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Thursday, 7 March 2019

I am a woman and I love being so

We are not given a choice to be born in a specific gender; neither can we choose our family, nor our caste, not even the place of our birth ….that’s God’s plan. But we can always select the way we live, man or a woman we have our definite characteristics ….being born as a girl, as a woman I knew that I had something unique. The very inherent quality of a woman is her sensitivity toward life. In the womb, I felt the feminine touch. Sensitive, strong, confident of giving birth, of raising and of taking care of her creation, of loving, of holding, of feeding, of surviving, of protecting. That was a female, a mother, a woman. The first encounter.

Then as I stepped out from the womb, the legacy of being nurtured up by a woman with all her might was so firm, so vibrant, and so contagious. The zeal to live, the zeal to fight, the zeal to survive amidst the dragons, the monsters and the real world came in automatically. The confidence of handling many hurdles came upon, be it  bread earner, or shaping a child’s future, be it packing the loved wrapped lunch box for someone we care or holding the wrinkled  hands of our parents, the bond of love inherited in the womb continued
Of many dreams, aspirations, ambitions, desire, pursuits, aim, yearnings, there was this subtle hint that there is   that I am strong, I am alive, I am a fighter, I am a survivor, I have faith in myself,  I care, I  think, I  create, I  love, I share, I  feed,  I fight, I can…I have the power within.  I am grounded yet I am the strength, I am rooted yet I am free-willed, I am sensitive yet I can fight back. I choose to be as strong …I am myself, complete, unique and a woman.
This is written for #womensDayWithlookAdora

https://www.instagram.com/p/BusdQLfFyR4/

Tuesday, 19 February 2019

Time was a masterpiece in an art gallery- Pricey, upscale, beautiful







The role of Time in our life. I am not talking about the Time as referred to in Physics. But as a patient, as a caregiver, as a human being, as a daughter, as a lover.

The aspect it plays, how we are running ahead or behind time, time as a continual reminder, time as a witness, time as a beholder, time as an omnipotent agent and time as a healer.   

Every act of ours is modulated by a Time Watch, the pulse of each beat impacts our life at this crucial phase, from detection to the journey, till the journey.

We are chasing time, each one of us in our own way.


The Time Theory  and the  Early Detection



Early detection has always paved the path for better diagnosis and treatment. The earlier the stage, choices of having treatment options are always enhanced.

There are cancers that have screening tests and may be symptoms are more evident. Hold on to the signals the body gives, catch those minor signs, we all know we are mortals but having said it’s an unmusical reality to realize the truth.  
Maybe those little flicks are sometimes an indicator of an underlying concern. Go for a checkup man! And that’s also a loud bell to myself (a coward, an antagonist, an unchivalrous with regards to visiting a doctor)My heart kicks an extra beat or rather sinks to oblivion when I am in the medical room, apprehensions are my soulmate….I  imagine a lot. Especially in India, we are lagging behind the concept of routine check-ups due to many reasons. The fault lies within us. I feel absolutely a doomed individual when it comes to regular check-ups. Time mind it, plays hard.

Bile Duct cancer, unfortunately, does not throw many signals.

Dad had yellow eyes, itchy skin, weight loss. We never knew jaundice is a symptom of cancer. 'Obstructive jaundice' as termed, unfortunately, It was the last stage.

The cycle of  Time comes in  two folds here

The momentum suddenly fluctuates between “ the hold on time” and  “fleeting time”. Time is a transient concept.

See the link below↓

Early detection and Timely intervention -Magnifies the scope of recovery

 I am not a doctor, but everything I write is through my experience whatever I could gather miniscule. Every event and incident in our life, leave us with a better understanding and insight into many things we never think may fall upon us.
If not enlightened we can be far more aware to decide on to the potential treatment plans, investigate curative and palliative methods, make a treatment methodology program, arrange funds, spin a yard with time and make the best out of each fragile seconds.
  

