The 24-hour Fever

Author’s note: This article was long due. Keeping up with the tradition of writing an article for each TWH birthday, no better time to post one, isn’t it?

The 24-hour Fever

Past couple of days have been rough for me. Being ever present on social networking sites, plus IM tools like WhatsApp, and ignoring the rising tide of patriotism (more like avoiding going under it) takes a herculean amount of effort. As the Indians reading this post very well know, Independence Day is soon to occupy everyone’s psyche. This is exactly what’s irking me.
In the last week, not a day has passed when I’ve not been cussed at or ridiculed for not putting up the Indian Tricolor as my display picture. Now that I think of it, I’ve been receiving a totally contradictory message on the aforementioned social media, saying putting up the tricolor as my DP is a criminal offence. At the same time. By the same people. I do not know whether to laugh or cry. Or leave these people alone with the joker in a room for a day. Or sterilize them the first chance I get. All are tantalizing choices.
Do not think that I’m not a patriot. Far from it. I’ve made my life and career choices based on the patriotic streak in me. So why am I so opposed to the flamboyant display of the affection people exhibit on Independence Day and the Republic Day? I’ll tell you why. This.. whatever it is, is not patriotism. It is more like some kind of a high, much like a Rom Com. You laugh, you cry, you feel euphoria at the end of it, and you forget about it the next day. In 24 hours, you’ll forget all about it. Everything. And this will happen only if try to watch the movie. If you are not even interested in watching the movie, you’ll most likely sleep through it. Compare this analogy with the Independence Day humdrum. What exactly do people do? Change their DP? Share A.R. Rahman’s “Vande Mataram” video and wave flags all day long while speeding on busy streets? How does any of that help?
My generation is at the forefront of all the online vigilantism. We were the ones that thundered against the rising crimes against women. We were the ones that supported the ascension of Arvind Kejriwal’s AAP. We were the free publicity experts without whom Narendra Modi would have had to pay buttload of money for a not-so-efficient publicity mechanism. So where does my generation fall short on the patriotism I’m talking so earnestly about?
My generation loses the ground it has gained on one simple front: Common sense and Curiosity. My compatriots (no pun intended) feel their duty to the nation is over the moment they urge other people to put up the national flag as their DP. We pat our backs for being true patriots for singing national anthem twice a year, waving the flag and dissing our neighbor countries. We quote the comparison charts for petrol prices in other countries and call for the heads of the persons responsible. We feel vigilant when we urge other people for not putting up the national flag as DP as it might give insult to our flag according to our articles 69 and the 4th amendment in our Constitution. Not one person bothers to check what the reasons are for the differences in the cost of fuel. Not one person bothers to check what these articles are about. If the persons who forward these messages looks up the said articles, there are NO provisions prohibiting the unedited use of the flag on the internet. If you have ever forwarded one of the above mentioned messages, take a long, hard look at yourself. But hey, you did your duty right?

It is not my place to tell you my way is correct and yours is utterly wrong. You are doing your part (at least you think you are). But if you thinking you are doing every possible thing to do, well, reassessment is a must for all of us. Just to make sure we don’t have the 24-hour fever.

Golden Spoon & Silver Fork.

Discretionary Disclaimer:

The characters, thoughts, opinions, places, events, utensils depicted & implicitly expressed in this articulate creation are purely based on non fictional ideas & incidences. Any factual resemblance & relation, if found, to any of such characters, thoughts, opinions, places, events, utensils has to be purely coincidental. Also due care has been taken while conceptualizing the politically influenced connotations, nomenclatures & terminologies dealt while critically burning the spoon & fork; over from one form to another.

The pictorial representation, several content or otherwise depicted throughout the theme based in this articulate creation are for exemplary purpose & do not resemble any intentional connection nor any attempt of some ‘issued in public interest’ kindda stuff.

GS&SF -1

 “At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life & freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends, & when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance.”

