A feminine hue in a world ruled by patriarchy

Through dusk and through million other nights when we look above to the limitless horizon defining the ground beneath us, we see the same dancing lights but each a different fate, a different silhouette. Your story was written in the past similar to the millions of souls who walked on the same magical dust which bears the green of this world, cycle after cycle, year after year. But is this the story you want for yourself or do you want the power to shape it and change it completely?


We have evolved from being the hard hitting philosophers who thought we inhibit a flat planet to an absolutely unbelievable amount of acceptance of almost everything in life including same sex marriages. Our psyche transformed through the years and conceded us to see things in a new light. We opened up to new possibilities in all lengths and breadths of life.

Our belief system is somehow rooted in our upbringing. It is in the stories told to us while we slept in our mother’s lap. Those stories stayed with us. Those fairytales and heroes added a little to what we are today and how we imagined this world would be for us. My allegories had the universe in them, the cage breaking bird, the talking doll, the monsters invading the earth, the princess falling in love with the beautiful handsome prince and most importantly the damsel in distress.

Yes, the focal point of almost all stories had a damsel in distress. The shades of a woman’s character peaked from the strongest point of the story to being dragged down as the weakest link which needed help. One cannot say it is the Indian society and its narrow mindedness which spun these tales. The ancient Greek mythology essentially talks about women in context of sex and bearing off springs to take the family forward. The powerful men ruled the kingdoms while the women even though possessing powers were seen as subjects of gratification for the mindless war fighting men.


The middle ages saw Christianity in full swing against women who had the extraordinary knowledge and power to transform things and have a profound effect on people. These women were labeled ‘witches’ because they were overstepping the power of the church. The male chauvinistic society could not the bear the pain of women taking over a world which was dictated by them. One cannot justify burning these women alive and torturing them with any number of theories or explanations.

The Hindu mythology worships women and then turns around and makes her an object of pleasure. It keep us right on top of the ladder and then disgraces the same woman by questioning her character and punishing her for sins committed by their counterparts. When Goddess Sita married Lord Ram, she was 16. At that age she had the choice of staying back in the palace to lead her life peacefully or live a primitive life in the forest. She chose the latter because this is the first ‘dharam’ of a wife. The same wife was abducted and 14 years later her sanctity was questioned. She stepped through the blazing fire to prove that she was ‘pure’. But gossip didn’t die. She was with a man who was not her husband for 14 years, could she be forgiven? Could she be pardoned for a ‘crime’ which she didn’t even commit? No. So a pregnant Goddess Sita was sent to the jungle yet again. Lord Ram was ready to accept her back when he saw his two sons but she was questioned and asked to prove her fidelity yet again.


Draupadi was ‘lost’ in a game of dice by her husband. She was married to the five Pandavas against her wish because Arjuna’s mother asked him to ‘share’ what he had won in an archery clash. As absurd as all this sounds, everything has one thing in common; an immensely understanding and forlorn woman who sacrificed everything for her husband/brother/father for their motive of pleasure, property and wealth of the world.

Do these women deserve a better ending? Did you get a chance to change your story? Are women only entitled to these sufferings even though she is the only chance for this humanity to grow and develop into something absolutely beautiful?

We are born the same way beneath the same blue sky. We are entitled to the same upbringing as our brother/friend and we get all that in some cases but we majorly fail as a society to provide that basic respect to a girl. As we age, the gender gap widens even further. Our education is stopped beyond a point, our clothes become conservative some more, our thoughts are regulated, the boundary of what we can do increases some more and the expectation from us escalates even more promptly.


While I strongly believe that men and women are not equal in many dimensions, I demand equality in areas which should be the basic hygiene factors for a happy life. A woman is more patient, emotionally mature and the has the ability to withstand changes for her loved ones in a way most men can’t, so, a woman is stronger. I don’t think a woman can be physically stronger than a man in most cases because God made us a little more feminine and gentle. We are moulded to give birth to a new life, we have our own supernatural and super awesome powers. Why compete with men?

