IN HOT AND COLD PURSUIT OF MY OWN WORDS

Ever since, I’ve started reading Karl Ove Knausgård's ‘A DEATH IN THE FAMILY’, the first book in his ‘My Struggle’ series, one line has stayed with me. On the 218th page, he reveals – Writing is more about destroying than creating. Let me add, people who aren’t passionate about reading or not remotely interested in writing, will definitely get this line wrong, absolutely wrong. It is not just a line; but it is a deep insight. An insight, Karl Ove Knausgård credits another writer with. He speaks about Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud, who seems to have realized this, at a very early age. But my second only post for the month of August is not about discussing Knausgård’s books or Rimbaud’s philosophy. This blog post is driven by the insight – Writing is more about destroying than creating. 

As someone had said in the past, it’s difficult to understand some of my writings. Initially I took it as a scathing remark and criticism of my work too. But I think, I misinterpreted. I feel so because they have never been close to the passion of writing or to the habit of reading. At the same time, everyone has the equal right to react towards anything and everything. 

I wish to simplify it further. Not many years before when social media exploded in our lives, we took to it like fish to water. After the debacle of Orkut, my writings found a new home in Facebook, a studio apartment in twitter and a penthouse in LinkedIn. The sense of freedom was so immense; I chose to develop a new identity of my own. Even though this newly designed identity demands a complete story of its own, I wish to push ahead by saying that Virtuous Vociferous is my alter ego on Facebook. On twitter, I am @puruthegreat; on LinkedIn, I’ve stuck to my presence as Purnesh Bhattacharya. Under all names, I chose to write what I think, I should; because I believed in my thoughts. I never gave it a thought that the outer world is equally interested in my thoughts. No I didn’t give it a second thought, because I was not completely interested in the thoughts of others. Thus began my journey of words.

Sometimes I went too far; at times, I stayed too close and on most occasions, I wrote seamlessly without any apprehension in my mind. As my words grew braver, my text bigger and my thoughts wider; the outer world deep dived in my writing matters. 

Recently someone read this on my LinkedIn page - The habit of asking too many questions might go against you in the real world. Especially when others don't believe that asking questions are the first necessary steps to lead change from front. The person who read this, first liked this post and then went out announcing to the world that I am writing dangerous things on LinkedIn. My writings/posts on Facebook met with the same fate. Objections, opinions and oddities swarmed together, which eventually led to me deciding to stop sharing my thoughts, up loud or clearly on Facebook. I don’t know, who decided to take things in their control and start telling me that I was revealing more than what could meet the eyes of my contenders. Prior to that, a school friend of mine had made fun of the length of my writings on Facebook; he chose to even ask a stupid question – How much does Facebook pay you to write so frequently and so much on your wall? Initially I chose to brush him aside. But he didn’t stop there; he started posting filthy comments on my writings. I didn’t block him. I only blocked him when he thought that advertising his recent hobbies was really cool on Facebook. His length of thoughts seemed to spill out of his own wall on Facebook. Some more recent digs over a year led to me abandoning writing on Facebook, LinkedIn and even twitter. Then came Instagram and life changed. But more than social media platforms, some beautiful people (beautiful by heart) made me change my mind and recharged my mind to start writing across all social media platforms; on which, I am very much active.  

Therefore, in hot and cold pursuit of my words, I can’t wait to restart. The philosophy which went into developing Virtuous Vociferous or @puruthegreat can’t ever stop midway. To conclude, if you are still reading this and still are in a mood to create your own opinion about me, go ahead; my journey has just begun.

- Virtuous Vociferous | August 26 | August Blog-2 | Making of the story | 2018

IN THAT PERSONAL SPACE OF ‘I BEING ME’

In times of uncertainty, we delve deeper. We develop a habit of interrogating every cause and their immediate effect. Being human, we are more inclined towards evidence, which can be documented, disbursed.

These are also the times, when we are caught in the radar of adversaries. They never reveal their real identity. They hide behind masks. They are ten steps ahead of us. They wait to strike with their flappy plans. They see their favorite prey in us.

Things grow murkier, when we, the uncertain us, join hands with our adversaries to follow what they claim to be the best; also certain about. This agreement is based on the pure insight of we supposedly seeking support to sustain our sinking belief, faith and trust in us. We are too late to realize; this is how we make ourselves available to be taken for granted. In short, we cross over to an unknown territory, a space where we don’t belong to, a space which only belongs to our adversaries. Forget it, shit happens, things stink; we need to move on.