Unlike any other midnight hour; at the very midnight stroke of 16th May 2014, these words of Independent India’s ‘First’ PM’s ‘Tryst with destiny’ hovered & seemed to be filled with unusually different vibes. Early Friday morning; while the mercury in thermometer boils with scortchy summer heat, there are heated discussions going round the corner, be it the paper stall vendor, or even a tea stall. With around couple of months back, having struggled with the last articulate creation of ‘switchover’, I wasn’t simply drained outta words, yet, they were just choked up since couple of dozen days time in the name of ‘work in progress’. :-/

Sipping coffee while dipping dark chocolate cookie; & scrolling by newspaper apps; coz, turning by the pages of fresh newspaper still ought to be in the mainstream. With the chirpings & barkings all over; without sailing along or diving into the  so called ‘wave’ or simply blindly swaying by the waves. Words were just sprouting out, yet, maybe I was just waiting for this apt moment!!.. With less than just thousand minutes left by with the countdown to unveil & drop down the curtains over “What Arnab da’s patented ‘Nation’ wants to know?!!!…. Just bit struggling into the world of words yet again. The title in itself invoked to attempt yet another wacky theme, just to spark a thought upon

This past dozen full of weeks witnessed extra innings of politics in cricket & cricket in politics too!!… Without going into the number games of current affairs of finances, budget, economic & political turbulences & even nothing to do with the bubbling of gold & oil prices in the international markets instigated by the worldwide pressure.

Yet, while everyone is busy in eyeing on to the news updates; as much as the excitement of “‘God’ of Cricket’s” 100th Century; as the political balloon is about to burst; & unlock the curious open secret, whether this Friday the 16th turns out to be black or stupendously fab!!.

GS&SF -2

Some feel, opine & say that ‘brat’ is born with the golden spoon!. Although destiny may have been chosen for the baby; whether to opt for spoon or fork, it is indeed unaware about the distinctive characteristics, be it spoon or fork or even gold or silver. By perception, some chose or some are made to choose willingly or unwillingly intentionally or unintentionally, some just gradually mould & sharpen their spoon into fork & the other way round too!!

Sprouting & serving glittering gold coated words on the silver platter. With the horrifying haunted ‘Exit poll statistics’; while ‘madam’ & her core team are chalking out the strategy at 15 Gurudwara Rakabganj Road, the Congress War Room. With the flooding ‘Live debates & discussions’; the heating discussions over petty issues, simply added to its resultant fodder feeds tweets.

Just as photographer knowingly or unknowingly clicks his snap in the mind; so does a writer scribbles his thoughts in the same mind too. At times, I may not have legible handwriting…yet I feel my writing is my usp to a great extent, just love to breath & bleed my words!. The inversely direct relation between ‘this & that’; ‘old & new’; ‘black & white’; ‘synonyms & antonyms’; ‘oil & water’; just as ‘gold & silver’, & so is ’spoon & fork’!!…  The spoon & fork seems to be apt instruments

While the share market indices boomed & even international politics agreed to adjust with the ‘expected new government’; yet even when the opposition rules out & sweeps by; some preferred to send their lions for wild card entry to Delhi, while, some cats & tigers, just simply struggled & battled to, pounce into their own constituencies. Wondering whether 10, Janpath & even 7, Race course road; will have to be haunted with dicey achievements. :-/

In an attempt to wash & wipe out the political sins in holy Ganga; it wasn’t a violently vicious & ferocious fight between golden spoon & silver fork, instead just grabbing the vibes that flows got carried on with the spoon & fork. Beyond just comparing the characteristics of spoon & fork, or simply cleansing & brushing the words. While Varanasi being the prime ‘Kurukshetra Warfield’; Rae Bareli & Amethi, were none less than any combat field!!..

Overlooking into mere spoon &/or fork, may obviously seem to be unusual & indigestible & undoubtedly a child’s kiddo play stuff. It isn’t any attempt to explore how to or damn what not to do while using spoon & fork or any such accessories for countless tasks. Pouring spoonful of fortune & luck in the bowl overflowing with persistent sincere efforts & sheer patience & likewise picking out with a sharp fork, the obstacles of indigestible pebbles

Also without going much into the conventionally social table manners, dinning etiquettes, table tantrums, chewing 32 times trivia, sophisticated fooding habits, styles, gulping & slurping stuffs & intervals.That forky thought of just exploring & experimenting those unusual ways & means; the way life ‘pokes’ like a fork.