Time- The journey





The calendar, the clock, the dates in the prescription, the dissection of time through years, months, days, minutes, seconds have been a  constant reminder that we are moving through the journey. Ahead of pace, each day at a time. Reeling under the time concept, I recognized the concept of time in an entirely new way. 

From diagnosis to treatment, the most evident thing was a wholesome underlying factor of organizing them in a way that we could get the most of it. The very key factor, in this case, was holding on to every bit without ignoring any signal, timely access to medical supervision, on the spot, hands-on mode to be functional throughout. Every morning it used to be a new day. Hopes pinned up for a better day. If not hopes what exactly do we rely on.

So the routine of going through all the ordeals every day goes on but the crux of understanding the gravity of the disease unknowingly bumps up every time. Dad was quite a fighter, denial had been always his mode of sustenance or rather a survival. Fever, pains, chills, was a routine offshoot, but if gauged on a broader scale it was still good times, convenient times, stable times. I fell in love with Time...unscrupulously, hopelessly.



Cataloging Time




In our times we have better clinical investigations to meter down the span of time we have, though there is something beyond the human scope. A prescribed time is what the medical fraternity gives us, beyond, behind and accurate is what God gifts us. 

We are given choice in every step of life, identifying it is our own call. As a caregiver, as a daughter, as a human being, I too had many delusions in life during crisis mode, we all have unless we don’t fall into the spot, we don’t know how to set the remote of survival.  When we know the clock has been set, how do we make use of every minute, every second, it's messy, it's the end of the world in every way but still, let hope be our savior.



  1. Sketch the priorities
  2. Underline the important tasks of each day
  3. Corner out specific time - Specific time that infers to quality and quantity
  4. Edge out the most important and regular chores
  5. "Leave aside mode" ON, live every ounce


Certain things can be postponed. Hold on- to time, people, and moments we all know why.  Yes, they don’t return while everything does.

The extraction of the crux from the rest 

It is where the duality strikes. Quality or quantity. 
The fact that with life, not giving any commitments we are all legalized to create our own set of happiness within the frame of time. 
Chemo was not an option for us. Yes, quality of life was. So the real chaos began now. 3 months, 6 months, 2 years,5 years that’s a different story, let's make it big, let’s create a larger than life screen. Hold on mode starts.

Please refer to the link↓


Time was a masterpiece in an art gallery- Pricey, upscale




The beginning of the best time is when we glorify it in every way. I had never asked my Dad what has been the luckiest day in his entire life. I also asked him if he had a crush after marriage, if he missed someone, if he wanted to talk about his best day,  If  he mourned about a moment, if he cherished one thing, if he longed for a specific occasion, his cravings, his longings, his wishful thoughts, his agonies, his mischiefs. 

Confession box with his daughter, how beautiful did it sound. Time suddenly became a piece of art, beautiful, pricey, upscale.

Immortalizing the Time concept- God or demon,




Rewind, backtrack, undo, backup, flashback - Time. Immortalize it like a God or maybe a demon.

Time as healer

Now, as I stand there all by myself, a battle of 14 months, of all the experiences I counted, I am waiting for this when Time heals me forever.

-






Tuesday, 8 January 2019

My 2nd chapter with Bile Duct Cancer (Cholangiocarcinoma)- I was not a Monk






 We are all unique individuals and have a  set pattern of handling events of our life. Our body and mind have an inherent mechanism to cope up with stress and anxiety. It reacts differently in each case according to our capacity and capabilities.  Failings and foibles are always holding our hands. Superheroes don't exist in the real world. It's fine. Inhale and exhale.....I am not a preacher though or a healer. I was a witness to all, unfortunately.

Courage and Strength are not handkerchiefs in our back pockets.  We have our own stories of setbacks, of heartaches, of pain, of stress, of panic-stricken nights, of sweaty mornings, of faster pulse rates, of sobbing underneath the pillow, of wiping tears at the backyard,  struggling hard each minute to bottle sanity.

We all want to relieve pain, stress, we all desire a shoulder …there may be some who have handled anxiety in a better way, some who did not…how does it matter, at the end it's our struggles, we took care of it in the best possible way either we failed or lifted ourselves up, it's our stories, entirely taken care of by us. 

