Can Acid Rain corrode only the monument of love; Taj Mahal

No matter how many times I splashed water; burnt scars on my face refused to get budged. The mirror reflects my mangled face half heartedly. Singed hair no longer covers my despondent face and hope.

A young boy of 12 years raced through the streets with his heart outpacing him. The appalled look on his face spoke of unspeakable.  “Mom you were right, Frankenstein was for real. I just met one down the alley next to that brick house”. “Don’t talk like that, they are our new neighbors”.  I was accustomed to such outrageous remarks.

It was a pleasant October morning 6:30 a.m., wafting breeze was caressing my tufts of hair. The lyrical trilling of the birds was music to my ears. The sun was soaked in glistening lava. I was breathing quantum of life. My bus stop was teeming with life, bustling with school kids accompanied by their harried parents. Surprisingly I become nostalgic everyday at the same time.  I strained my eyes to spot my ramshackle bus, to my dismay it was nowhere to be seen.  I could see a toddler tugging onto my shirt and subsequently onto my heart. She offered a chewed piece of her candy to me, as she could nibble it no more.  I closed my eyes and thanked God for this blissful life.

It had started raining; I could feel drops of dew on my forehead. It was sublime. Soon those elixir drops started to burn, gosh, I stretched my right hand to wipe beads of drops. To my horror, the skin on my fingers peeled off. My forehead was in excruciating pain.

“Water, water ……someone please throw water on me, help me please” I was wailing in pain. There came a puddle of splash to my rescue… or to my corrosion. Someone had thrown something diabolical…… it was acid. Acid penetrated my eyes, felt as if barbed wires had penetrated them. My pupil (black in color) became of the same color as that of cornea (white in color). I just couldn’t see any more. I didn’t know what was happening. “ Mumaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”, I shouted for help and somehow my mother was oblivious to my hapless cries. She would always come to my rescue, I didn’t know what happened this time, what took her so long. My face was burning; I could smell fumes and despair. My skin was peeling off, my bones protruding and peeking from the edges. The pain was excruciating, every fiber in my soul shrieked for mercy. I lost hope and consciousness. I woke up to see blurred images of sobbing mom and shattered father in a gloomy hospital.

I felt shackled; I stretched my fingers to feel my face and all I could feel was rolls of bandage. Wish those bandage always enveloped my face; they would have concealed the horrifying truth of my mangled face. A worker casually walked in with a bottle of acid in his hand; he was about to pour it in washroom adjoining to my bed. I shouted at the top of my voice “Please don’t throw acid on me, I can’t take this pain anymore” and fell at his feet pleadingly.

The bottle of venomous acid which can corrode anyone’s life at a lightening pace is still easily available. Though the laws have been recently promulgated; however their implementation is still a distant dream Have you ever thought that the grudges that you harbor are corrosive and acidic in nature. So next time you see an acid attack victim; remember that she too is a part of your family and all she needs is your love and attention. ACID needs to be redefined as Affectionate, Caring, Impassioned and Desire to help.

An evening with anonymous friends !

Last Sunday I spent my evening on a rugged stone bench in cp inner circle. Accompanied by unaware strangers who were oblivious to my existence. 
The gentle breeze ruffled tufts of hair for the young teen sitting next to me and galvanized me into painting my thoughts. I sat till the blazing sun was replaced by Saffron Street light. The streets were teeming with life and my thoughts were brimming with words. As the dusk slowly paved its way, stone bench had two friends embracing it. These two friends were the ones that I had always dreaded and eluded. One of them was a eunuch in a disheveled state, tanned face with a hapless look.
The other one was a stout purported social worker ( lady ) that you might have bumped into ( in cp); she plants not I.E.D. but miniature Indian flags trying to re-instill patriotism in you and invoke clinking of coins in her life. I was inadvertently listening to their conversation, never realized that they too had their aspirations smashed by someone who was humane like us. Their discussion was about their future, their career, children and indifferent quintessential Delhiites. It dawned upon me they were more humane than us. It is us who transmute them into such roles. then we are kind enough to look down upon them and despise them. Wondered who was more in a dreadful state, them or ............. ?

It was a vibrant evening, the seething sun had decided to take refuge behind domes of  Indian Habitat Centre, Lodhi Road, New Delhi, the time was 7 pm, the date was 22nd July,2013, the Galaxy had decided to place this center in the centre of the Universe for that unforgettable evening.
The trodden grounds were  spangled with icons of sorts;  some of them apparently promised to be the resuscitators of  nose-diving Economy, Academicians in making and in breaking, Jurisprudence in letter and in spirit, imposing media, shutterbugs, jostling students, frazzled taxpayers, cynical investors all scrambling to solve the conundrum of despondent Indian Economy. Is “Brain Drain” still a menace?  Can these pervasive economic maladies be compared to immutable Delhi’s drainage system? Do we need a CAG for it?
I was bestowed with the honor of attending a conference cum book launch on 22nd July, 2013 in Indian Habitat Center, Delhi. It marked the launch of An Uncertain Glory by Jean Drèze & Amartya Sen a book co authored by Nobel laureate @Dr Amarteya Sen (Professor of Economics  and Philosophy at Harvard University) and Professor Jean Drèze ( taught at London School of Economics).
There was an exhilarating discussion on chinks in despondent Indian economy. An evening to remember….
Last words from the conference -
Smugness of cynicism as propounded by Dr Amarteya Sen -“that nothing can be done, so why should I do something about it”. Does it ring bells?

