Why did Nayana Pujari die? Because she was a woman (which probably was her only disadvantage) in a hurry to reach home where her husband was waiting? Because she wanted to cook him a great meal, smile and spend a few quiet moments with him before she turned in for the night and woke up to another bright day?
Or is it because we are such an insensitive society that there are eyewitness to the atrocities committed on her?
The inhuman witnesses who turned a blind eye and deaf ear to the atrocities being committed on a woman are also to blame that Nayana is no more.
It pains me to think of her husband and family who have to live knowing how badly she died. Of her friends and colleagues who will miss a smiling face in their company. Of other women who travel to and from work after sunset.
Of course the offenders are to blame, but shouldn’t we the people be ready to take part responsibility for the society we have in some way shaped? We who look only in front like we have blinkers and ignore the screaming from the neighbours house-night after night, and we who overlook the Std IX kid we have seen smoking behind the building, we the uncles and aunties who disregard or even cover up the bullying child in the family as a person who is strengthening the younger ones to face the real world, We friends who don’t tell on our good friend’s cheating spouse and we the people who see a man beating a woman on the road.
And we the very people who know something is amiss in a car where a woman is being violently violated.
It doesn’t require an education for us to differentiate between right and wrong. It only requires a conscience. And that is where we are lacking, maybe that is where we have failed. Completely.
But, all is not lost. These terrible deaths have at least made us sit up and think. We could save another Nayana, if we all vow to change just a tiny bit.
I have made that change and told the parents of the 18 year old rash rider that he needs to wear a helmet and requires a strong warning. I have also encouraged my rickshawalla kaka not to spit on the road and I am trying to keep my husband’s temper from flying from behind the wheel.
What have you done? If you haven’t, start now. If you have, do some more. Immediately. Please.

Just the other day, it was 12.30 pm, I had bought my groceries from Food Bazaar which is at Central on the University Road in Pune. I was waiting at the bus stop just outside Central for a bus when the strangest thing happened.
A huge black car came in reverse and parked just behind the bus stop. Intending to board a bus that would come from behind the car, I had both eyes in that direction. Audaciously, the driver would blink his lights at my every glance. It continued and I disregarded it for over 15 mins. Finally he chose to drive away. Only to go ahead, close to Little Italy and wait. Now I was really irritated. I had two choices –ignore or react. I chose to ignore.
But the thoughts that rushed through my head were plenty. What if he had got down and tried to push me in? Or if he had “friends” along. I wouldn’t have been able to do much. And I doubt anybody would have come to my rescue. So I did -the next best thing-I took down his number – and called my husband who unfortunately wasn’t in the city. For a second I considered hopping into a rickshaw and going my way but then realised that would be plain stupid.
Theres a slightly lonely stretch before my home which in the event of “friends” would be dangerous. And hell if he did chose to follow me, id have lead him straight home.
Obviously waiting and going by bus would have been a better option. Thank god good sense prevailed.
In a little while he pulled his sorry ass big black car away. But there will be a time and day when im at the same place at the same time. I hope hes not going to get blatant, coz this time, I’m armed. You see, my safety is my responsibility and I take myself seriously, many a time.

I know why

I have one very important question – WHY DOES HE NOT UNDERSTAND A NO?
I already know the answer- BECAUSE HE IS A CHILD.
Sigh…
The story to this recurring enlightenment goes thus:
Children are not allowed in hospitals. “Ok, so we will wait out,” I told Arin as I lead him away from the elevator towards the door so we could stand outside and he would have plenty of distractions to occupy himself.
“But I want to go. I want to go inside mamma,” he said. I told him children are not allowed so we will wait for Dada to get back. Also that I was not going because only big people were allowed.
So he howled and he began to kick the steps, found out that hurt so tried the railing and that hurt as well…smartly he moved to little plant patch and began kicking up dirt . All this mind you with tears streaming down his face and his voice rising higher and higher. Naturally, people around were staring at the bad mom who was not letting the little darling do what he wanted…If only they knew…
I had to get him away from the wet mud kicking activity so I tried very hard to pick him up-unsuccessfully-and settled instead on walking him six steps away. Of course he was howling louder. I asked him to keep quiet, shushd him, made him stand (coz he wouldn’t sit) and he kicked me and hit me.
I held his hands. I wouldn’t lose my temper, I reminded myself and called Kunal to come down asap.
Then I moved him six steps further and he howled louder and longer so I lost it I whacked him, hard.
That should have shut him up? No way. It added to the tempo. Hmmm… Time to summon all my strength and pick him up and struggle ahead.
The stares were penetrating more than before. The looks were getting angrier or more piteous. But what was I to do?
Got it! “Will you have chocolate?”
“No. I want to go in,” wahhhhh…continued Arin.
Huh. I had had absolutely enough. I called Kunal, “Come now. I am upto my gills. Can’t take more.” He of course said very calmly, buy him a juice or something….Hello? Preservatives, emulsifiers, added colours blah blah?
With Arin’s arm under mine, I marched all three feet something of him bawling like he was being whipped to the ice cream stall. “Will you have ice cream?”
“No. I want to go inside..waaaaaaaaahhhhh”
I bought a Vanilla cup and assured the salesman that the child was absolutely ok. “Its white ice cream. Open your mouth.”
And so the licks began. And everything was quiet. I wished very hard I had given him a proper licking to make him stop instead…
This was a bribe.
Corruption begins at home.

Wake up!