Dad after being diagnosed with Cholangiocarcinoma in September and with palliative treatment, started recuperating, stable, weak, pale, and worthier if not hope there was a faint gleam everywhere, of living by days, by moments, if not by years. Not at all waiting for the grandiose plan of living life till the last star falls, or the end of civilization or till the last day of the world but with fragmented hours, sliced minutes, and crumbled seconds he knew, we knew we were moving forward in the journey.

Image result for cholangiocarcinoma


Now as we tend to be around people who are affected with any kind of ailments or disease and especially with the brutal C, we might have an occasional, frequent, usual outburst of stress, fear, anxiety. The magnum varies accordingly.  Some days go smoothly, some are rugged, some instinctive, some insane, some gratifying and many berserks. There are days when there is an infinite strength, almost to the power of being an inspiration to many and there are days when we feel doomed, scarped, and sunken all at a go. This time one tends to either break into pieces or gather up all the strength.
Managing stress is a very vital stand while you dip your hands into the water
Cholangiocarcinoma is cancer that arises from cells within the bile ducts, both inside and outside. Symptoms vary in each patient from itching, to pain, to fever, weakness and other complications. 
Every patient apart from the physical crisis goes through a sea of psychological and emotional stress. And as a caregiver, the battle is equally compelling.
Anxiety and Stress

I have never been very anxiety prone person but we are not entitled to make tall claims because life throws tantrums all the times in an uncanny way when you least expect.  
Anxiety, as we say, is our body's natural response to stress, a sunken feeling gripping all the time of untold and unforeseen events which might occur. Its' relevance to reality does not have a validation always. But it cannot be wiped out completely from our lives. It stays there in patches and spots unless you have sold your Ferrari to be a monk.
The stress mechanism and the anxiety trials 

From an active man who walked, worked, talked, ate,  to being a ‘patient' the journey is immense, the disease incurable,( at least with my Dad's stage) the battle already christened as ‘ lost'. From heading a lost battle to being a sole caregiver was all about anxiety.
I understood anxiety in the best way unlike I used to claim that it doesn't affect me. It did, it did in the best possible way, in the worst way too. Subtle to harsh every emotion and reaction had an expression. That was the saving grace. I found words as a breather, some may find tears but it wasn't an organized pattern. Haphazard and unorganized, it was erratic but that was peaceful in its own way. I was myself…Anxiety is spontaneous.
There were a series of clinical investigations. Hope wandered here and there. The logical mind had reasons to flutter around; after all, we are humans and not mechanized robots harping on assigned codes. Reasonable mind always understood the clinical trials. Nodding head, clarifying every medical term either from Google or from support groups or from the doctor. Biology seemed a better subject now with practical insight. Yes, the stomach and its parts were more clearly inferred now with reference to a diagram and explanation from the doctor. Anxiety prevailed all the time settling in order from 10 -6.
The anxiety trials were on the brink of exploding the moment I used to see the reports. There were times it went all normal but the stress level never wrinkled to zero. My hubby came as a savior, he has an inherent mechanism of fighting stress as a warrior but strangely emotions are his weapon.
Let emotions flow he says ….that's the best way to deal stress. Hold them, gather them, collect them, recognize them and live them fully…anxiety truly renounces with this mechanism.
More to come in the next chapter as a caregiver, as a daughter, as a human being and as a simple soul who took refuge in words.

IMAGE AND REFERENCE -Google










Friday, 1 June 2018

My first chapter with Cholangiocarcinoma- Life, death and faith





There are times when we cannot unravel many truths of life.  Fear and anxiety are our expressions. Courage, patience, resilience go far away when a disease suddenly strikes us or our very dear ones. The initial reaction to a terminal illness is a shattering heart, collapsed strength and a sudden expression of denial. We are humans, no technology still boasts to regulate our emotions with a button, emotions could have been graded from 1-6 and we could have closed our minds to zero.   