Our society was and is still struggling under the weight of the tales spun thousands of years ago where women served men. Where men were superior. It distresses me to witness such incidents and people, who think women should not be educated or should not work because they can do nothing better than cook or take care of the family. When somebody like Gandhi Ji lied naked in a bed with his grand daughter to test his patience, it shakes me from inside.

It clearly indicates that education alone is incapable of changing our psyche. It will take more than just a good college education to change the rigid mental picture of roles of men and women in this society. It starts with our family upbringing and the way we narrate our fables. We have to change the role of women from being the off spring bearing machine to being the flag bearers of something much more important like shaping the future of our world because who you are today is a strong impression of what your mother/grand mother and countless other women left on you.


We are both part of the same cosmic universe. We are both atoms of the same kind. We feel the same happiness when the season’s first rain impinges against our skin. We feel the same hunger pangs when we are too busy in our commitments. We see the same beautiful night sky to find among the million stars the one which is ours. We both have the same insecurities and love with all our heart. When i put in the same hours in office as you, why do people see that as handwork and my being a woman is seen as a reason for promotion? We walk the same path but what we get out of it is so different, why?

I don’t think we are the same. But I think we both deserve similar respect and opportunities. Me not by virtue of just being a woman, but the by the work I do and how I conduct myself. You and I should be under the same radar. When you are weak I support you and where I fall short, you be my hero. We are all a part of some or the other struggles and we can make it easy by being the stronger one when the other soul needs nurturing. Atoms of the same soul, atoms of the same universe.


Aaina dekh kar tasalli hui,
Hum ko is ghar mein janta hai koi……..


A dole of broken serendipity


The rustic leaves on either sides paved a way and led towards the hurtling stream which jumped over the green moss stricken pebbles strewn all over the place. It was a beautiful spot with orange and pink leaves, the water was clear and the sound of the gushing stream was so pure and so serene that floating on the water made so much sense. The first feet went in the water and a sudden rush gushed in the entire body like a volt of current. The second feet came in a second later as the whole body slipped inside the icy cold water. The soul felt calm and just when it was starting to feel ethereal, a sudden fear gripped the body and it started to drown. You can’t float on water after all, the mind thought.

Jhanvi woke up with a start. She opened her eyes in fear to a room full of colored boxes and glittery paper all around. The dream depicted her current state of life. She felt her heart drop once more when she realized where she was and what day it was. A 13 year old by virtue may only look forward to some pancakes or meeting her friends on a sunday morning one would think but the bondages of human society transform a plain simplistic picture of life into a mosaic.

13 years ago her parents weren’t happy to see a girl being born in the family. A girl came with responsibilities, a girl came with a cost and above all a girl wouldn’t carry their family name forward. Her mother got busy trying to conceive another baby, a boy, and bore her second child when Jhanvi turned 1. The whole family was ecstatic on the arrival of the family heir. The little child of hardly 13 months was neglected as though she didn’t exist. The love of a mother could be questioned but not changed which prevailed only for her son. All eyes, all hands and everything was for the son.

Jhanvi reminded them of the cost her marriage would bring to them. The sooner she is married off, the better, her father always thought. A small child of age 5 or 6 didn’t know love because it never touched her. She always watched from the corner of the room when her brother lay between her mother and father while she stood in a corner abandoned. It pierced her heart but she only shed silent tears. Her grandmother was the only one who loved her. She spent nights listening to fairytales and slept beside her with a face saturated with dried up tears.

Jhanvi was 13 when her father’s cousin from the other town suggested that its the right age for her to get married to his friend’s son who was 20 and a plumber. Jhanvi’s mother was apprehensive only for a while and gave in to the idea after a little persuasion from her husband. After all, the wedding jewelry was ready and the sooner Jhanvi was married off, the sooner life became free of any burden for them.

Destiny conveniently chose the worst for Jhanvi and her hand was given in marriage to Pushkar.  She was reading Tagore’s ‘Where the mind is without fear’ which was ironic to the situation in her life when her father walked in and announced that she is getting married. Each word stabbed her right in her heart. She protested but in vain. She knew her father’s decision was final and nobody could ever reverse it.


