Quest for freedom on Independence Day


                  Happy Independence Day!

With pride I watch, like every other Indian, the unfurling of the tricolor and the celebrations on the 71st Independence Day. India celebrates her birthday, her liberation from the largely perceived as “oppressive and repressive” 200-year colonial British rule. India has galloped ahead since those times, the naysayers notwithstanding, more so in the last decade. And in my mind questions abound –While India the federal union celebrates her freedom, are we, the people of India, truly free?

When we stop judging a woman by the length of her skirt or the color of her lipstick…when the birth of a daughter is revered as much as that of the son…when she can belong to her workplace as much as to her kitchen…when she can walk as freely on the roads during the night as in the day…when instead of chipping her individuality to mold her into “what she should be,” she is given wings to explore “what she can be”…when instead of protecting her, she is given a choice…that is when we, the people of India, will experience true freedom.

When what I eat is dictated by taste, not caste…when what I wear is decided by choice, not religion…when every Indian sings the national anthem with pride…when the law of the land, instilled in the Constitution of India, will reign supreme for one and all…when the religion is practiced within the four walls of the house…when repressive diktats and oppressive fatwas find no place in public conscience…when there is a distinct separation between organized religion and state…when the Indian in us rises above fault lines of faith, regionalism and linguicism, only then can we, the people of India, experience true freedom.

When the streets are as clean as our homes…when the child on the road reads like the one in the home…when universal healthcare is no longer a pipe-dream…when “retail corruption” is a thing of the past…when the politics of quota and reservation becomes obsolete…when “sabka sath sabka vikas” is not just a slogan but a reality…only then will we, the people of India, experience true freedom.

We, the people of India, will experience true freedom only when we succeed in shrugging off our cloak of indifference. Isn’t it always “their” responsibility…Aren’t “they” to be blamed for everything…As long as it does not affect “me” why should “I” get involved. This habit of blaming the abstract entity, the determined apathy…is this a coping mechanism, a fatal fatalism, a pervasive loss of hope, or just a pass-it-on attitude…what drives this, I wonder? “The world suffers a lot, not because of the violence of bad people, but because of the silence of good people”, said Napoleon. The good people of India are guilty of silence allowing the ranters and ravers a free reign. The interpretation of freedom as being able to say and do whatever one wants, without respect for the law of the land or the right of another, is a surefire recipe for disaster in a pluralistic society. “Freedom and power bring responsibility,” said Jawaharlal Nehru. When freedom of speech is tempered with freedom of thought, i.e. awareness and understanding of a situation, along with the ability to choose the “right” response, both individually and collectively, only then will we, the people of India, experience true freedom.

We can call ourselves a truly independent and free country, as guaranteed by our Constitution, only when we free ourselves from our oldest curses…our misogynistic attitudes, divisive religious belief’s, and our determined apathy. Are we ready for this challenge, another struggle for Independence, this time not from the colonial rulers but from our own “oppressive and repressive” attitudes I wonder?







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The angst of a woman…


I am “janani”…the mother

I am…so you are

I carry you in my womb…

Give birth to you…so you are

Yet, I’m cursed…

My womb abused…

To have birthed…

The monster in you…


I am…a daughter

You are…so I am

Created by you…so I am

Yet, I’m cursed…

Killed in the womb…unwanted, a “bojh”

If born, a “paraya dhan”…a “thing”…

My existence cursed…

To be owned by one…handed over to another


I am….”ardhangani”…your better half…

I am…so we are

I carry your future…your heir

Yet, I’m cursed…to oblivion

To be seen, not heard…

Within the four walls of your home…

To serve, but not demand…

To exist, but not live…


I am… “sthree”…the woman

The yin to your yang…

Two halves that make a whole…

But this one-half is cursed…


Cursed am I…

By your inappropriate touch…

By your acts of wanton lust…

By your abusive words…

And hands that are raised to hit…


Cursed am I…

To carry the burthen of impurity…

To be exploited with impunity…

The ignominies heaped upon me-

Condoned by all as the way to be…

In the shroud of “honour” buried to lie…

My hopes and dreams under the starless sky!


I am “Shakti”…the energy divine,

Worshipped by you, yet curtailed in a shrine,

Unfettered one day…I hope to rise again

From the ashes of bigotry, enriched by the pain!







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Two Souls…



Two Souls


Two souls

Not hearing, not seeing

Just feeling

The travails of the broken heart

Chained together, yet wrenched apart

(The two souls here are the patient and their loved one…they do not hear  norsee the normal activities of life once diagnosed with cancer. They just feel the pain, the suffering the disease brings. Chained in their suffering, wrenched apart by destiny)

Two Souls


Not caring, yet daring

Just wandering

Along the eerie broken path

Dodging the fiery hands of wrath

(The normal path of life broken, the two souls walk a lonely, ghostly path. They don’t care about the fear, with great strength they try to dodge death (fiery hands of wrath).

