a love without any reason!!

She is making big leaps. Saloma is growing up. She is now 31 days old but looks as if my life knows her really well.
It appears as if she had always been a part of me and I dread the day she would leave Delhi, only to leave an abyss so surreal.
Children are like that. There is not even a single way that would suggest you not to love them. This is what people say about their children, but how true is it for the other children not belonging to their clan.
Will one love them the same way they would love their children? Will that love be and pure not touched upon by negative traits of a human being?
Having no Ph.D. in motherhood, I asked a few ladies of what they feel. Many were of the belief that it’s always special to have your own child. If you don’t get the wrecking aches, the love just cannot stay alive. The initial gestation period; synonym with pukes and the final hurdle synonym with intense pain, just adds on to the love for your own child.
As per them, it’s the blood running in the veins of the child that matters. If it’s yours, then that’s more than enough for love to blossom.
So the blood relationship matters, but what about their husbands. Do they marry their own cousin or brothers? They obviously don’t. But still they love them. So whatever factor guides their love, blood relation definitely does not appear in the picture in this case. But I still fail to understand why do the rules change for children?
I am no mother myself, but still I do love kids. A mother’s views and idea of love for her child is completely alien to me.
To me children are a means to the feel nirvana. There is nothing better that seeing them grow every day.
I love Saloma, not because she is my sister’s daughter but because she is the first child I am seeing from such a close quarter. I drool over her every time she gets up and makes faces to suggest that she is hungry.
The way she wakes up by punching her left hand up in the air, shouting out loud that she is a superman, is a to-die for expression. She pees on my shirt, she shits on my lap, and she vomits one on the whole of me, only to make my love for her deeper. I sing a song for her and she stops crying. I make faces for her and she starts smiling. She does not know who I am but makes me feel important. As a matter of the fact she makes everyone feel important. And I just hope that she remains this way and not start counting the blood relations as a measure of factoring her love.

women's special

It made a grand entry in Delhi by zooming into everyone's life, making long distance journey seem short. It then ventured into every nook and corner of the city wanting to change the city's mode of suffering..err..commuting. It was the hot favourite for long before its reputation started deteriorating thanks to many instances of passengers shoving each other for space, recurrent time snarls, line stoppage but mainly because of women's safety. Cases of women being misbehaved with were reported in abundance. And this ultimately led to what we call women's special. A compartment reserved for the ladies.
And this is what makes the voyage worthwhile all the time for me now. Not because of the comfort and the security that it gives us but because it gives you the feel of an all-women’s planet without actually going to Venus.
To give you an overview, the planet ‘Venus’ is surely going to be pink in colour. Well this is exactly what DMRC thinks so. A bed of pink flower awaits you at the platform for you to board the train. That’s life from a distance but when I go into a closer quarter, the life takes a complete U-turn. It is a bed of roses with thorns.
An all-women’s train is supposed to be safe. Well absolutely true. But in the process we forget that safety is universal, irrespective of the gender. Men boarding the women's compartment, beware. You might just get thrashed, trashed and abused for coming into their territory. It would not matter if you boarding the train for the first time. Stepping into the forbidden zone can be catastrophic for you. DMRC should seriously think of some safety measure for the men breed. What about an alarm which starts buzzing as soon as a foreign (read foreign as man) contaminant steps in the women’s compartment, along with a warning sign? At least this would be better than facing the women’s wrath.
This basic idea over formulating this women’s compartment concept was to create a secure environment, but what about the cold glares that women get from other women. There is indeed no comparison between getting ogled down by either men or women. Whereas lust is the reason for the former, I can’t figure out the reason for the latter’s existence. Maybe it is just the casual glances that they exchange or maybe it is something more than that. Well to remain in the good books of women kind, I would stick to the former opinion.
But what is it that makes women behave ignorant in the conditions that require just the basic display of human nature. What would a person need when he/she is about to pass off? A place to sit and probably some water. But this basic understanding lacks in most of the women I suppose. They would do anything to make a man give away the seat reserved for them, had he been sitting on it, but when it comes to giving the seat to a needy person, they would best turn blind to it rather than respond. This is not to say everyone belongs to the same league; am not generalizing, but neither do I want to turn blind to this fact.
Then there is the constant chatter causing destructive interference all around. Too much gossip is always too less for them. But when the train goes under-ground, there is nothing much that you can do. The sudden gloominess in the atmosphere is nothing like its usual self. It’s killing. But like they say , even the darkest of nights don’t last till eternity and it is such a delight for each one of us (yeah..including me) when the train comes out of the tunnel to see the light of the day, as it means getting back your lost sense, i.e. of being able to talk over the mobile. The ambience is nothing short of the when the plane lands, with everyone updating on the phone when to pick them up from so and so station. It is all cheerful, just the right kind of atmosphere to make you believe that everyone is busy, merry and gay.
Just for some business idea, the girls out there wouldn’t mind telephone operators giving a shot at some mode of communication where the connection exists even if you are underground. It is time for Vodafone to rethink and re-strategize their tag line ‘where ever you go, we follow’. While formulating it, I guess they forgot about the underground mode.
Ah..and when the destination finally arrives, it’s all so predictable. Everyone just rushes fast as if there’s no tomorrow.
As I step into the world which I had left behind before boarding this train, I realize that it is far far better place to live.
Earth is amazing and I feel no reason to move into either Mars or Venus.