Thus, I decided to differ and use this opportunity to create a personal space of mine. This is that personal space of ‘I being me’. I am at no one’s mercy. I am in no one’s favor. I am the one to decide, when I am faced with a single challenge or an army of unthinkable contingencies; as to whom I am answerable to; whom I am not answerable to.

When I am in that personal space of ‘I being me’, I am not sure of my actions going down well with everybody. I might sound very less demanding of others; I might seem very excessively demanding of me, myself. This space could make me grow nasty or turn me into a beast of worst things. Time suggests, I take complete advantage of this space. Trust me, I have started doing that.

Now the question arises of whether I stand to hurt the feelings of those, who are trying to help me through uncertainties. It is up to them to decide. I haven’t spoken a single word, which is bitter in taste; neither would I act against their instincts. Only my response would be ill-timed or probably out of context. If they trust me, they will continue to respect this space. If they don’t, they can each their own. On an honest note, favors are not forgotten; they are to be done justice with. Why would I be different then?

Right now, I am in a happy space. It did involve the much anticipated bit of struggle to find my way into this space. But I am left with no regrets. Neither do I repent over the wrong decisions, which only ended up making me more vocal to demand what is right with regards to my fundamental right.

‘I being me’ is a selfish little space of being content. I am not seeking solidarity in here, but I am aware about its existence. This space may make one grow intolerant. The levels of discomfort may hit an all-time high. But this move is a constructive activity; the steps already taken or to be taken are of statistical nature; the overall objective is to surrender to this space and rediscover the nature and the character, I am made of.

To conclude, if I am a being, I have the right to claim, to create, to construct and to constitutionalize what I truly believe in. Since I am not just a being, but a human being, who is endeavoring to be different, I don’t need your permission. I just wish to continue being in that personal space of I BEING ME.

PS: Dedicated to the seventh month of all months – July… and to the one born in this month of July.

- Virtuous Vociferous | July 29 | July Blog-5 | Making of the beast | 2018

DRAWN IN FAVOR OF 40

I might have not felt it strongly on my first birthday. Maybe it was during my twenty fifth birthday in 2003, I knew that 15 years down the line, I will turn 40. Does that give rise to a thought that I might be preparing for it? Did turning 40 require any preparation? Honestly speaking, it didn’t! 40 arrived as smoothly as 25 could have. All I did was take a quantum leap of making an announcement to the world that I was feeling MIGHTY AT 40. Millions of thank you to one of my senior designer’s in office, who created a logo around the theme. Even though I am yet to thank him in my special way. But I am yet to live up to the promises, I had made to him. On being asked as to what I would do with the logo of MIGHTY AT 40, I had made him clear – I will make visiting cards, print envelopes, get a t-shirt printed. I did none of them. Not due to any particular reason but, due to lethargy.

Someone asked me, how do I feel being at 40? I replied with the zeal of #MightyAtForty. I compounded my reply with the same old cliché of ‘life begins at 40’. Someone brought in his own touch by adding – hey dude, being naughtily sexy at 40. Yes, I feel sexy. Thanks to the newly found freedom from many reasons, which kept me tied down to unnecessary responsibilities.  

Equally surprised I am at writing as much as any reader of my personal blog would be. Why am I writing so late about my experience of having turned 40? There’s no logic behind it. I am yet to share my splendid experience of having attended TedX Panchgani in the month of January. That was good old 18 days ago of my birthday. Now, almost after one month’s time, I am still waiting to write an account of it.

As I stepped in the 40^th year of my life, I stuck to the ritual again. This ritual is the one, I’ve been following for years. At exactly 8.05 am, I touch my mother’s feet; she blesses me and kisses me on my forehead. She recollects the stories that revolved around my birth at the hospital she was admitted in. I followed this ritual in 2018. I shall follow it in the near future too. Only this time, I was a bit forthcoming about my plans of celebrating my MIGHTY AT 40 moment in style and with friends.

Having turned 40, I am analyzing my stance in life. This age, this phase seems like a blank cheque drawn in favor of 40. I am not tense like others tend to. I think, I haven’t felt so excited ever. I feel now is the time to grow emotionally intelligent, physically alert, mentally sound and absolutely determined. I can sense the urge, to not wanting to stay stuck, with what I have or what I could work my ass off, to have or possess or achieve.

