We want bans.

Of recent, the Indian Government has been ridiculously infamous for banning a lot of things in India. A few instances which flash momentarily when I think of the word ‘ban’ are the ban on Uber, ban on the BBC documentary India’s Daughter, ban on Nestle Maggi and the latest in the series is the meat ban!

Since it seems like the nature to ban things won’t change any time soon, here’s a list of bans which could make the Government look slightly better in the eyes of the common people. Free PR advice! Take it more than you leave it.

  • India is a multicultural, multilingual, multiracial, multireligion (if such a word exists) country. The number of Hindu Gods alone are 330 million. One can barely fathom truly how many festivals India celebrates in a year. Here in Calcutta, almost each area has a separate pandal (makeshift bamboo structures, often elaborate and adorned) which house bigger-than-life-sized clay structures of the Gods and Goddesses as per the occasion. And there are speakers installed at each one of those which play music almost all round the festival day. Which music, you’d ask. Spiritual music, you’d expect. They play Bollywood songs. Most of which had been created by the music directors purely for the purpose of being danced on after downing a few shots at the pub. This needs to be banned, if not to spare us mortals, then at least to spare the Gods from listening to that rubbish. (A friend tells me that even blood donation camps organised by some local clubs are a flimsy excuse for playing loud music all day long.)
  • There’s a beautiful and talented cousin, Sarita, who thinks it would be a favour to ban indecent and tasteless ‘creative’ musical content produced by some artists rather than crackers on Diwali! Hers is a strong demand but then of late that is exactly what we’ve been treated to. For all those who’re unaware of what I am talking about, here’s a short list :

Laila Teri Le Legi

One Two Three Four

Dhating Naach

Saree Ke Fall Sa

Aaj Blue Hai Paani

On a serious note, I’ve met kids, both affluent and poor, who recite these crude lyrics faster than the multiplication table of 13. And if that isn’t a cause for concern, then I’ll have to look up the meaning of concern again.

  • Vartika, a friend, complains about the usage of footpaths as roads by two wheelers. (Another friend was travelling by a three-wheeler auto when the auto driver chose to drive on the footpath scaring the life out of her!) Neha from Joie de Vivre wants hawkers to be removed from footpaths. What’s happening to our pavements? They’re being used by everyone apart from pedestrians. Surely the transport ministry would want to look into that .

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : This post is in no way a ridicule of the Indian society or our Government. No nation, society, religion or culture is perfect. But there’s always hope that things will get better, sooner or later. And this is what some of us are hoping for.

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

Six Word Story #3 (Includes a surprise challenge!)

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First cry.

Bloody hands.

Smiling Dad.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : I also came across this adorable picture below, while surfing. I think it deserves a separate six word story. This time I want one from you. Are you up for the challenge? Leave your stories in the comments below.

Pictures Courtesy : Pinterest.

The Drop.

The old man had been unwell for more than a couple of days now. The fever wasn’t breaking. He wasn’t worried about himself though. He was worried about his garden. He’d newly planted Canna Lilies in them. They were Madam’s favourite. He would have instructed his helper how to care for them well but the helper was on leave. Either ways, he wasn’t too keen on his helper’s work.

This evening, he’d tried walking out to the garden but he barely managed to reach the door of his own room. The doctor had been called. He prescribed some medicines and assured it wasn’t anything to worry about. The old man chided the cook, “I told you so.”

It hadn’t rained for a week now. It was unusually hot. If it didn’t rain soon, his garden would start wilting. In a long time, he wished his helper was here. Or at least the rains were. Either wish seemed far from being realized.

His son was around the same age as his helper. Every time he saw his helper, it reminded him of his son; a reminder that wasn’t happy or heart-stopping, a reminder that was melancholic and heartbreaking. His son was a charm with plants, but didn’t see the charm in them. “I want to do something bigger,” he used to say.

But the old man didn’t know anything bigger. Sure enough, there were bigger businesses he knew about, like the one Sir and Madam were doing. But at the end of the day, even they would come and admire his work. “What was bigger then?”, he thought. Even after his son had started working in another city, he stayed back with Sir and Madam. They loved his work and he used to love working for them. They’d given him a place to stay in their servants quarters.

After the doctor left, he tried sitting up to look at what he could of his gardens. It was dim now post dusk and his feeble eyes didn’t help either. He spent his evening alternately watching the blades of the fan rotate and dozing.

Night fell early and in spite of having slept almost all day, he slept like a log through the night too. He awoke well after the Sun had risen. He was rolling in sweat and blankets. The fever had broken. He turned towards the window and there were drops of water clinging onto the grills of the window.


Picture Courtesy : @main_samay_hoon on Instagram.
Picture Courtesy : @main_samay_hoon on Instagram.

Hopeful, he went up to the window. It wasn’t an easy walk but far less painful than yesterday. Indeed, they were water droplets. As he stood in the pool of water below his window, his eyes saw moist and glistening grass outside his window. The flowers were gleaming and waving at him in the morning breeze. He was ecstatic. The God loved His work too!

Graciously Yours!

How do I convince Mother that my 23 year old self can have usable shelf decor ideas?

Urgent help needed! Mothers preferred.