The trauma of seeing one’s loved person going through all the medical complexities is in its own way mortifying. It could bring one closer to a few philosophies about life, truth, and the inherent power within us.  The insight to handle things in a very different way which could have been unimaginable otherwise.

Dad was feeling weak past few weeks. A normal cough and cold, few visits to the local medical store and some capsules eased his general feeling of uneasiness. A normal healthy man who had never been through much medication, he had never even fallen ill for more than a week.
Managing everything on his own, he was all about living an independent life which involved a lot of hard work as he believed work keeps us going, it helps us to build our immune system and also keeps the faith alive. Work is worship.

3 weeks later he has an irritable condition of acute itching. Crèmes, lotions, oil, bathing twice a day, soft clothing, mild water compression, and light food …no, they did not help much. A local medical shop prescribed him some allergic tablets. For the day he was fine but allergies don’t stay more than a week. Dad was having insistent itching which never stopped.


Monday, 21 May 2018

My perfect shot

This is written for #mobiistar for Indiblogger

A selfie a day keeps forgetfulness away


I have a lot to say to Dad. He had little. He just smiled and I clicked. Dad had many expressions without even saying those, I understood. A quiet bond, wordless, …a thousand words we shared.
With old age, with life not being an immortal tale, there were those rough patches of life where one reflects about the reality of life. Joys and sorrows both shall come, neither of them are permanent, but as humans we long to hold moments, freeze time, stop the watch, mute the uncanny horizons and take a shot of the beautiful flashes of the fleeting moments.

Hold it, grab it, squeeze it, or it might slip away.  People, places and  time  fly fast.
It was at Suraj Kund mela, Dad was unwell but we still managed to take him out, at a corner, escaping the crowd, I felt the urge to capture a precious moment…me and Dad….time was running by, the crowd was pushy but as he walked down, I kept my fingers and there I took this beautiful gem.
Technically I don’t know whether it’s the best shot or not but if you ask me what it means to me… I can only say…..it’s priceless…as he lays downs now on bed, a little pale, a little weak, a little fragile…I cherish my moments with him…of colors, of joy, of a lovely afternoon, of clarity, of everything I wanted, of everything I desired to capture and hold.… we stole some time …Thanks

Friday, 30 March 2018

My encounter with Kebab


What’s in a food?

The food stories all over the world bring many hidden facts, details and gospels about a culture, their food habits, their living and their moods. The colors of dishes, the aroma and the taste of a food can actually make a foodie live and live longer. The desire to live suddenly augments by the sudden fantasy or thought of a food. A food libido

Chelo Kebab Peter Cat

And what’s in a Kebab?

A non-vegetarian can glorify 100 romantic tales attached to the charm, the color, the softness, the succulent tone and pitch from a  Kebab plate.

Ibn Battuta, the famous Moroccan traveller had mentioned that Kebab was an integral part of regular diet of the Royals in 1200 AD
Thanks to the Afgan plunderers and invaders, now it’s  more of a familiar face in the Indian.
Then it was the Mughals, they came, they invaded and the Kebabs who danced in rustic tunes so far suddenly started being a bit subtle, soft, gleamed and paired with  the yogurt and number of aromatic, flavorful spices and enjoyed  dry fruits sprinkled on the top.

As quoted “If you look at the political boundaries and collaborate it with history, the trail followed by Changez Khan's army transecting Mongolia, Middle-East and up to Spain and around, saw the evolution of kebabs in various forms. Though we have Yakitori in Japan and Satay in Indonesia and Malaysia, but in sauces and spices they cannot be compared with kebabs" adds Sikka.