Here is another resplendent and vibrant day, but before I end up wishing everyone, would like to bring something to your notice. Am sure you are loading your weapons with water tight balloons, pichkaris and are ready to empty your water tanks, so you must know about a place in Gujarat. 
Amreli, a small district in Gujarat, its cracked and parched soil shows that water has evaded this barren land for decades. No young man is able to tie a conjugal/marriage knot over here, reason is simple, the prospective bride’s parents opine that if their daughter gets married in this village then she would have to travel barefoot for 5 kms to draw a pail of water from an endangered distant well.
And we have the privilege of turning the tap of “fountain of life” (motor fueled) on and then splurge it lavishly, without giving it a second thought.
So next time you think of directing your water tight drone at an unaware bystander, think of those who’ve breathed their last, because that one drop of dew never smiled on their parched lips.
Happy Holi!

Oscar goes to Once upon an animal!

Today while scouring through news paper, i came across this bizarre news, in Nagpur's zoo, there was a male full frown tiger who was starving, to satiate his hunger, he was served a goat, to everybody's astonishment, this tiger instead of pouncing and devouring the meek goat, started playing with the frail creature.
Strange but true, God drilled more sense and compassion into man than in animals, but hands down animals have taken the Oscars for humanity, while humans are still striving in foreign nominations!

While I was waiting at a traffic signal yesterday, I noticed that almost every other child/ toddler or an adult is crippled. Their lean frame was resting on frail crutches.
Surprisingly that even though we boast of robust economy half of our future is crippled.
Those crutches are meant to cripple your senses and drive you into shelling money from your disappearing pocket ( cause of budget). Although their limbs are as strong as that of an ox, however this ox does not want to drive their horns into us but drive crutches into our vulnerable senses for a change.
Akin to how a government functions, it does not live by its spade, but by it populist ways.
It’s time we see that this nation and its future is freed from the clutches of its crutches!

Tryst with pain

A frantic call  racked my senses and in seconds I found myself scouring through hapless heads in a bid to find my kin. Prudent cousin brother of mine had managed to get his shoulder smashed with fate, and there he was venting groaning in pain.

My destination "Emergency Trauma center" apparently haven and refuge for mutilated bodies and shattered hopes. Landmark for it were ear drum piercing screams, wailing and a welcoming " No- Parking" board.

Rooms teeming with aimless attendants, irked doctors, nosy cops and pleading patients.

Moist eyes of attendant were met with a hostile rebuke from salvaging doctors. Saying " He is still breathing, your streaming tears will snuff life out of us, so please save them for bills".

Cops trying to aggravate the pain of victims by trying to capture the statement, the statement which extols their failure. Paranoid relatives muttering prayers and beads under their breath, in a desperate hope for revival.

We were greeted by a smug orthopedic  a diabolical smile flashed across his lips. He smirked at the sight of the deviated shoulder, to him it was akin to a situation where the Govt. was toppling and stooping cause an ally had transmuted into adversary.

I stood bewildered and frozen as this cocky expert started playing retro classics, trying to pep up his morbid mood and definitely to leave the attendants aghast. It was unfathomable. 

His callused palms narrated of his past heroic accolades, this seemed too trivial for a man of stature like him.

The way he braced himself for the antics seemed as if he was about to slam dunk his adversary all over the place except in the ring.

I was bestowed with the honor of being a part of this muscle flexing arena. Now was the time for show down, with every brawn in his fiber he yanked on to my brother's shoulder as if he was hauling a net laden with fish. Kin's lips finally gave way to a shrilling shriek , his gnashing teeth depicted that excruciating pain had transcended his tolerance levels, his cries fell on deaf ears of adrenaline charged orthopedic.

His streaming tears cursed doc's relentless persistence.

My imperative contribution to this bout was to grab hold of his torso, or should i put it this way, it was to give cover to the inflictor of the pain. So that inflitor does not become inflicted. 

Those set of  cold impervious and imperious eyes seemed to be unmoved by such hollering, they were accustomed to it. With each cry, prayers gathered momentum and inundated  Almighty's desk with such requests. Blood entrenched in pain coursed through my brother's chest and face. And a similar array of whispers tried to strain their ears on the door, trying to decipher if it was their kin, hoping against hope.

Corridors of pain were reverberating with hapless cries of victims, and painted gloom all over. My eyes finally rested upon a 4 yr old who had fractured his arm and at large his dad's heart.

His groaning in pain will resound in those corridors for ages.

Pain was never alien to us, it has always been and will be a part of our degenerative lives.

That cenotaph turned refuge redefined pain for my senses, those shards of tissues taught me a lesson for ever. Though fractured bones may take a while to recuperate, but it definitely rejoins the fractured tendons of  relations in those precarious moments.

  

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