I am not the only one to have turned 40 this year. My closest friend Prashant and I turned 40 this year. Prior to us, a year back, my best friend Nikhil too turned 40. In a smiling manner that he took it in his stride. He might have complained about loneliness; but, he didn’t. He sounded so happy to have the run the race so willfully. I think Nikhil’s immense faith in himself made me rethink my 40. Replacing old thoughts with new ones, turned me into a research scientist. The journey of research, I’ve embarked upon, in the month of January, will continue for a few more months.

The research that I was speaking about is more human than being practical/engineering.

But what’s the agenda for this #MightyAtForty? Maybe a little mightier!

-Virtuous Vociferous | February 18 | February Blog-1 | 2018

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-4 (THE CONCLUSION)

Kevin Kelly had quoted – TRAVEL IS STILL THE MOST INTENSE MODE OF LEARNING. The three-day trip to Konkan was one such learning. I learnt how strangers become friends and eventually evolve into a family that travels together.

The day broke earlier than expected. Our bags were packed, the breakfast was served and Vicky stood there supervising every move. Bidding adieu, we moved out of Vicky’s guesthouse.

We stopped by a newly built temple, which is regularly seen in one or the episode of a famous Marathi serial – GAON GAATE GAJALI. The next stop was yet another temple. From here, we made our way to Vijaydurg fort. History seemed to be still alive in here. This is a fort, which was built by King Bhoj, won over by Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and now in ruins. Luckily we were helped by a guide to understand the history as well as the geography of this fort.

By the time we finished, hunger had announced its immenseness. Local food rushed to our rescue again. After a sumptuous lunch, we made our way to Vaibhavwadi. This is where, right in the middle of crops and with a mountain range serving as the backyard, we were welcomed to Kranti’s (our team leader) native home. The temperatures had dropped. The mosquitoes had grown fierce. As we spent a large chunk of our time at her blessed home, we couldn’t stop ourselves from checking our watches.

At around 8.30 pm, from Vaibhavwadi station, we boarded the Tutari Express back home. All we held closer to our hearts were memories. Memories of Konkan.

When in Konkan… Make sure to have all the fun!

Dedicated to every awesome soul on this trip.

-Virtuous Vociferous | January 01 | January Blog-1A | 2018

Saying a Goodbye 

Visiting the temple

Temple run continues

Vijaydurg fort

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-3

There’s a difference between checking in and walking into a hotel. But it makes a big difference, when you step into a home and are left to think, “didn’t they say this is a guesthouse?” Vicky’s guesthouse in Malvan did exactly the same. We were left to think. Initially I had my doubts as to what a guesthouse could put on offer! Trust me, these guys have put more than one can expect. Had they not done so, they wouldn’t have found a mention in the considerably prestigious ‘Lonely Planet’.

Vicky’s guesthouse seemed to be one of the best parts of this trip. Possibly the best discovery too, through our team leader Kranti’s extensive research. The more we thank her for this trip, the less it feels in the tradition of conveying gratitude.

After freshening up, from the lovely surrounds of Vicky’s guesthouse, we dashed to Tarkarli beach. This was one of those moment, I had been personally waiting for since long. Especially after I had closely missed accompanying my friends from Pune, for a New Year bash on December 31, 2016 (regret it for reasons, not closer to the heart anymore). At Tarkarli, not only did we bathe in the saline waters but, saw the skies change colors, heard the waves grow louder & fall silent too, sensed a different kind of energy run within us.

On returning, we were treated to one of the finest dinner spreads from Vicky and his family. This was the moment, when we realized how Vicky had transformed his guesthouse to a home, for many of his guests. Each of his family member (including his fiancé) worked together to keep us happy. After we rolled in, some foreign guests checked-in too; we got introduced to only in the latter part of the day.

The next day morning by 9 am, we were already sailing around the outer peripheries of Sindhudurg fort. Our only expectation was to spot some dolphins. But we seemed to have already run out of luck. The dolphins had retreated. The boatman apologized. I somehow felt sorry for him and hugged in return. It’s while boarding this boat that I misplaced my camera’s lens cap. I was instantly reminded of my own piece ‘IN THE SERIES OF NASTY REALITY/REALITIES’ (http://virtuousvociferous.blogspot.in/2017/11/in-series-of-nasty-realityrealities.html). In this piece, I had tried to establish that the things we lose might just be hinting at us to do away with the past. This lens cap too was a part of one such past. Post the breakfast, we were back at the beach to try our hands at parasailing. I must say we did pretty well.