She stopped going to school from the very next day, why pay the fee when there was no need of education now? Her parents calculated everything and education didn’t fall in their list of priorities when the preparations were in full swing. Jhanvi sat in a corner and cried. Her grandmother tried to relate Jhanvi’s life to her own life and made her understand the sacrifices a girl has to make during her lifetime.

The present day was a horror movie in action. She had seen a small photo of Pushkar and he looked old enough to be her uncle. She was terrified of the very thought of living in the same house as his and yet here she was on her wedding day with no way out of the mess she was in. She could run away but go where? A 13 year old’s vision of the world is limited and her options, zilch.

Her mother forced her out of bed and into the shower. She was immersed in sandal paste and all sorts of things which were yellow and smelled nice to Jhanvi. Her life was a haze right now and she wanted nothing else but a day to comprehend what was happening and what lied ahead of all this drama that was taking place without her consent but unfortunately she was granted nor the day nor the choice to have the final word in anything.

Her henna painted hands were adorned with glass bangles, her head was covered in veil and the blazing red bridal outfit which was bought a fortnight back was put on her. Jhanvi still looked as young as she was, no amount of make up or heavy embellished clothes could hide her innocence or age. The walk from her bedroom to the mandap was a torture and she controlled her tears as a punishment to herself.

Hours later she sat on a bed of a house she had not seen before, a place she didn’t know and a feeling so alien she questioned why she was even alive to do what was about to happened. Pushkar walked into the room and bolted the room. Jhanvi clenched the bedsheets tightly awaiting the horror to unfold. Pushkar came closer to her and forced himself on her. With everything that was left inside her, she gave in. She gave in to a man she hadn’t even seen properly before, she gave in to a pain which made her want to scream her lungs out and she gave up on her life that night.

The murky sunlight filtered through the old frail curtains in the room and hit Jhanvi’s eyes. The events of yesterday had taken a toll on the little girl and although her body still screamed for more sleep, her brain had recalled everything that happened last night and the room came into focus. She saw Pushkar sleeping peacefully next to her. His sight irked her soul. She wanted to run out of the room and out of this life her parents had pegged for her.


There was nothing to do but to get dressed and greet the hoard of family members waiting for her she thought. A small session on how to wear a saree was certainly not helpful as she struggled to drape it around her slender waist. Jhanvi met some good and some not so pleasant people of a house which was now her family. It seemed that there was an awful number of men in the family and very few ladies. On inquiring she was told that she was the only girl in her house and now she was responsible for all the household chores which was short for a maid.

A week passed and the festivities ended. Pushkar didn’t care much about Jhanvi unless he wanted some pleasure during the nights. Jhanvi cooked and cleaned, took care of the family in her own clumsy ways and braved taunts on being a useless ‘woman’ which she was not; she was merely a girl who used to attend the 6th grade a month back and now she was suddenly in charge of some middle aged men she didn’t even know properly.

Jhanvi was 3 weeks pregnant when she found out about it. Her instant reaction was to go kill herself in the nearby pond but the entire family was ecstatic and it was the most happy they had been since she moved in. The whole atmosphere of the house changed except that her pregnancy reminded her of the multiple rapes that she had endured. The child will not bear a single ounce of love but my endless sacrifices she thought. But the child had become a part of her existence and she had to choose between love and hatred. The innate tendency of human beings is to find a soul just like theirs to confide the greatest, deepest and darkest secrets that they have and when they don’t find that soul, they cave in and become dangerous. Jhanvi had that choice of choosing love over hatred, a choice of redeeming her life and living it with a purpose.

Her struggles were as real as her pregnancy. Her family extended no support, she went through the same cycle of torture each day and Pushkar’s desires couldn’t wait for the baby to come. Some of the days the pain and agony of suffering was so much that Jhanvi considered suicide as the prime choice to end everything but her grandmother’s last words rang in her ears. She always seemed to stop herself.

After months of illness and torment, Jhanvi gave birth to a fragile looking baby girl. The hospital was shocked to see such a young mother and vehemently opposed such a practice. The kind female doctor gave the infant in Jhanvi’s arms and shed a tear. She could read Jhanvi’s struggle on her face and felt a sense of guilt engulfing her soul for not handling them off to the police.