“Just look at the time Arin, its 2.30 pm. If you want to play football with dada in the evening, you must sleep now so that you can wake up at 4 have your milk and run,” I tempted him for the nth time, on yet another Saturday.
Every weekend’s a whirlwind of lunches at home, one dinner at a friend’s place and the resurgent urge to make up for the lost sleep and energy of the week gone by. Naturally, the soothing afternoon siesta is topmost on the mind. Hmmm…life’s settled into much of a routine.
The trouble you see begins when on one of these afternoons he just refuses to sleep. After three stories, a couple of rhymes and the favourite Oh Susana, he announces, “I’m not going to sleep mamma. Play with me.” Very sure of every word that comes out of the sweet little brain, Arin grins or conveys straight faced.
Uff! I hit my head mentally, and, physically when the night before’s been especially long.
He wakes up around six, often times before 6 am. Wouldn’t sleep be a natural need for any three-and-a-half-year-old around 1 pm post a heavy lunch and perhaps a bath, then?
While he rubs the sleep straight out of the system with his beautiful little fingers, I sweat over the afternoon and evening looming large. Kunal manages his forty winks through it all. Football, cricket and colouring later we settle down to milk. “TV. I wont have milk without it,” he declares. Why? Coz Dada dear has taught him that to give something, you have to get something. And milk in this kids parlance is obviously not a hot or cold favourite.
Lets not get into how much or how the milk went down the gullet and skip straight to the next bit. I point out after the milk that he’s not going for football with Dada because he’s not slept. “Ok. Let’s go down to play with my cycle mamma,” he decides. With a cycle under his control – without brakes – the evening happily flies by.
Of course it’s a TV dinner at 7 pm. And the bundle of energy finally falls asleep by 8 pm. The day’s done. I’m bushed. And ready to call it a night. Now if only the older boy would eat his veggies on time, not watch angry movies and talk, I could be in bed by ten, snoring.

Free, at last

I took my time. My own sweet time actually. And I have mastered it. Well not enough to win an Olympic medal as my very dear sis-in-law very inquisitively questioned, but enough to do a full half lap!
For those uninitiated in the world of aqua sports, swimming is a refreshing, addictive, fun exercise. You get to splash in water, wear itsybitsy clothes and you don’t have to give a damn to who is exercising along with you. Aunties and uncles, grandpas, bachche, college kids whoever are all doing their own thing. Yes they may check you out, but if you’re good or dedicated, you get respect.
I can now do a hugely improved version of the freestyle. My legs manage to kick as they should, my arms take care of their bit most of the time. As for the breathing…it’s like a breath of very fresh air. I can breathe and kick and swim as I should, about 95 per cent of the time.
It took me two loooong months but in the meanwhile, I’v managed the backstroke, strengthened my breaststroke.
A huge deal it is, let me assure you, this freestyle business. It all looks easy and smooth. But get into the water and you will experience how tricky it is to keep the air in them lungs. One hand-other-hand-ten kicks while this happens breathe one side. One hand-other-hand-ten kicks while this happens and breathe from the other side…whewwwwww.
So I cheat. I don’t count the kicks, only the hands and breaths. And when I’m reaaalllly tired, I don’t roll the shoulder as I should. Instead, I semi lift the neck while I look one side and take a nice deep breath. Works ok, except that mam sees me whenever I cheat. And we are the only two who know my secret in the pool. But shes a sweety, she won’t tell a soul who can’t figure it out for himself/herself.
Till then, I’m the cool pool aunty. What more could I want? Oh yes a flat stomach. Maybe sometime later…

I love, actually I looooove, the water all around me. Swimming has been a favourite for ages. So I joined swimming class. Yes people, I am learning to swim. I do the kicks and the breathing and I do manage the laps as well.
What then am I learning? Freestyle. Why that? Coz over the last ten years, I’ve seen all those slim and healthy people on tv and all they seem to be swimming is free style.
My poor breaststroke pales in comparison, I’ve convinced myself.
Ten swims later, I’m not even half a leg there. Stamina =10/100, breathing and swimming=3/100, breaststroke=75/100. Where does that leave freestyle?
You see, Vinaya my teacher demonstrated how I should rest my pretty head on one hand and kick while keeping the other hand straight by my side when I roll over for air. At other times, the head stays underwater and the bubbles come out of the nose.
Problem 1: The nose, better than Cleo’s, is small. How much can I breathe in?
Problem 2: When the head comes up, how does one rest on one side and breathe in without water rushing into the mouth?
Problem 3: It works on neither hand. I can kick but I can’t kick-roll-breathe.
Problem 4; We haven’t even reached the hands yet!
Problem 5: I feel like such an ass.
That said, I can glide pretty well, and I’m learning to dive-not off the boards-just from the side of the pool. But it’s a good start!
And I feel great, I’m actually quiet excited about getting to the pool everyday! And Arin’s going to start swimming as well! Yahoo!
Maybe by the end of May, I shall be a chic swimmer, and look as cool as they look on tv!

The mirror looked most inviting the other day, especially since I wanted to preen before it. The reason being the new haircut….ok bad English….the haircut.
Its not very different from the earlier one, just that its an incy wincy bit shorter than before. (Women, you’d understand that, men - it doesn’t matter anyway)
So I twirled and hummed and posed and smiled. And then I went upclose.
THERE it was, glaring at me, quite straight. But, three months is a long time, it had grown. I could deal with that. Then I flicked my hair and was shocked. I did a double take. Where there was one at my last haircut, there were now FOUR.
White hair…………… Time and white hair wait for no woman.
Face it…umm I was FACING it alright.
No choice…I realised.
I’m suddenly older…ufff!!!
Not a problem. I still had the haircut and I look pretty. Even with the tyres that I pretend to battle at times. Plus the brain does work well.
And so the day ended with a party that was already planned and it was the next day. Hair forgotten, I actually looked in the mirror, again. Yes yes, for those of you who know me, you’re wondering whatever happened that the mirror summoned! Wasn’t to preen, was to look for the fairest of them all…you see, search for the unseen unknown unheard of other(s) one had begun.