The signature dish at Peter cat 'Chelo Kebab' had almost the same story of the 'Kebab'…Peter Cat in Kolkata and Chelo Kebab goes hand in hand. Located at  heart of Kolkata, the upscale dining place of the city surely tempts you to peep, hold on your breathe and march towards  the table without looking at the menu, the signature dish, few minutes and then it's all about a plate of history, of stories and of Kebabs,  accompanied by rice, Chicken Tikka, , dollops of butter, baked tomatoes and lots of hidden flavours. 
The glutton starts her journey, inserting her fingers, tickling the kebab,  the chilled Beer smiling at the side knew about the Kebab's fate, it was all cut into pieces, eaten with glory, the plate was all empty, the Kebab was all in the safest place;) The encounter ended:) a little burp, a stroke in the tummy and rest is happiness... That's food for me:)

It was all about a Kebab story that day.

Thursday, 29 March 2018

Essential tips to teach new skill sets to a child


We all need a passion to survive. The passion to fly a kite, the passion to bake bread, the passion to create a thing, the passion to pursue life, life skills to the best of ability.

Passion towards learning new skills in life depends on the attitude towards adapting new skills. The 5 essential key points to teach a child to have a better perspective towards learning.

5 essential tips to help a child learn new skills sets and life skills


Observation

The child has a mind of his own. He may make an abstract clay dough art or he might collect those little matchsticks to create a tower, your observation helps him to hold on to the abilities in a better way.  The child imitates steps from dancing competition or repeats lyrics, his skills should be monitored regularly.Here the power of observation comes up, exploration and learning comes as a consecutive spin-off. Observation of the child gives you an edge and a better view of assessment of the child’s skills and talent. Observation is the first step to understand a  child.


Appreciation



We as humans thrive on good words, better words, and Best words. A child has a natural tendency to blossom completely  if he has words wrapped in  appreciation. Display of appreciation through gratitude works marvel.  Those golden words of concern, care, thankfulness goes a long way in developing his skills and abilities.

Simple phrases to use in daily life
  • Thank you so much
  • It is wonderful, how do you do it
  • I wish I could make a rainbow like this
  • You are a star


Helping hand

A nodding head, a helping hand, inquisitiveness in the child’s passion makes the child venture into new territories without inhibitions. Confidence and assurance helps the child to experiment, explore new things in better ways.

Talking it out

A child learns most of his skills by listening and communicating. To talk out, to communicate, to discuss, to understand and to help the child to explain often accelerates the first step of exploration.  A child feels secured to discuss about his ideas, chisel it with the help of parents and also get exposure to learn the skill in a better way either at home, through school, at a specific learning center or through teachers.

Positivity


Positivity is the robust step to encourage, inculcate, stimulate and chisel a child’s talent, skill set, passion and bring out the best.  A negative or despised look, words, action, reaction, expression goes a long way as a positive, considered, well cared expression. It paves the path for future behaviour and confidence.



Tuesday, 27 March 2018

The world was our home, separated by rooms


This post is written for Why do you love the World for Lufthansa  https://yestotheworld.com/in/en #SayYesToTheWorld

I was a small town girl, living life in the narrowed lanes; school was few miles away from home. The only exposure to the world was through those lanes, running parallel, the world was all about rooms bypassing one another, the world was all entrapped in those square shaped books, and pages, faintly printed pictures of Egyptian Mummies to Aborigines from Australia , the face of a Pygmy to the African tribes. They were only pictures and I had elaborately written about their ways, that part of the globe to get a perfect score. The world meant that much to me...

The world was our home, separated by rooms


Days passed by, years went away, the window shield looked beyond the mountains. Mrs. Schmauser came up with a little tray, a glass of milk and an elaborate German breakfast,  she smiled,  handed me the fork and knife, I kept aside my hands, empty stomach from last night could feel a peculiar sensation, responded well to the love, starved, hungry in a distant land, I started feeling a bit like home. They spoke differently, but they weren't aliens. The night was cold ….. I was invited to be a part of the day long festival that morning. A folk festival, thousands of people rejoicing to tunes, an important festival of Bavarian culture, I started feeling the joy of the festival as I did back home. The core essence was to come together, one and all in joy, in spirits. We too had festivals with the same motive back in our country. 
Beyond shores, the world had the same message

Faces were unfamiliar, smiles were unknown, they even stared back, they laughed in a better way, they stretched hands, I was hesitant to hold it back, they  winked, I smiled, they knew my gesture, I understood their expressions, I opened my arms, we spoke without a word. I finally broke the fence. We danced to the tune, we drank the beer, we cheered aloud, we made a new road….a new path where the barriers were broken. I gave away something that day, my narrow lens.
The world wasn’t all that I had perceived. My vision had sketched a different story while I read but here the world was all embracing. I felt Goosebumps; I loved the world for the first time. I fell in love.