Jhanvi looked into her daughter’s eyes and felt a blanket of happiness enveloping her. She promised herself that her fate wont be intertwined in hers, that her daughter wont go through the agony of a life lent to her by others. Just when the infant started crying, Jhanvi vomited blood and gave the baby to the nurse. The doctor tended to her but the bleeding didn’t stop. In horror Jhanvi saw the bed smeared with her blood, her mouth was not the only source of blood coming out of her body. Slowly the room became a blur and she passed out.

Jhanvi didn’t live to see the baby live to even the second day of her life. Her in laws dumped her baby at her parents’ house and asked them to take care of the liability they were not ready to take since their daughter didn’t live to nurse the baby. Jhanvi’s parents were in a state of shock but more worried about the baby which was now in their charge.


Jhanvi lay peacefully on the ground. She had a little smile on her face. The smile of finally getting relieved of all the pain that she went through in her small life span on the planet. The smile was for the freedom from the struggles that were yet to begin because she gave birth to a daughter. Jhanvi was free at last and on that unfortunate night; love and kindness died a million deaths.

{The latest Census report on the decadal headcount in 2011 reveals that child marriage is rampant, with almost one in every three married woman having been wed while she was still under the age of 18 years in India.

What is worse is a whopping 78.5 lakh girls (2.3% of all women or girls who were ever married or were married in 2011) were married while they were not yet 10 years of age. The Census data also show that 91% of all married women were married by the age of 25 years.

The legal age for marriage is 18 for women and 21 for men. But an alarming 30.2% of all married women, or 10.3 crore girls, were married before they had turned 18, as per Census 2011 data released on Friday. In a silver lining of sorts, however, the trend seems to be on the decline. As per Census 2001 data, 43.5% of all married women had been married while they were under the age of 18 years.}

The forfeited stars

They were born out of different pixie dusts; Love, religion and lust,

The skies were painted red; An army of thoughts and dreams were led,

Across those deep oceans; Complacent on surface but knows only commotion.


Love is blind they say; Is it truly?

Love is patient they say; I tell you those are stories they make;

Love is strong they say; I’d tell you its fragile like clay,

Love is forever they say; In those rusty old caskets are the truths laid,

Of innumerable suffering, did they say? To paint a picture for you to take,

To make the heart suffer; Remembering the stories which made the heart flutter.

Love is miscalculated; All the other notions are dated,

Love is kind; Heart always over mind,

But love is also weighted; Bows down to chronicles undated.

Love is not a fairytale; Each of them have their own tales,

of their own world; Of their homes and chambers hated,

Hated and hidden deep down; Awaited by the two,

To either embrace it; With grace,

Or to shatter; Because the society matters.


But the faults of that casket they accept; To make the society inept.

Before the sands of time blow; They leave tip toe,

To arrest what they have; The love, happiness and lies,

Enough to make the souls survive; Enough for two to thrive,

The world fails again; to discern; To let some adulation flow,

Loses itself to inutile chapters and verses; Long told; inept to change its mold.

They have their own battles to fight; To choose between wrong and right,

A tear escapes her eyes; She is tired of all the fights,

But this is not the end he says; There will be better days and night,

They close their eyes to the million stars above; Much above our battle of religion, lust & love!

Golden sickles & a broken pen

The muddled heart wasn’t ready, the scars were still fresh and the mind was worried about the little crease in the ivory shirt that flashed in the somewhat spotty mirror. There was a definite lack of synchronization today. Life never follows the path you want to fly on and it rather drags you along on that sloppy muddy trail left behind by millions of others unless you are somewhat close to being batman or something.

The pumps pinched a little, made me a little higher as I checked myself in the mirror for the nth time. Yes, I was the spitting image of my mother only modern. I shot a look at my new gleaming bag which was supposed to bring good luck and grabbed it to head out for the first day of the utterly sophisticated world of consulting.

I was a mere 6 days old MBA graduate. A 25 year old sailing on 18 with a pair of shorts and t-shirt on the exact same day a second back it seemed and everything was wavering now from one extreme to the other. I was hysterical to be honest more than anything. Yes I had the dream job, good city and what not, but the mind and its anxiety are like hindi movies and overdramatic mothers, made for each other material, truly.