Two Souls


Not knowing, not speaking

Just seeking

Solace together, arm-in-arm

The stillness amidst the storm

(The two souls seek comfort in each other, not knowing how the disease is going to progress. Most patients and relatives do not talk about their disease to each other or anyone else…in all the storm (upheaval in their lives), they seek stillness (peace)

Two Souls


Not running, not jostling

Just resting

In their secret sylvan place

Bleeding hearts, at last in peace

(The two souls when they stop running from the truth (when they overcome their denial), when they stop jostling i.e. pushing for futile treatments; when they accept the inevitability of death, at last find peace. By secret sylvan place I mean coffin.  Their heart bleeds at the thought of losing loved ones, but still they find peace)

















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The pain that the rain brings…a malady of craters

My childhood memories…two sturdy bullocks with bells round their neck, tethered to a colorful rickety wooden cart with two large wooden wheels, driven by a scrawny turbaned driver, with betel juice staining his mouth. The reins of the cart in one hand, he cracks a thin whip with the other, much like a magic wand onto the back of the hapless animal. With a sudden jingle of bells the cart starts to sway forward…all of us in the cart in for a bumpy ride over the unpaved roads, the sun beating down on the face, the cool gust of wind ruffling the hair…an unique experience, reminiscent of the years gone by.

And then there was the sleepy town of Bijapur where I went to medical school, known for the famous “Tanga”, the horse buggy, this our preferred mode of transport. Drawn by an emaciated, ill-fed horse, the creaky carriage would carry quite a few of us. I am ashamed to say oblivious to the concept of equine abuse at that time we would enjoy the tanga ride. At times the more adventurous amongst us would take over the reins from the driver and with a whoop and flick of the whip propel the carriage forward. As the horse raced clickety-clack, with our hearts in our mouth, we would silently pray to reach our destination in one piece.

Of late I have been reminiscing a lot about these bumpy rides, more so after coming back from sunny London to a wet, wet Mumbai. The week I landed there was heavy rains. My car decided to try swimming in the pool that came up overnight outside the house. Needless to say, she drowned. We tried to rescue her, but alas she had ingested way too much water. She has since been admitted at the local garage for the past few weeks…to recuperate…the organ transplant is taking its time…

Life has been an adventure ever since as I negotiate the Mumbai roads in a cab or an auto. All adventure enthusiasts from around the world would agree with me I am sure. The fantastic adrenaline rush you get has to be experienced to be believed!

The looping, twisting, whirling experience has left me enthralled. With a loud roar the rickety beast (rickshaw) jumps to life to negotiate the pock-marked road, just like the horse-buggy. As she races ahead she sways from side-to-side, at times lurching forward, at other times backward, and I hold on for dear life. As the ride gains momentum, I find myself floating weightless upwards, defying gravity, only to land with a loud thud onto the hard seat. Each death-defying plunge leaves me breathless, physically and emotionally depleted. As I reach my destination battered and bruised I say a silent prayer…at last I have arrived. The cab rides are a bit smoother…much like the bumpy rides on the bullock carts. The drives skilled, negotiate these craters with the experience of a rally driver… You are shaken and stirred and thrown around all at once, leaving your osteoporotic bones aching and the arthritic joints creaking.

It’s a known fact that the craters on Mumbai roads are bigger and better than those on Moon or even Mars.   And as some news report states NASA is tying up with amchi BMC to train all astronauts on the crater-ridden Mumbai roads!!

As Winston Churchill said, “If you are going through hell, keep going”, the journey of every hapless Mumbaikar during monsoon…and as we struggle our politicians and BMC have much more important work to do…renaming roads, reforming the culinary habits of Indians, designing appropriate dress codes for women, etc…


Pictures are sourced from Google, from India Opines


Picture sourced from Google

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You and me…

Two pieces of a puzzle

Amidst life’s intangible muddle

Two different shapes, two separate bits-

that merge into a complete fit


You and me…

A perfect melody

Born from the discordant cacophony-

of intolerant faith and warped destiny-

that echo in absolute harmony


You and me…

A timeless treasure

Tempered in love’s ancient pyre

Rising from the embers, raging beyond measure

An inferno of intense desire


You and me…

Two fragments of a soul

Wandering in the labyrinth of life

When life and death cease their strife

Seek redemption as a whole


You and me…

A paradox, a puzzling enigma

Damned together by the ancient stigma

Of what could not, but yet could be

Beyond all shackles of worldly decree


You and me…


An unanswered question…

In the mind


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The Specter of Death

Life After Death 2

Hiding deep in the shadows dark

A faithful companion is death

In the journey of life as we embark

Death follows our every breath


Mocking us disdainfully from afar

Through our laughter and our tears

Death reminds us how finite we are

All our hopes, dreams and fears


Mocking our mortal struggles in disgust

Our cravings of flesh, our endless desires

Death raises the specter of the blazing pyre

Where the vain body humbled, one day will rest


Defiled by humans, greeted by wails

Death is the infallible truth of living

In its waiting embrace will peace prevail-

Is it the end, or just a new beginning?