I travel ed, another destination, another route, the ocean roared in different way, the mountain smiled back, I was hesitant to wave back, the language spoken did not match my level of understanding.
They spoke words, I could not understand. I had to hear it, over hear it, move my ears to and fro, read their lips, it was frustrating. But then suddenly he moved his head, searched for a   pen and paper, a prop, hands started moving in action, eyes were all moving in a different stroke to make me feel comfortable, to explain me. I started to understand, nodded, stammered, we both laughed out loud, we came up with two different things though, he was talking about a tooth brush, I was talking about a pain killer medicine…  we did not understand the  language but his simple act of kindness was quite evident. He was a French, I was an Indian, that day we went to Louvre,I found Mona Lisa,  she smiled in the same way but I could feel her smile that day, she smiled back to me. We belonged to the same world.
She spoke with her eyes and smile, the world could connect


I roamed countries, once I exchanged my lunch box with my fellow passenger, she  shared some homemade Apple pie, her granny was a better cook than my sister, and I admitted, we laughed out. We spoke on many subjects.
 A Doctor from Africa knew exactly how to combat a mosquito disease, a traveller from Spain taught me how sausages were made for real. A Pakistani girl asked me to read her story which she was writing; her story had many characters who just breathed like us. The world had so many stories just like us.
I realised we belong to the same species, the world was our home, separated into many rooms.
Beyond the boundaries- Feelings still had the same expression


And then I met an old man, from a distant place, faraway from my country, he spoke about his wife who had died few years back … a rare kind of ailment had taken  his beloved, my Dad has been diagnosed  with the same, we speak the same language of feelings, emotions, which we felt in the similar way, it hit us in the same pitch, his helping advice, his do’s and don’ts to help Dad feel good, his mails about life, his concerns, complemented mine. We shared the same words, the same world suddenly… he belonged to another part of the world yet we connected, bonded  by an emotion, an emotion which cannot be expressed through confines of faith, religion, language, the pain of loss, the pain of losing, the joy of understanding , the language of tears, the dialect of humanity existed, the world was bigger, the world was broader,

I am in love with this new found love. The world is a better place. I love the world now as I have started seeing things beyond. The world belongs to me, I belong to the world. It's all in the mind, open the little chains and let it all go. We are all 'one'



 Pic -Google

Tuesday, 20 February 2018

Memoirs of a caged bird


She sang long lost melodies
Of blue sky, of sun-soaked clouds
Of the wooden boughs
Of lost battles

Of victorious warships
Of forlorn hymns
Of mother’s lullaby
Of the red vermillion sunset
Of purple moonlit night
Of the past glories
Of the unchained kites
Of the merrier faces
Of smiles of liberation
Of the glories of civilization
She sang songs of freedom
Of the redness of blood
Of her unstitched heart
Of her bold territories
She still breathes
She still sings
Of songs of melancholy
Of verses soaked in pain
Of tattered bones
Of writhing wings
A dead soul.
A carcass
A Corpse

The caged bird
Sang songs
Of freedom
Memoirs of a caged bird
The master fed her golden grains
@Ronita

Sunday, 13 August 2017

Some of the better things about our country…






71st year of Independence ....does that make me more patriotic? Does that make me think a bit more about my country? Does that make me go on an introspection mode? Does it all make me turn on the pages of those books which have always glorified my shelves with so many names, so many events, post colonisation, pre independence, freedom struggle. I ultimately run my hands over that little book; I remove the dust, open my eyes wide and gently press my fingers to turn on the page.