In the evening, we sailed to a massive historical experience called Sindhudurg fort. The moment you step in; the fort makes you realize the great prowess of the greatest Maratha warrior & ruler Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. The legacy that he left behind is fast fading out. I wish, the so called custodians of a million odd things could have, for once saved the forts. I would like to put it this way – Old, unattended, uncared forts are earth’s most helplessly decaying monuments.

To conclude in the next post…

-Virtuous Vociferous | January 01 | January Blog-1 | 2018

On the quest for dolphins

Kissing the skies

Sindhudurg fort

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-2

In our concrete cities, everything is readymade; luckily in the wide expanses of Konkan, things are still natural, human. Take for instance, right here, in our cities; we walk into a restaurant and are sure of getting served on time. But when you are in Konkan or anywhere else, which is considered to be ‘the’ countryside, erase all your expectations, once and for all.

Therefore, taking ahead from where I had left last time - The destination ahead was already beautiful in the mind; I wish to now proceed a little further (and not at all faster).

Once we alighted at Kudal, our bellies were reeling through first & fresh pangs of hunger. Since we had hired a van, we could feel the urgency of our hunger. Similarly, our driver too knew, how to settle us down. So once we had huddled inside the van, he drove a little faster and stopped only when he knew, he had the right restaurant on his mind to host us.

Remember, when we are traveling out of our cities, the rules of eating out changes! Restaurants stop being flashy but, the food starts getting tasty. Restaurants grow a little clumsier but, the hospitality starts growing warmer. We had a similar experience. Not too far from Kudal station, we walked into a restaurant, which moderately advertised itself as Hotel Pankaj and had it written loud within a bracket – Only during afternoons. This meant, we shouldn’t expect the place to be open during other hours or the food to be readily available at any given point.

Hotel Pankaj was thin on manpower but high on taste. The place was packed. Families, lovers, friends, groups, locals, runaways; everyone seemed to be thronging that place. We were politely told that we might be made to sit separately (this also meant, we could be brushing shoulders with strangers…complete strangers). We were also told that the food will take long to come to us. But finally when the food arrived, we were left overjoyed. The fish thalis, the chicken thalis, the veg thalis, the fried Surmais, the fried Pomfrets; all of it tasted so divine that we were no more left hungry. But we were left feeling greedy. For a moment, I thought we could have been blessed with a better appetite to consume more.

We were done with the lunch. We were done with the chewing of a sweet delicacy too. By the time, we stepped out of Hotel Pankaj, other groups rushed in. Their hunger pangs seemed far higher than us. As we geared up to board our van again, we could hear a flurry of burps go up in the air. To conclude, all that is cooked well ends up being eaten well in Konkan.

To be continued....

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 10 | December Blog-2A | 2017

Hotel Pankaj, Kudal

The 'Only Afternoon' rule, the warm little hotel follows

WHEN IN KONKAN PART-1

When in Konkan, the sea never seems too far, the food is never too late, the extended hospitality is never an unpleasant experience. And Konkan is where we chose to be at, for a short span of three days; December 1-3, 2017.

The time spent might seem too little. But the experience will continue to be too special. During this short trip to Konkan, I realized why the natives long to come back to their hometowns.

Konkan kept me excited. Maybe next time when someone invites me home to Konkan; I am going to promptly accept the invitation and pack my bags up.

Kranti, our tour team leader had proposed this trip while we were on a tour of Kaas Pathar plateau in Satara district. Initially I showed no interest. I was not even in a mood to give this outing a thought. Simply because, I wanted to save the weekend from just another trip and the exhaustion that ensues. But nothing was going to stop Kranti from planning this trip for us.

The blueprint was ready. The time had come to simply execute it. Kranti got everyone onboard and there we were; at 5:15 AM, on platform number 5 of Thane railway station. The much awaited journey was to begin now. Our gang was a motley crowd of 9 individuals. All of us were excited because we were travelling by the Tejas Express. On arrival, we didn’t have to hurry. Our seats were reserved in advance. Once we stepped in, Tejas treated us well. The AC temperature within was perfect enough to ensure desired coolness. The breakfast was delicious. The destination ahead was already beautiful in the mind.

