Because I wish to confront him someday…

Because I wish to confront him someday,
when I am less bitter may be…
so that I can have a civilized conversation with him…
get my answers…and walk out in peace.

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I saw this commercial and…I logged on.

So, here’s another campaign that urges us (read – citizens of India) to stand up for our rights, fight the injustice, speak up, stop blaming, stop pontificating and more. No two doubts about the fact that I did actually like the concept, the idea, the execution, not the jingle as much, but overall a very thought-provoking and provocative campaign.

 But that’s it. What it stays to, is a campaign. A creative campaign that probably wins awards, earns recognition, a million Facebook shares, probably two million likes as well, and more…. (read – a rewarding experience for the people who worked on it).

 I remember some other ‘Classroom’ Campaign. That was awesome or what! Totally loved it. Left me thinking for sure. But, what more? Yet another brilliant, kick-ass campaign.

 Another one being a certain Mumbai Campaign. For me, the recall in that TV commercial was that woman standing on the sky-walk/bridge. Yet again, why do I remember this? Because of its splendid concept + execution, not forgetting the copy.

 But then again, just a campaign.

I’m going to wait to see how this new & incredibly executed campaign changes/alters/provocates any sort of change in the people who need to change. And then may be write another post.

Because, before you stand up and ask me if I am doing my bit for the society, I’ll say….

  

“I am one of those young women who, day in and day out who live in the insecurity of being the weaker sex (yes, I said weaker). I am out there trying to educate my female peers of how to ensure you live to be at least a 50. And for my male counterparts I’m ensuring they are a bit educated (if not MBAs) to understand the importance of another life.

 May be the damage is done. May be some of the apples are ruined. But I won’t give up hopes on my generation and the ones to come. I pray they don’t rape, they don’t adhere to domestic violence, they don’t believe in gender-bias, and aren’t faltering.

This is the least I can do, if not everything. And may be write too.”

 Image

Cheers!

I’LL BE YOUR SHADOW, MOM!

“Rhymes do sound beautiful, but so do plain words.”

I’ll walk like a beaming light along your lonesome shadow;
I’ll hold your hand when it’s dark.
I’ll rub your feet when you feel cold;
I’ll kiss your forehead for a good night sleep.

I’ll iron your clothes way so you don’t have to hurry;
I’ll cook your favourite meal way before you are hungry.
I’ll help you pick the best outfit for that special occasion;
I’ll gift you the colour that leaves a twinkle in your eyes.

I’ll fold your bed-sheets when you wake up;
I’ll give you your first cup of tea with the newspaper.
I’ll let you watch your favourite show and not even frown;
I’ll fight those demons within your head and put you to peace.

I’ll start where you left off;
I’ll bug you with my wedded stories.
I’ll show you the love I couldn’t;
I’ll try until I can make up for it.

I’ll cry along when you miss dad;
I’ll wipe your sleepy tears too.
I’ll be the daughter you never had;
And I promise it will be my whole life through.

He didn’t really know, why she left!

 

 

 

Never saw her again.

 

It was the usual walk, from office to home. My favourite Leann Rimes track “Last thing on my mind” and a wierd kind of eagerness to reach the ‘tunnel end’ of my road.

This eagerness began since I met this adorable brother-sister duo; seated on a high-rise stone set, at the road-corner, he was pleating her hair. Watching them together, had become one of routine activities, which I was getting fond of. Reminded me of Ralph, my brother!

 

After almost a whole week of stand-n-stare, I decided to strike a conversation. 
Starting off with introductions, we graduated to how-pretty-are your earrings to I-wish-I-had-hair-as-long-as-yours; I-am crazy-about -cocacola to I-hate-pigs-in-mud. Once, she even narrated an incident, of how her mother thrashed the life out of her, for saving his tiny ass. Apparently, he’d stolen a colourful stone for her. His mistake? He thought it would make her smile.

Each day I saw those two tiny tots revelling in their own world, and this made me miss my brother that much more. But never gathered the guts to make that call to him. How could I just tell him “I called because I miss you”? Rubbish. I’d never do that.

 

I tried catching up with them every time I found the time to. Excitingly, one evening we even gulped an entire cake at-one-go; on that very rock that he used to pleat her hair on. Passerbys always gave me the look, which generally had the word ‘disgust’ written all over. Because, maybe I looked a bit more civilized than they did. Maybe their clothes were soiled and tattered. So, I got them a pair of new clothes. Simple!
Not exactly new, but wearable ones. I wanted them to look nice. I was getting possessive of them.

Months had passed. And this was the best I could describe my routine. 

—————————————————–

Being a native from Mumbai, my trips were quite frequent. Pune-Mumbai-Pune.

I’d been on a week-long Diwali Holiday to Mumbai. As excited as I was to return home, so was I eager to return to the two of them with sweets and goodies. 

I returned. Rushed to work in the morning (avoided stalking them at 10 am) had to maintain the sanctity of our usual time. Like a bewildered child, I rushed faster to that end of the tunnel road. They were missing. It was unusual. I enquired nearby. But no one knew. This, I did, for 4 days back-to-back.
Worried, I decided to ask for help (cops, husband, friends, whoever). Just then on the 5th day, I spotted him on the same rock, but this time he was alone. Bald, tattered, angry, pelting stones at the pigs relaxing nearby. He had a plastic bag hung by his shoulder.
I called out to him and smiled. He didn’t.

I asked where she was. To this, he jumped down the rock, handed that bag to me and said, “Geli ti. Nahi yenar aata. Hey ghe tiche kapde. Gheun jaa.”  I think he wanted to cry, but had the man-ego of a 4 yr old.
She had left him, Bald and Alone.

They had left me.

I walked back home, but not as usual.