Patriotism has been confined in those little spaces , yes I do spell it for my daughter, I also make her write paragraphs and  I ask her to sing that ‘Anthem'on the special day, we make a flag together, fill those tri colour spaces, colour the chakra with the specific colour and symmetry . ....the rest I tell her “This country is unique” still....




I pick up all the shady attributes, dark analogies, anarchic lingos , deranged slogans, lawless  images, confused emotions, turbulent undertones  from Cows to chaos, potholes to dog poo’s, sadhus to tabooed sex, jet speed carts to noisy honks, anarchic government offices to a tomato starved nation, choti cutter to ‘khule mein shauch ....you have it all .....Life, sound, fury....India I still feel alive every time I see you.....diversified, splendid, colourful, utterly unpredictable.

I found yellow, I touched orange, I lived green, I saw red  and wherever my eyes turned I could see all those splendid colours unite together...utterly chaotic yet life peeped from every corner
I saw a dog, a bull, and an elephant on the little by lane, each living in harmony, who said we can’t.
I had no one to talk, I was lonely the last evening, I made a cup of tea for myself and the one who looks after our house, we chatted for a while, she had 4 kids, she also worked the whole day but she still smiled, we shared a joke and she asked me “How was it to travel in an aeroplane”, she never knew the word “spirit” but she had it.

My neighbour makes the best “kheer” she also keeps a bowl  for us, sometimes she gifts me flowers from her maternal house.

I still sniff the oil soaked ‘bhature’ on the roadside dhaba, I still hold on to “tea cups” at the “chai ki dukaan” and talk about my “Nani” with a Stanger. That's my "India"




I wake up every morning and walk on the wet ground, my feet touching the soft mud, the chaos sets in, I get ready for another hectic day and the faraway music, I hear a faint sound coming from the nearby loudspeaker “Sare jaha se accha, Hindustan humara”, I knew with all its vices, I still belonged to this country, my chaotic land.... I was a free being, I felt thankful! 

pic -Google Images





Monday, 24 July 2017

oF fOOTBALL AND pINK SHirts-Gender stories untold



We are born as individuals; gender is a derived term, socially constructed sex. The society has created a web of notions with regard to the male and female gender.  The basic pattern of our thoughts have eventually been shaped with the instructed motif...freedom of expression was not a primal   ingredient  while  the behavioural pattern developed  over the years.


The stereotypical or the stereotypes are the norms of assessing a gender. The very archetypal syndrome which is expected from a specific gender is ‘ thankfully’  a borrowed one  with a lot of deviance and anomalies, variety does not find a place, everything is subjugated to pre conceived notion derived, set rules. Talking about third world countries, the progress is still on a lower graph but yes in urban India, people have started to think. That surely lays the first stone

 Few observations -Parent's story from the shelf


  • ·        My son cried a lot while watching a movie
  • ·         My daughter is obsessed with mechanical gizmos’
  • ·         My brother loves to cling with soft toys
  • ·         My daughter loves it when she does not use make up
  • ·         My son plays with utensils; he has no eyes for other male specific toys
  • ·         My daughter loves black and blue
  • ·         My son says he would paint his wall pink
  • ·     My daughter is football frenzy, she has those hysterical outbursts while watching a match
  • ·         My son, he  never takes the pain to turn on the sports page...weird na




These goes on, the rhythm somewhere sets a different tone for the conventional social class. But what is norm, who sets the benchmark. The yardstick to delineate what is right for the other is according to a specified barometer.


Each one of us have  varied spectrum of thought mechanism.... are born with multidimensional behavioural  skills and  have a   natural tendency towards life. Is it right to turn the steering according to the social perception and mould natural efficacy?


So, next time try to think as a liberal parent....the boy might have an eye on the pink shirt on the shelf...or the little girl rightfully approves her tanned skin after a rebellious football match..

The gender story is so well constructed by us....can we ever come out of that armour...rightfully...ever?

   

I am a woman and I love being so

We are not given a choice to be born in a specific gender; neither can we choose our family, nor our caste, not even the place of our birt...