To be continued....

-Virtuous Vociferous | December 10 | December Blog-2 | 2017

The Tejas Express

At the core of the sea

The Pomfret Thali

Dual Surmai in one plate

Ready to Sail

ABRUPT LOVE STORIES

Picture Courtesy: Google Images

The time has come to bid adieu to sugarcoated love stories. In my opinion, all the visible sweetness is mere illusion. Or somewhere we are still trying to convince ourselves to stay believed in pretentiously sweet love stories! But they aren’t sweet. The line between love and lust hasn’t blurred but it has vanished forever. It is this cusp that makes me realize that love stories aren’t tender any more. Thankfully I have accepted the fact and I am not convincing myself to try narrating a sweet love story ever again.

My abrupt love stories take place between a Certain He and a Certain She. They don’t have a name. They are invisible to your naked eyes but omnipresent. Do they believe in religion? Are they victims of communal tension or soft targets of fluctuating faiths. Do they pray? Or they are happy being atheists! Are they rich or poor? Do they indulge in sex? Are they bisexual, homosexual, heterosexual, metrosexual? Are they sound, sane and in control? Or simply rebellious, wild hippies! Do they smoke and drink? Do they sleep with different people on different occasions? Have they been living under the same roof or they have been renting apartments in numerous cities, and disappearing without clearing dues for months! Frankly speaking they are an interesting twosome of a Certain He and a Certain She.

Both characters are a sum of their vices. Before He knows it, She is already done plotting something against him. By the time She comes to know of a certain action, He outsmarts her by being constantly, lethally active against her. I haven’t met these two characters in person. But I have met their exact opposites in the many journeys I have smoothly or abruptly embarked upon. Be it the certain He or the certain She that I am talking about, I know them of being emotionally unattached to each other.

The Certain He and the Certain She I have been talking about hide nothing from themselves or the society. They live within the stories and breathe within the stories. At the end of the day, their stories, which are so abrupt by nature, continue to matter the most.

Abrupt Love Stories are my hottest obsession, passionate possession and unmistakably my most favorite creation. Will these abrupt love stories culminate into a book? I am not even thinking of it right now. What if someone tries to copy them or copy the style? Did I say the stories are not getting copied, shared or reproduced? And I would never say that the style is yet a virgin. Thankfully, if searched by the hash tag #AbruptLoveStories; most of the results and almost all the results bring into fore my series of Abrupt Love Stories.

When I started writing the couplets with the hash tag attached to them, a few eyebrows were raised. But these are my #AbruptLoveStories and why should I reveal the source of my inspiration? If you wish to know more about these stories, follow the simple path – READ THEM, FEEL THEM, LIVE THEM.

All the love stories, which are abrupt in nature derive inspiration from the hidden side of the lives, we live without sharing a thing about them. My interest stays anchored deep in there. Where else but that little seed of abruptness, I observe in the love stories that most of us are faking like fake orgasms on a bad night of abrupt sex. Therefore if you come across a love story that’s sweet; chuck it and suck up one abrupt love story at a time.

-Virtuous Vociferous

WHERE DO THE STORIES BEGIN FROM?

It’s the mid of June.

The monsoons should have been here by now.

As my skin bears the brunt of the sun, I gasp for breath.

On certain occasions, I’ve tried experimenting during nights.

I tried keeping the windows of my bedroom open to the skies.

All the experiments seem to have failed miserably.

I haven’t given up yet. I am planning to experiment again.

This time, I am going to extract the umbrella from my bag and deliberately leave it unattended at home.

I am sure when the skies see me walk boisterously without the umbrella in tow; they will open up and release the fluid energy of monsoons to set me free, my city free and its citizens free. I hope the skies will open up for the entire nation and for every Indian. 

Are the monsoons also capable of assuring peace? Or can they postpone the insurgencies, we are faced with recently?

Darjeeling is burning. Kashmir is mourning. Our hearts are bleeding.

We are in need of an experiment again. Will monsoon be that experiment? If it turns out to be successful, we will have our own Ooh la la moment. If the experiment fails, we will still celebrate because that is where I sense the beginning of a story.

Thus the title, which is also a question - WHERE DO THE STORIES BEGIN FROM?

Each one of us has a story. We are humans, we are stories. When we set out to trace the beginning of our stories, we are confronted with a mother’s womb. It’s in there, our mothers proclaim. They add, “It is in here, in the womb, where the stories begin from?”

