mentioned- “I also remember how much I used to hate Pakistan and Pakistanis because they killed my dad. I also hated Muslims because I thought all Muslims are Pakistanis. It took me a while to know but today I do, I have learnt to let go of my HATE. If I can do it so can you. Because if there was no war between us, my father would still be here”, but sadly none of these lines caught any attention. Therefore quoting a few more lines from her video, we leave it on you to read and think-

“If France & Germany can become friends after 2 World Wars, if Japan & USA can put their past behind & work toward progress, THEN WHY CAN’T WE?

Here is the full video: 

Love Jihad or Feudal Mentality?

“Love Jihad”- a term used to define the act where a Muslim guy marries a non-Muslim girl and changes her religion and makes her follow Islam. The term has been raging and caught a special attention once again when an IAS topper Hindu girl decided to marry a Muslim guy who secured the second position in the same IAS ranking. Everyone in the country, including the Hindu Mahasabha, lost their minds because according to them this is an act of treachery and vicious plan to convert Hindus into Muslims. This made me point out one simple fact that is being subtly highlighted through all these comments. Why it is so that everyone has taken it for granted that upon marriage the girl won’t remain a Hindu anymore and will become a Muslim? Let’s consider the case in reverse. A Muslim girl marries a Hindu guy, by her choice. Will we still call it a Love-jihad? Will we take it as an obvious fact that the guy no longer remains Hindu and their kids too will belong to the Muslim community? The answer we all know is a big NO. On the contrary we all will warmly welcome the Muslim into our community as a Hindu girl. This simple example highlights the age old existing feudal mentality that a girl has no stand or identity of her own, even if she is an IAS topper. A girl will always be known by her father’s and then her husband’s identity. Sadly, standing in near end of 2016 the people belonging to the 21^st century generation are also so orthodox. The entire concept of Love Jihad will become null and void once we start considering  a woman as an individual and believe that she too just like her father, brother and husband has an identity of her own and doesn’t need any ‘conversion’ for the sake of validation of the same. A Hindu girl can very well marry a Muslim guy and still remain Hindu, and their kids can proudly follow both Hinduism and Islam, because those who have properly read all the religions will know that both the religion teach love and peace, which according to my understanding, are the most essential fundamental teachings that can be taught.

“Uska Pati Sirf Mera Hai”

Gone are the golden days when we had T.V serials like ‘Sarabhai VS Sarabhai’, ‘Khichdi’, ‘Tu Tu Main Main’ etc. I can count in these names because these are the serials I have seen. But then Ekta Kapoor unleashed her power and we had a new form of TV serial. There were serials where it was always a battle between the good bahu and the vamp. The good bahu was so good that even the goddesses were inspired by her goodness and the vamps, well what to say, I can only summarise by saying ‘larger the size of the bindi eviler is the vamp’. Then we grew up and I was very confident about these new age directors that they will not make serials like these. And yes there we had serials on social issues like female foeticide, child labour, domestic violence and so on. Impressed? Don’t be because they indeed started on these note but eventually they all were back to square one. There would be married couple with a women desperate to marry this girl’s husband because “Uska pati sirf mera hai” (it’s a Sarabhai Vs Sarabhai reference), then the vamp will keep on doing one thing or the other but the good bahu will always defeat her. Pretty cool huh! But I wish this was just it. But then the director lost their minds and started including all a paranormal stuffs. So there is this serial where there is a family whose apparent enemies are ghosts, witches and even Satan! And the best of all, a few episodes back the female protagonist was pregnant with the Devil’s child, to which I can only sigh. In another serial the pious dulhan has to protect her husband from the traps of a witch and an evil women spirit who wants to marry the hero. And then I saw Mata Rani herself came on earth to help the girl to protect her husband. No wonder Mata Rani is so busy and doesn’t have time to hear us. But anyway, I can’t stop these serials from getting telecasted so I can only wish to get some of that stuff that the directors and producers are smoking. It must be some really awesome stuff.

Her Name Is Khan and She Is My FRIEND

Hindu and Muslim, the two names automatically considered as rival communities. Us Hindus are all taught to stay away from Muslims, be their friends but not trust them, don’t hate them, but don’t love them either. Similarly, Muslims are made to believe that Hindus hate them so stay away from them and to stay within their community. It’s as grave as committing a Haram to love Hindus, or anyone outside their community. I was no exception to this teaching; the only difference in my case was, it wasn’t my parents who taught me this, but my entire society who taught me that I am a Brahmin, nearly next to God and that I should remain that way. I was told the story of my ancestors who had to suffer during the India-Bangladesh partition and how Muslims butchered the Hindus and forced the remaining ones to go to India. Words of my great-grandmother became a Patthar ki lakeer, or words engraved on stone, and her words were this, “Do whatever you want to, marry whoever you all want to, but not a Muslim. They have the blood of our loved ones in their hands.” When I heard the entire story behind the decision, I never felt the need to raise any objection. I understood she was hurt, after all, who would love to be thrown out of their own country, their own house and be called an outsider. Moreover, why should I let it bother me?

