hopscotch

Yup! I know lot has been said about the movie. It was sure to do well, right from the moment Aamir Khan decided to produce it. Well, yes, the movie was good. Damn good. Slick, humorous and as 'real' it could get. I thought it was going to be about farmers suicide. But...yes it does talk about the farmer's or A FARMER'S SUICIDE. The farmer, in this case, is Natha. And, his suicide is discussed in DETAIL by the mediawalle from Delhi and also by the regional satraps. The media makes a mockery of his death. And, like all the media reports, exclusives, breaking news - nothing CONCLUSIVE, comes out of it. The movie, I mean. Personally, three scenes touched me. One is that of the farmer, Hari Mahto, who has lost his land because he didn't have the money to repay the loan he took from the bank. He works in a pit now, digging mud. The mud is sold to contractors for meagre Rs 100 per day. He dies. The media, meanwhile, is tracking Natha's death (will he? won't he?

I don't have much work to do this week. So, I guess that's why am in 'plan-making' spree. Even when there's lots of work, I keep making plans – what to do when I am free and not have much to do. Do I actually implementing the plans when I am free? Nope. But, that doesn't mean I stop making plans, does it? Well, I got this brain wave when P and I had gone out. We both saw a temple on a busy road, but hidden by some tapering structure and surrounded by trees. It was dusk and hence couldn't be seen properly from where we were standing. I immediately felt like crossing the road and jumping over the ditch to the other side, to the temple, to see what it was like. P played a spoil-sport. So, we decided to come back here again during daylight. I have always loved temples – not those where pilgrims and tourists make a beeline to ask for 'mannat' – where its all calm and quiet; where you can pray or dream or just talk to yourself and soak in the atmosph

This was published sometime back --- I work for a children's weekly and as a part of my work, I meet several children and their parents. The tete-a-tete have not always been pleasant; I have often come across children who are too 'adult' beyond their years. Twelve-year-old boys are reluctant to cycle around the colony on their own or get wet in the rain. Instead, they prefer playing with their gadgets and using adult 'cuss' words. The 12-year-old girls love dressing up in their college-going sister's attire. I sometimes find it difficult to distinguish between a 10-year-old girl and an 18-year-old girl. At the other end of the spectrum, are children who are too 'frivolous', and believe in 'Live Life Kingsize' . Unfortunately, most of the parents do not think that there is anything wrong in giving their children a Rs 1000 currency note to blow up in one evening at the multiplex or the mall. I have often come away feeling disturbed and powerl

I have been yelling around, rude to 'dumb' people and generally being a slave-driver. Sometimes I wonder, if I am too hard on people. Maybe I am. And, what can I do about it? I don't derive any pleasure out of this. All I expect is that people put in their effort in what they are doing – concentrate on the task at hand. But, unfortunately, I have to deal with people who are distracted, slow (and not steady), and on top have an attitude problem. So I guess I am justified in making them run and getting work done. As they say, its lonely at the top. (I am not exactly on the top, but when you have to get work done from three to four women, it does get TOUGH AND LONELY). I can't bring myself to discuss commonplace topics when I am working. Nor do I enjoy taking frequent breaks. I am an employer's Godsend and employee's nightmare. Hahaha! LOL. This deters my juniors from building any real connection with me. But, you know what, the juniors/trainees who have gone

An old colleague of mine wanted to know what memories we had of her. The one that immediately came to my mind, wasn't a particularly nice one, especially so because it was kind of personal and had to be put up in a public space. I did it, nevertheless. And, that as usual, set me thinking. If I were to ask what was the first thing people remembered about me... what would they say? I am cluttered with thoughts and memories and as usual confused. I did ask two people on chat and got no replies. Maybe they had BAD memories. What if I were to ask myself about five memories/incidents that mean the most to me? They are: 1)My marriage 2)My mother's death These were the first two ones that popped into my mind. Life altering ones! I am yet learning, coping, adjusting and loving. I can't think of three more memories, in order of importance/cherished ones, that is. The images that are crowding before me are some from my post-grad days. A girl, who is in turns, whining, child

This was written for the kids studying in vernacular medium. (God! Two posts in a day!) --- Six-year-old Ambu sat under the shade of a banyan tree, tears pricking her eyes. “Dear God, in next ten minutes, I want to grow up like Anu, Raksha, Aju and Abhi. I don’t want to remain limbu-timbu ,” Ambu prayed her eyes shut tight. After sometime Ambu opened her eyes to find that she was still the same. She wanted so badly to be in the cricket team, to hit fours and sixes off the full-toss ball. But Ambu was made to run and hunt for the ball in thick hedges and remain at the beck and call of the players. Today she threw a tantrum, but the teenagers gave her sage advice, “Grow up limbu-timbu .” Thus sat Ambu wondering how to grow up…when she heard herself being called. There were the others, coming towards her waving and beckoning. “The ball has disappeared. Will you hunt for it?,” said Aju, panting. Ambu was about to refuse when he said, “You can bat, if you find it.” “Really?” A

This is for you Aai … (I had written this sometime back) Aarghhhhh! Not again…where’s the key? I mumbled to myself, digging into the pockets of my bag. I could feel the elusive key as I dug deeper into the bag, but instead of producing it, my fingers touched something soft and prickly. Rose petals…some soft, some crushed and leaves with the thorns intact. The aroma of the petals engulfed my senses. My thoughts went back to the not so distant past. ---- Every trip back home meant coming back with flowers – roses, mogras , jai-jui , lily, raat-rani , marigold…Most of them used to wilt by the time I reached Pune. “What’s the point if they are not going to last long? My bag smells, the flowers make a mess…” I tried telling my mother, hoping to dissuade her from giving me fresh beautiful flowers every Monday morning. It didn’t work of course. “It’s a ‘Best of Luck’ flower. The flower will bring you luck and success in whatever you do,” my mother used to tell me, thrusting another f