To disagree on this account is definitely human.

Just last week, I had least expected an angle from where my story began.

Take for instance the title - Biryani is an emotion.

I was blown over by the title. As I kept appreciating the line and its beautiful layout, I could also sense the beginning of stories.

The line, the title of Biryani is an emotion is bravely finds a mention in a cute little diary which was gifted over to me by my Cyan Buddy.

She was a little reluctant to gift me the diary. She mentioned, it was supposed to be my farewell gift (now that’s a different story to begin with). But somehow, the delivery got delayed. She had to reverse the decision and present it to me as my welcome gift (this would be the sequel to the different story, which I might begin with later).

A mere gift, a short pocket diary that it is could have evolved into nothing new until I decided to turn the diary into a chronicler. This diary will hold stories of my food expeditions. Every time, I end up loving a certain cuisine or am simply left speechless by a moment, which involves food, I will write about it in the diary. In the same diary, which carries that lovely title of – Biryani is an emotion.

I think I have found a story to begin with. The beginning would materialize when I start flaunting the diary and the little pieces of delicious surprises; I wish to write within!

But this is one part of the many stories, which begin from nowhere and find their way somewhere.

Imaginations form the other part about these stories, which also fuel their evolution. The choice rests with the storyteller; either to narrate them in a fictional format or try to fit them in that long beaten genre of nonfiction.

How do these imaginations start taking the shape of a story? I don’t think there would be a definitive reply to that.

For me, my imaginations could run wild and keep fluctuating between the mole, the nose ring and a tattoo somewhere. But how much time will they take to translate into stories! Only time will tell. At least I can rest assured that my story can be expected of having a beginning.

As I grow a word closer to conclude this blog post, I can hear that distinct sound of raindrops.

Seated by the partly open window, I can see the earth relish the momentary magic of rains.

Only I wish, the showers could have lasted longer. But nature has some other plans.

Till the time those plans materialize, I am happy to realize – my story has found a beginning. If your stories haven’t found one yet, ask yourself the same question, “Where do the stories begin from?”

-Virtuous Vociferous

REOPENING THIS SEASON

No more tall claims. No more long waits. No more thinking through darkness. No more remorse over wasted weekends. This list of ‘no mores’ carries the burden of running longer. This list also poses the threat to end up ruining my future course of writing… Let me add an extra no more to that or should I save it for some other time!

So where was I between these unblogged months?

Migration: Between 2008 and 2010, Pune was my most favoured destination to stake my claim for being a second home. The weather, the people, the food and the possibilities looked highly defined. The trips I made back then to Pune were a blend of personal and professional inclinations. Never did I foresee a migration. Between May 2015 and December 2015, I migrated to Pune; holed up in a terrace flat. Peaceful locality, closer to my place of work, pleasant weather; everything seemed picture perfect. Except that I had started missing Mumbai immensely from the day I unlocked the door of my apartment. During my course of stay in Pune, I did nothing great about my passion but, kept imagining about it, talking about it and slept by setting myself on a paid vacation mode.

Books: Reading gives me indefinable joy. My greed to read increased; I read books after books after books after books. Crime fictions, suspense thrillers, nonfiction, biographies, journeys, deaths, births, revolutions, destruction and evolution; I read them all. I felt like I was possessed by a hungry reader’s soul. This soul replaced my original part, auto installed itself and I continued to read. Traces of that reader’s soul can still be found in me, I am still reading and going by my instinct, I am not letting go the habit. 

Cinema: There are two types of cinema; the ones you want to watch and the ones you are suggested to watch. I fell in love with the later. In the long list of suggestions, I watched THE SHIP OF THESEUS, FIGHT CLUB, ZERO DARK THIRTY, THE SHINING; it’s a tiresome list of choices I made. But cinema gave me a lot. Thankful to two specific guys from my Pune office, who introduced me to the kind of cinema, which I knew existed but, didn’t endeavour to secure an access.

Weekends: Posted on domestic duty. I went shopping for vegetables, clothes, perfumes, shoes, accessories, snacks and a lot more. I promised to write something on Saturday, postponed it to Sunday and by Monday, the less it’s written about, the better. I combed through weekends, I flipped through them and when I counted down the wasted ones, I cursed.