Is it…

In the juggernaut of life, a harbinger of peace

An escape from the Insanity

For the soul within a wanted release

In its journey towards Immortality


I wonder…

Death, when you come to set me free

Will you be quick? Will you be slow?

Will you slowly draw the life out of me?

Or fell me down with a single blow?

Will I find peace in your embrace-

a hallowed resting place?

As the mortal body burns, as it must

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!!!

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She came…she conquered…

My eyes open at the whiff of dawn as usual, but instead of jumping out of bed to get ready I snuggle between the sheets listening to the chirping of birds outside, the kuhu-kuhu of the Koel, the rustling of the leaves…nature’s wonderful melody.

Yes, it’s a lazy Sunday morning and I’m looking forward to the day …images

A good one-hour later I decide to start my day…I step out of bed and my foot lands on the AC remote, as I hop, skip, and jump to prevent further damage I trip over the water bottle by the bedside…as I waltz around the corner to avoid further mishaps I skid over 2 pairs of discarded clothes on the bedroom floor… Welcome to my home!!!

Life can be pretty &?@#!#%& with men around. I am the lone warrior among 3, who suffer from a chronic inflammatory disorder that I call “mess-it-upitis.”

Chronic for them; inflammatory for me ! images (1)

It can start pretty young from the age of 13 or so…the teenage years. I have seen my son falling prey to it…creeps in slowly and takes over just like a trojaan virus to wipe out all pre-programmed data (read mother’s instructions) from the teens mind. And from then on into adulthood what ensures is total chaos, with no cure in sight…download

How amazing is it that men can effortlessly curl a ball into the nets or shoot accurately at a target, but lo and behold, their dirty clothes or empty wrappers and waste papers are never inside the laundry hamper or dustbin, but remain strewn beside it! How precise is their sense of direction and visuospatial ability that enables them to maneuver their precious four-wheelers in the narrowest of spaces, and yet this same ability is lost while negotiating the complex “wet and dry” zones in the washroom!! How accurately they can recall the number of runs scored or the world records, but the same memory fails them if they have to find their wallets or spectacles!!

Amidst this chaos…me, the lone female warrior download (2), tries to wrestle some order in!!

My son, Rishabh, is nearly 20…a handsome young fellow. Not long before he gets a girl home, say my friends. As a mother its both exciting and scary watching your child negotiate the grown-up world…all you can do is pray and hope that they make the right choices. If it happens maybe I can find myself an ally I think, two against the rest download.

And then one day he sneaked her home… My father-in-law fell in love with her at the first sight. It has taken my husband, Rajesh and me a tad longer. Her dietary choices were in contrast to ours; we pure vegetarians and she a pukka non-vegetarian. Just like my son, she was a picky eater with strong likes and dislikes. While we worked during the day, she worked the night shift. We enjoyed company, while she was timid and wary of strangers, and it was an effort to get her to socialize. The ring of the doorbell would send shivers down her spine. We wondered how this girl would adjust in our chaotic household. Would she be a source of distraction for Rishabh, we wondered…she had him thoroughly enslaved. In her presence he transformed from a rebellious teenager to a mature, mellow young man. Seeing the love between them, the joy in his face and the carefree laughter when he was with her, all our doubts eased. She is now an integral part of our family.

For all of you wondering who the new entrant in our life is, she is Kira, our cat thumb-1555195.

Rishabh found this injured kitten by the roadside, run over by a car, brought her home, and nursed her back to health.   Today my home is her fiefdom, where she roams about at her will. Now in addition to the chirping of the birds and rustling of the trees, an obnoxious odour wafts through the air in my house each morning…that of cat litter. Amidst the aroma of “shakahari (read vegetarian)” South Indian cooking, the stink of Royal Canin Kitten Wet Food (read fish) wafts in.

2016-05-01 13.44.52  2016-05-01 13.45.37 2016-05-01 13.45.22

Our ammunition against the stink…

My corner of the bed is no longer mine, but the resting place of her highness, Kira, and I have shifted to the couch for my siesta rather than face her ire. The half-eaten pack of chips in no longer left outside on the couch after midnight snacking by either man in the house as Kira is sure to poke her curious nose in. Rishabh’s books and assignment paper’s are neatly filed away in the cupboard for Kira in her midnight forays is adept at chewing paper to bits.

2016-05-01 14.36.10     Rishabh’s torn assignment paper

She is teaching them a lesson…to keep things in placedownloadROFL…

She has the three men running around her in circles, leaving me confused…maybe I need to learn to “purrrrrrrrrrr” like her to have them listen to me  download.png

2016-05-01 11.13.41

A year ago Kira came home…today she has ensconced herself forever in our homes and in our hearts…As for whether I found my ally or not you decide…





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