an over rated virtue

Marriages are made in heaven. Surely. But what about love marriages? Are they made in some haven’s heaven or some special heaven not accessible to everyone? Well who knows except for the ones who don’t have a love marriage.
Never ever did I think that these ‘sort’ of marriages were a big deal till some time back. Of late I have started bumping into people who crib of the fact that they would end up in an arranged marriage. The deal for them is that love marriages would open doors for a blissful life and a fairy-tale kind of story would follow the suit.
This kind of, the unkind ambassador of arranged marriage, populace is becoming so banal that classifying them into certain categories is some task. Few years back there was this guy, IIML pass out, (I did not want to mention his alumni, but then I thought otherwise just to show a wide range of people affected by this bug) who was about to have an arranged marriage but hell bent on proving everyone that it was a love marriage. Maybe IIML tag was incomplete without a love marriage, as IIML pass outs are known to have multitude affairs.
That was long back but when I recently came a across a woman, it just brought back the memories of that guy. The woman is in her late 20s, about to have an arranged marriage to a south Indian while she herself is a north Indian. It is actually very wonderful of her to marry a south Indian, if only had she accepted it was an arranged marriage. For what-so-ever reason she was marrying him, she had only one regret. Yeah, you are bang on. Sometimes she used to be exultant that people would consider it to be a love marriage but when it came to facing the reality that it wasn’t, she would go into a shell. She once told me that she didn’t sleep properly last night. I asked her the reason. She responded saying it was because of some construction work. Only to add later that people might think that she must be busy with her boyfriend over the phone the whole of the night and how much she would have prized it to be true.
After listening to their sagas, I feel myself going into a shell as the only route of escaping such people.
Majority of the times we forget that love marriage just builds a comfortable zone for the two persons before the marriage but the marriage does not sustain on one comfortable zone. Rest apart, I have never understood the notion of people believing that love marriage works and arranged marriage doesn’t. I surely love seeing a couple getting married. In fact I am myself a pure believer of a love marriage but the constant cribbing and nagging of such people about ‘haves and have not’s’ is what pisses me off. I hope that this lot understands the concept that marriage is just a marriage. In some marriages, definitely, love would be placed before the word marriage, but if your case is not the one then this does not mean by any means that there would be no love after marriage.
How does this word sound ‘marriage love’ for arranged marriages, love after marriage? Well this was what those self proclaimed forbidden wanted. Love is what you need after all, before or after marriage. Right?

paving a way

“Only a month left now”, said my sister. She is expecting and only a month is left for the delivery. “I am so excited but anxious as well. The child would take the centre stage of my life. And am afraid how Sachin would cope with it. I would be no longer able to give him the love and attention that I used to give.” Sachin is her husband and she looked visibly uneasy while saying this.

She was showing the apparent signs of a fretful to-be-mother. Not fretful because of the pain that the delivery would ensure but because of the fact that her love, which earlier her husband had the full pie of, would now be shared.

I was listening to her, just listening and didn’t respond.

I knew what to say but I couldn’t. I don’t know why. Maybe because I myself didn’t believe in what I was about to say.

After a brief silence when it looked like I would just let it pass, I started “Don’t let the unknown worry you. Our heart is not like a room, where you give an unambiguous position to your things and furniture. Over the period of time, the things just get shifted from one position to another or may just get replaced but the fact would remain that the space remains finite. And if you try to overdo it everything just gets messed up.
Our heart is in fact like the universe, an ever expanding universe. It might have started with a concise size but the sheer force with which it expands over the period of time, the share factor just gets eliminated. Every person carves an impression of his own in your heart, independently and not at the cost another person. You would never compromise to give your love for one person to give it to another person. The space is just so big.”

I could see her nodding. Just then I thought of the number of people whom I had lost touch with over the period of time and who have literally become strangers. Many have left; a few have made their way in. But every transition has been at the cost of some or the other person. Maybe my heart is not expanding; maybe those who have left never actually touched deep inside or maybe it was destiny.

“Hmm..yeah..I just hope so.”, she murmured. But I didn’t respond.
And I was silent again.