The first day was of course all confusion and more confusion, trying to open doors which wont open without a card which i didn’t have and so on. The clank clank of the heels, the fake laughter and those crisp business suits. Everything was new and exciting. People call you the ‘chosen one’ when you get your first assignment within the first two days of joining. Hell yeah I felt like Harry Potter until they told me that they were flying me to Varanasi, the land of bhang and everything else that you haven’t seen in life.

When I stepped out of the crisp aircraft environment into the warm breeze of Varanasi, I saw a small yellow building with a tilted board announcing I had finally arrived. The journey from the airport to the client site was amazingly disturbing for some one who had just commenced a new chapter in life with a long list of plans to visit all the pubs and weekend getaways, those dreams were now taking the shape of temples and severely damaged roads which transformed into a river as soon as it rained.

After the initial shock I was finally adjusting to a whole new world yet again, like they say, only change is permanent, well, that is the only permanent in my life these days. The town was new, the culture; quite old and an atmosphere where everyone was so laid back that it induced a sort of laziness in me and all my team mates. The rickshaw pullers slept on their rickshaws, the auto guys would rather sip tea than take you anywhere and the waiter would spend a good five minutes understanding something as simple as getting a straw to test your patience and I could go on and on.

I am a part of Financial Services consulting, I loathed finance back then and maybe even now. Suddenly I had to become a core banking solution person. I had to know how a bank works and how the whole system works. I had to make killer presentations to look intellectual, I tried to learn everything very fast similar to drinking a scalding tea so quick that it burns the very inside of your stomach and throat, such is the humor of life. I was a marketing person all my life and God conveniently picked me up from the world of philanthropy and pinned me to this giant stodgy finance monster.

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That also changed after a few months, I was sent back to where I belonged, well thats what I think at least- Delhi. My Gurgaon office is sprawled with pubs and night clubs on both sides, it stands tall and handsome. I like it here other than the fact that its a long travel for me each day, but what is perfect? I see my life as this emotional dramatic movie, people call me a drama queen,well thank god I am not boring! 

I have learned this, when we are in college we think the life after this is going to be awesome, we are wrong. We think this lesson on blah is boring and practically it doesn’t get used, well, we are wrong again. I invite you to spend a day with me and see how people talk about blue ocean strategy and product mix strategy all the time. I wish some one told me that!

When life gives you the best of everything, it also takes away a little from you. When you crib about the present and reminiscence the past, remember this should be the day you cherish so that you have difficulty picking out the best one. My job maybe perfect to some but it has its own very real struggles which not many would even want to face but to them my life is perfect. You know why? I choose to show the best of it and that should be all of us. We should be an epitome of life well lived rather than a life well slogged and made blotchy with tears of complaints all the effing time.


After all this while…..

through the disgruntled night winds, those disturbed and weary kinds,
i was born out of ashes, out of endless clashes,
of supper and board, tied inside those needless chords,
i was waiting, the chamber of my heart straining,
straining to hear that knock, to break through the ticking clock,
i heard a murmur, a bleak voice tearing through the chamber,
alas, that hope, clearing through that fog,
i heard the knock again, was it another stain?
of those false promises, of red veils and bangles?


wait! i hear it again! deafening the soul wanting to be sane,
the thundering silk purple curtain, those weary white ghosts lurking,
a nod, a knock or was it the ticking clock?
i camouflage my fear, put up a face which could bear,
those painted smiles, that first touch which was sly,
my heart fluttered, but that soul disgruntled and cluttered,
pulled it down to the ground, was i unacceptable to the crowd?
those endless struggles, of survival and death,
trading flesh, between those depressed distressed sheets,
meet a new silhouette, a new soul.

distressed but in vain, my dreams are only plain,
of food and smile, not intoxication or lies,
the chamber lies away, buried deep where it stays,
gets rattled only those nights, of amours and knights,
steering into the deepest corners, make believe stories; i am the mourner.

maybe i demand a little more, this time from all this a cure,
a lucid answer, an intelligible life,
he is vanilla, enamoring, glowing in the murky life,
while he doesn’t rattle, but does it truly matter?
victim i am of my own choices, life is so much more and of silent poises,
i hand over myself, my destiny, to that path uncrossed and feared by many,
my fete is a sum of my own prime.