I grew up in a Hindu Bengali community, later when I moved out of it and became friends with people who were non-Bengalis but Hindus. Most of my friends were Brahmin and they all grew up learning the same things as me. I never had a Muslim friend and I didn’t care. During the years I was growing up, terrorism in India was spreading faster than cancer. Even outside of our borders, terror attacks became a regular occurrence, and the world was engulfed by “Islamophobia”. The situation further worsened after the attacks of 26/11 on Mumbai Taj Hotel which was perpetrated by Lashkar-e-Taiba, an Islamic terrorist organisation based in Pakistan, which carried out a series of 12 coordinated shooting and bombing attacks lasting for four days across Mumbai. The rage against Muslims increased drastically, and I too was consumed by the flames of paranoia. I hated what these people were doing. Muslim people scared the living hell out of me. In fact any one with the name Khan, Ali, Ahmed or Iqbal scared me. The way they dressed, the way they behaved, their beards, the burkhas and the purdah, started giving me chills and I started maintaining a good distance from them. But the fear never concerned me, I didn’t mind it being there. Because why should I? It’s not important, THEY are not important to me.

News of rage against Muslims grew frequent; many political parties declared that they will make India a Hindu Nation and get us all “rid” of Muslims. Some leaders even asked Hindu couples to produce as many kids as possible to counter the growing Muslim population. But I didn’t care because why should I? I am a Hindu and India is my country.

But life had different plans for me. Life decided to give me a reality check, and change my view on people. I finished my undergrad and went to Bhopal to study Journalism. I was oh so excited! But soon my happy bubble met the needle of reality. I met my classmates and they were too different from me. They judged me because my Hindi wasn’t as polished as theirs, I used cuss words, I preferred Shakespeare over Premchand, Game of Thrones over some decade long Indian soap opera, I used English to express my views and failed to understand superfluous Hindi. To me it wasn’t my fault because I grew up in a Bengali community and studied in a Convent school and college. I never really used Hindi that much. But for them it was more like a crime to be unfamiliar with Hindi Language and so I just couldn’t get along with them.

I spent almost my entire July at home and refused to go back there. But eventually I had to. In August I went back and I met a girl in my class and her name was Ahmed. I was apprehensive, judgemental and scared. Why wouldn’t I be? My brain was configured to think in a certain way by now. But, just like a man, the way to a woman’s heart also goes through her stomach. Or at least, mine does. She brought Sheer-Khurma, a type of rice pudding, for it was Eid a few days back and God bless my soul! That rice pudding felt like it fell from heaven, my heart danced a little with every spoon of it as I ate. I eventually learned that, just like me, even she studied English literature in her undergrad, and that her parents were teachers. Both the parents. For some really problematic and judgmental reason, I was impressed.

People talk so much about love, and heartbreak. All senses come into life when people fall in love. But for me, my emotions came into life when I touched friendship. I talk to a lot of people, I am acquainted to many, but I never called anyone ‘a friend’, for I believe terms like love and friendship weigh a lot more than we realise. The more I interacted with her, the more it cleared the heavy clouds of judgment from head. Together we laughed a little louder, cried a little harder, made decision a little too stupid, and later regretted a little more gravely. But isn’t that what friends are for? To be a partner in crime? To build you up when you break bad? To help you grow as a person? To be there for you when this entire world turns their back on you?

As I spent more and more time with her, her views became clearer, and now she started telling me about Islam and what it says, what are the do’s and don’ts, what are the rules and the reason why they exist. I started reading about it and it all made so sense. It was all proper, but most importantly the preaching. THEY WERE SO SIMILAR TO HINDUISM. They were like different paths leading to same mountain. The exact words, the exact philosophies just different language. Why are we enemies again? I couldn’t comprehend anymore.

It was soon enough that her family adopted me as a part of them. They treated me as their own daughter. Soon they became family away from family.

Then my series of visits became more often.  I went out for dinner with them, met her relatives and they too treated me as a part of their family. I was touched. With time our friendship grew, and became stronger. Every sleepover added a new milestone to our friendship, and each milestone made a new contribution to the memories we were making. Our late-night horror movie sessions, sneaking out at 2 am to smoke a cigarette, and staying up till 5 in the morning talking about anything and everything about our lives.

When I was down with chicken pox, it was an ultimate eye opener for me. I was in Bhopal, away from family, alone and down with the infection, and her family brought me home. They let me stay there, took me to the doctor. I slept in my dear friend’s room and she took care of me like a mother. I was them only for three days but in these three days they did all that they could to keep me comfortable. But then I came home and the people among who I grew up, the people from my own society and culture treated me like an untouchable. All of a sudden, I wasn’t a Brahmin anymore. I was an untouchable girl with a highly infectious disease. They even went to the extent that they “advised” my mother not to stay in the same room as me and not to enter the room unless it was absolutely required. I was sick and weak, and they wanted me to be alone.

My best friend is an Ahmed, and she is one the best human beings as I have ever seen. I am what I am because of her presence in my life. True Shakespearean love is hard to find, but a true friend is rare. After all, when love breaks your heart you go to your friend, because it’s simple. love breaks, but a true friend heals. I am ashamed, I am guilty, but now I have changed. My friend is an Ahmed and now I am proud of it.