Lethargy: It is not in my nature but, I did extend to it my olive branch of friendship. Even though for years, I treated it like an alien, its commitment towards me was unquestionable. There was no specific reason behind this partnership but, of course my desire to try it once. Thank you for being there and now having disappeared.

All said, all written, I now cut the ribbon; a satin red one with regards to REOPENING THIS SEASON.

-Virtuous Vociferous 

WOMEN #MakeItHappen ALWAYS

For the uninitiated #MakeItHappen was the chosen theme for 2015; I got to know about it on http://www.internationalwomensday.com/theme.asp#.VP1jF3yUdQ8, a day later. I should be ashamed of it. But I am not. I know women, in particular don’t require a single day to be recognized for their efforts, their contribution and the various roles they play in rehabilitating this society. There is a specific reason, why I chose to use the word ‘rehabilitation’ in context with women and their commitment towards a better future.

When someone utters the term ‘women’, the first thing to cross my mind is colors. I find women very colorful. Women were created by the Super Creator, driven by an objective to make them extremely versatile. Almighty knew that this creation is going to be the significant-most evolution of all times. Womanhood is definitely not easy. Being a man, we might repeatedly fail to do justice to what women really want. I am not trying to criticize the universal breed of men. But in general, women exude multiple shades. Look at the women around us, the multiple roles they slip into, adapt themselves to; without batting an eyelid, never once pestering, just being on their own. These multiple shades are that of motherhood, sisterhood, companion, partner, friend, colleague, mentor, guide, teacher, motivator, acquaintance. 

I was nonetheless keen enough to write and publish this post on March 8. But I avoided doing so, on a day, when the world was busy doing that. The interest never paled out. I think it was a vinyl print that got me intrigued enough to start writing this post a bit differently. This vinyl, targeted towards women, comprised four scary men shouting out of the print and to the left was a softly touched photograph of a young lady. It was not difficult for me to figure out of her being the wife of one of those scary men. In bold letters five of them were wishing HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY to the women of today. Are they trying to say, “There is no country for old women”? Such grammatical confusion can spell disaster; if probed and analyzed on linguistic terms! Luckily no one made a note of it, knowing that all of the well-wishers had been and still continue being eve teasers and mild sex offenders. When such great men come together to wish Happy Women’s Day, I definitely think, it should be left across to women to seek justice and definitely #MakeItHappen.

Women do #MakeItHappen. In my lifetime, I’ve come across an extraordinary pedigree of such women. Starting from my maternal and paternal grandmothers to my own mother, sisters, my beloved and the many others. Every woman left her impression, not just on my mind, but in the entire course of my life. I haven’t forgotten the smallest of things that these women did, to pacify me during extreme outrage, to embrace me during grief, to extend care during adversities, to make me feel at ease while taking up challenges. I think even though I do all the greatest of things, I would never be able to express my gratitude to each one of them, for their resplendent presence in my life.

Sometimes relationships fail. Some of us curl into a cocoon of our own and never wish to come out of it. Women have a tough time dealing with such failures. For them, it is not about just being with somebody, but about someone being there for them. But they never give up. I am sharing this out of sheer experience. I’ve myself been witness to their triumphs. They take it all in their stride, spare a tear or two, seek the skies and then tell themselves, “I can #MakeItHappen”.

Today women are independent than ever before. They are still ill-treated and exploited (every newspaper reports an average of 10 rapes committed across the nation). Equally concerning is the rise of another kind of mentality of brutalizing 2 year olds and 5 year olds. But I am sure that won’t weaken women. Because women are extremely powerful. They are blessed with the special power of creating another life. For the nine months that they treasure this life; the most powerful thing, only women can take the whole credit for.

To sum it up, let me say that women are courage-embodied. In every women there is Goddess Shakti, a Maa Durga. Rightly put forward by Amitabh Bachchan, in the climax of the Vidya Balan starrer masterpiece KAHAANI, he expresses, “Sometime even Gods go wrong. It is said the Gods created the Asura and when the Asura went out of their control and wanted to destroy the universe… the Gods created Maa Durga. All Gods put their powers together and created her for destroying evil. They say the strength of all the mothers was used to create Maa Durga. Every year Maa comes. She vanquishes evil... And she goes back after… making sure all her children are safe.

As a practice, Women’s Day will be back next year, and let me leave it at that by saying they will continue doing their best, they will #MakeItHappen.

-vociferous