The tacky overdramatic Last Night

The itchy glue resisted the separation from the blanched rough wall which was its home for the past 2 years, a symbol of love and a moment of frustration for me, I couldn’t risk a discipline committee call at this time of my college life and that too because of a stupid glue mark on my room wall!

IMG_20160422_005138.jpgMy agitation got the better part of me and I collapsed on my bed with a thud. I didn’t want to leave and the inane gum wont come off from the umpteen number of photos that I had put on the wall to make it my ‘home’. A home which I had to leave now, a home which had served its purpose now. The last rays sank as the curtain swallowed the remaining sun of the day, it was 6:30pm. Somehow the courage to make those frosty walls bland again made me sick. The tink of the microwave announced somebody was hungry and it was maggi time, the apartment’s staple food for all times of the day.

I checked myself in the mirror, wiped the last tear from my nose and cleared the smudged eye liner to hide any signs of crying to step out of the door. Walking to Sneha’s room was a ritual and habit that I had developed in the first year. I would just go there and lie on her crumpled bed sheet. Sometimes the fairy lights which caged her birds on the wall entertained my thoughts and other times we just ranted about everything in the world. We have come a long way from that bus ride to the Hero Moto Corp’s manufacturing plant on August 21 2014.

I came back to my room and picked up my phone from the mess that I had made of my otherwise squeaky clean room, it was a pain for me to watch it in that state but my mental contingency made it impossible for me to clean it. My phone flashed two emails and 4 missed calls from Aayush, the only soul who understood what it meant for me to leave.

I struggled out of my bed and stepped into the warm campus breeze. The ruffled up leaves in the corner made a mess in the middle of the way, was everything going to be so wrong about this day? With a heavy heart I walked towards the mess with him. The peculiar mess food smell always made me nauseated earlier and today it made me happy. The bleached light from the tubes above painted an atmosphere of a vibrant campus. People right from Tamil Nadu to Nepal, all eating the same food. I helped the young boy I didn’t recognize, pick up pieces of cucumber he dropped and left to grab something cold to drink from the Tuck shop.

The campus had No shops when we came, like no canteen too! From that to a superstore style shop to a salon, the transformations made me smile and happy, a little jealous because I wont be able use all of it. My feet led me to my night mecca to eat, the dhaba, the only place in campus which serves sumptuous tandoori chicken and naan, something you would think could cheer a dead person’s soul, but, not me tonight. I ate silently while the mosquitos drank my blood both from my legs as I wear nothing but shorts and my hands, so everyone had a good dinner that night, at least the mosquitoes did.


First Day

My memories in campus are like a Pandora’s box, once opened could cause mayhem to people sitting beside me. All I would do is cry and trust me, I would. Those unforgettable class sitting arrangements, those coffees in those days of Lavazza, the omelettes and pajamas in Sunday classes, THAT London trip and I could go on and on……

My hobby of watching the stars and the moon may be annoying to some but it always gives me peace. I strolled down my regular road behind the workshop, kicking a small stone or two on the way, thinking about life outside the peaceful campus. Life is going to be about the honking cars, the cry about pollution and corruption, the responsibilities and the bosses, nope, you are not the ‘boss’ anymore as claimed by many people of my age.

What maybe I am failing to realize is that maybe life is so much more than what’s it in campus. What’s waiting for me outside those gates is probably more than this peaceful life, but I love this life and I wish I could just stop this crazily frantically running clock for some time!

I walked slowly towards my room for the last time, the last night walk, my last night in the concrete mess, my last few steps on this tiled way which was dust and bore my footprints some months ago, everything was changing and is still changing, I entered the apartment building for the last time as a resident and  wrote 11:59pm in the student’s register and signed off.