So I began putting my shelf decor ideas to Mother the way I actually pitch my ideas to my boss. Small talk first and then when I have judged his mood and inclination to discuss ideas, I slowly, very slowly, push the idea towards him. Obviously, I chip in the ideas like they were always his and that time had been a constraint for him to implement the ideas. And that he was the one who’d inspired me to actually come up with them. It works out fine for me mostly. I tried the same with Mother. It turns out that the small talk I do is extremely boring. She shooed me away. I never reached the second stage.

After a while I decided to be direct and straightforward so I went up to her and said, “It’s my room. It’s my shelf. I want it my way.” The look she gave me was enough to shut me up. I slinked away.

As I write this, I have decided to present my decor ideas to her without throwing my weight around. As if that really mattered much. But what should I say to her? How do I get her to look at my shelf decor ideas without her rejecting them out rightly? How do I convince my Mother that her daughter who otherwise flops around the house, cracks the weirdest of jokes at inopportune moments, cares about her blog like it’s her baby, finds comedy shows boring and suspense thrillers funny has usable decor ideas! Even if they’re as random as this :

ideas-for-bookselves magnetika-soggiorno Interesting-Shelf-Design-in-Random-like-Cells-Position

Which they are not. Absolutely not this random. Psst. Aren’t they good though?

Let’s not divert!

Help please. While I go to put on the protective gear, please get your ammunition ready! We need to fire them fast. Or are we going for a truce?

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Mother, if you are reading this, you’ve obviously read whatever I wrote above. Before you come looking for me, I only want to say :

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Same goes for you, boss!

Pictures Courtesy : Pinterest.

Six Word Story #2

Agression-hitting-biting-baby-child-SuperBaby


He hit her. She wailed, “Mommy!”


Graciously Yours!


P.S.: This isn’t a post on misogyny. Keep your innocence alive. Period.

When inspiration met ants.

It was always dark inside their homes. The dim lights reaching the upper reaches let them know if it was time to sleep or not. All the elders worked hard for long during light, tirelessly and happily. He had lots of friends and they all lived, played and ate together. They were soon going to start work too. Today had ended and night had fallen. The elders were trooping in after a day’s work. Some worked further down and others went up to the place from where food and light came. There were others who took care of all of them. They were aplenty!

He was being trained. He had been told he would soon be sent upwards if he was strong enough. He was very excited. After dinner that night, he turned in early. Sleep made him stronger.

Much before it was time to wake up, he heard loud slurping noises and terrified shrieks from around him. Something ominous was happening. His roommates looked as terrified as he felt. He peered out from his corner of their home, hoping to see someone who could help them or tell them what was going on. He saw the villain make way.

It was a silver monster, gliding and silencing everyone in it’s path. It was coming their way. He ran towards the other end of the corner where all the others were already crouching out of fear. The monster was now at their door. Most of it pushed ahead but the rest was trickling towards them slowly. It was incessantly hot in there. It was suffocating too. He couldn’t breathe through the fumes and long before the monster could reach him, he had breathed his last. And so had everyone else. In a matter of a couple of minutes, it was all over. Their home would be put on display soon. With their bodies still buried inside.

This is popularly called anthill art, which is made by pouring molten aluminium into anthills and then letting the molten metal cool down into this ‘amazing’ art form.

Here’s how it happens :

Feel free to enlighten me with what you think about the process.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Most YouTube comments on such videos seem to state fire ants as a hated species and also environmentally invasive and this process is nothing short of doing good for human life, both artistically and economically environmentally.

Six Word Story – Hemingway Challenge.

The Hemingway Challenge, named after the poet Ernest Hemingway, is a celebration of his genius when it came to words. It asks for the writer to convey a story in six words and not more, not less.

The best six word story, I have come across till date, courtesy him, is “For sale : baby shoes, never worn”.

Here’s my first, and hopefully not last, shot at the challenge :

World’s moonlit night, moonless to him.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Julia from ‘Life Matters’ is also doing the #sixwordstory challenge. Here’s my favourite from her collection.

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

A dream turning real.

On special request by Izza from the ‘A touch of my saint’, the previous post has been now re-written with a completely different end.

 

Glistening smile in her eyes,

She felt her beau cupping her face,

Caressing her hair and her cheek,

His finger lingering at her lips.


With the soft touch of his lips on hers,

Cheers erupted and flowers fell upon them,

The bride was kissed,

Before the priest could even say so.


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Graciously Yours!

P.S. Like that, Izza? 😉

Picture credits : Pinterest.

A dream too real?

Smiling in her sleep,

She dreamt her beau cupping her face,

Caressing her hair and her cheek,

His finger lingering at her lips.


She felt a hand up her neck,

She brushed away the tickling fingers,

Only to wake up, horrified.

She was sleeping alone.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. I hope you love the new look as much as I do! Feedback awaited.

Masks.

She masquerades an inner beauty,
Afraid to show her true skin,
The glaze of pious may bedazzle others,
And they may brand her to be sinfully evil.

He masquerades an inner sensitiveness,
Empathy and concern lie just beneath,
But the world around tells him to man up,
To blend in he treats everyone rough and tough.

Graciously Yours!

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