I want to thank BMU for reconciling me with my old love of writing about anything and every crazy shit that exists, for reuniting me with freedom which was hindered, for bringing out in me a person I never knew existed, for gifting me pounds of flesh through unhealthy maggi times, for making me feel the presence of love from some of the finest people I have ever known and for making me fit into all those people, some of them culturally diverse, socially awkward, the uptight ones, the loyals, the overdramatic and the straight jacketed pun intended type personalties.

*Bows Down

Life: A Cucumber’s perspective

The scorching sun rays hit the back of my cool skin. Hanging from the barbed wires of Ram’s farm, I could feel the stretch already. I have been hanging here since ages now. The days dissolve into the cool nights and the orange hot ball comes up again. The squirrels particularly are chirpy and give me some reassurance that there is someone whose life is more meaningless than mine and well mine is just hanging in this wind which bashes against my cool curvy body.


After what seemed like an eternity, I fell down on the dusty ground beside the green bush. All ripe and ready to be served on the plate. I want to go to the big hotel with that big white hat chef to slice me real nice. I don’t want to be like my neighbor who ended up with the cycle puller on the dusty village roads as a munchy with masala. I am good enough for those porcelain white plates from the crystal clear bowls dressed in some white mayonnaise sauce and a sprinkle of salt. The desires of life are endless!

But wait!Ram is selling me to the restaurant owner of the nearby town. He runs the office mess too. That doesn’t make me happy but then what choice does a cucumber have? In his old dingy van I started my first journey as a free bird on the crooked road down the farm. Ram took good care of me but he could have sold me to a better dealer. Life!

The restaurant owner dumped me in his kitchen and informed the old murky cook about the refill of vegetables. Lying on the floor with the other cucumbers of my farm, we felt disgusted with the sooty floor of the kitchen, it smelled of an oily mop which must have been used hundreds of times on the same floor without cleaning.

life-spirit-feature-imgThe next day, a middle aged boy sliced me in half and cut me down to cubicles and sprinkled salt on me and showered me with lemon juice. After a rather shaky time in the deep container he put me aside. Apparently the room upstairs wanted a serving of round cucumbers. I am always intrigued by the human mind, whether you slice me up in cubes or rounds, I taste the same, I mean really!

The  same boy decorated me in a small plate and took me upstairs to the room where a slim beautiful girl greeted him with a smile. She lifted some parts of me and i thought finally, some one nice will consume me. To my horror, she put me on her eyes and went to sleep. Here I was lying on some face as a cooling agent. The purpose of my life was to be consumed not to be used. But what can a cucumber say? She threw me away in the dustbin after 20 mins.

The other part of my life lies in that kitchen. The old man picked me up and put me across 3 different plates beside chicken, mutton and some gajar halwa. I was in a better place here.

The boy handed over the plates to the hungry customers. While in a hurry some of them kept dropping droplets of chicken curry over me. One of them did finish me off and fulfilled my karma. The rest of them spilled halwa and water over me. The tangy lemon juice got washed over and I was all soggy.

After what felt like infinite amount of time, the boy picked the plates up and popped me in his mouth. He threw away the spilled over chicken curry over me in the big stingy dustbin.

Hero-Image-LifeSciences-GeneralWe have all sorts of expectations from life and what we think and we get are poles apart for almost all of us. The best in life for us is just a perspective. Maybe the best is what happened to us and what is about to happen. I don’t know what my life would have been if it was in a  big hotel, maybe they would have never used me and I would be rotting somewhere until they tossed me away in the corner of a garbage truck. Life is uncertain but it is full of adventures that you don’t want to know in advance, it sucks the fun out of it, doesn’t it?

If you don’t use me and leave it on the ground, my seeds take over my pulp and burst out inside the ground and give rise to other plants. But was that my karma? No. Our life is nothing but struggles and fight to acquire a little more land, a little more wealth and a little more happiness which is dependent on the little of other things. I am not saying its wrong, but it is an endless spiral of nothing. I could be a juice, a salad, a beauty treatment, a raita, but can I be all?

Happiness is ethereal.

The above story is inspired by a discussion with my dean Mr.Tapan Panda. It is his idea and his perspective, I have merely weaved them into a humble account.