With imitation, habit, practice, some manage with both spoon & fork, like balancing the bonding & tuning both the hands simultaneously. Firstly had thought the title like ‘golden garbage & silver scrap’; later just trashed & replaced to ‘Spoon’ & ‘Fork’!!..Without going much into the technicalities, forky intentions, deeds ambitions conspiracies. With the generation gap; when either of spoon or fork gets jealous of each other.

GS&SF -4

While digging out the gold bars & silver coins; having left the royal golden spoon for some gold plated platter. Everyone’s trying their every bit to get associated with the political & social cause & grab the spotlight & news bite too!!. As well, ‘perfectionist’ becoming the face of ‘Voting Campaign’ in the pretext of ‘Satyamev Jayate’; perplexed to be an incredible decision. The way we perceive the life to be tasty & delicious at all times, do the spoon n even fork, get to know the taste of it, whether it’s hot or chilled or simply sweet or sour. :-/

With ‘Chiddu’ & several eminent personas sidelined & outta picture voluntarily or even involuntarily; the backdrop of senior citizens; conspicuously mattered a lot. That moment, when, one kicks back its ‘own’ ‘destiny’; sooner or later; the ‘destined fortune’, will ensure to kick back; stronger & harder. Nothing changes until one starts doing something to change… Spoonful results efforts expectations aspirations consequences

With ‘Accidental PM’s’ admirable silence; when the silence screams at its peak, even the voice of 11 decibles could have deafened. Smashing & stirring the evil thoughts indigestible events& incidences in the container of confessions & pricking the dough with the realization of committing blunders mistakes errors & faults. Holding delicately with spoon & fork; that piece of deliciously yummiest cake baked in with preheated yeast full of efforts & pouring milk of destiny, iced with luck & topping with finely cut fresh cherry called ‘success’!!..

Neither the 5 petals of the ‘lotus’ & even the 5 fingers of ‘hand’ are not the same; while scratching the brain over, I suppose, it’s the only common thing. When the finely chopped ‘present’ is just grilled sandviched between the disturbed ‘past’ & the shattered ‘future’. Exceptionally, the ‘Accidental PM’; was merely & pitifully sandviched in ‘Mom & Son Duo’. The tussle of the old faces with new characters & new faces with old characters; is only healed with the passing time. :-/

Stirring more of some words, just enough, not to dilute more, in the quest of exploring oneself; by mixing & blending, finely chop & cut into pieces with some spife, spork or a knork. The ones who are presumed to ‘uplift’ issues of society’s betterment in the ‘House of the People’ in the Parliament of India; & not merely ‘lifting up’ & damaging chairs & tables. Particularly in the political parlance; Kingmaker in politics, ought to sort out the politically instigated ramifications; while managing & balancing the ‘image management’.

GS&SF -6

Incorporating all the political shades of local, national, international political fiasco; just glueing ‘forky’ to any & every selective word, in itself & likewise, isn’t the wacky thought!!. The genuine concerns of autocratic alliance & political charisma; seems to field onto strike out the magic number of 272 through vote share count & surpass the number game too!!..

With ‘Shehzaada’ left with determined energy; the one who is given the job of minding his own business, can neither do job nor the business too. Without diluting, losing the taste of theme & just simply tossing the words in a large bowl; rolling & swirling the fork around twisty tangy Italian noodles, even words are getting entangled into those spicy flavored Italian noodles. With the political fever; in every single nook; no wonder, if some ‘well settled’ beggar demands saying; “‘Sarkaar’ k naam pe de de baba”…. :-/

Looking back for a while, instinctive instances that provoke to bleed & breath with what one is in the mirror!. The hammering ‘political ideology’ of ‘common man’ holding ‘lotus’ in a hand & ‘broom’ in another; ensured to burn out the oppositions in the same political flames. Peeping into reader’s mind, for a change, for some, it may seem to be a mere fork & spoon tussle; for some others, simply a set of instruments to play with food stuffs; while for rest others, plainly abstract articulate article!!… The overdose of political trolls; literally got onto the nerves; beyond the humorous essence. Several keywords got extra ordinary weight & importance & resultantly ‘modi’fied too

More than mere suspense; it’s more of ray of hope to strategize about who will bang the number game with clean cheat, to be in government….while who is gonna run the country with good governance sake. It is not so ambiguous to relate & compare characteristics with those like some lifeless objects having emotions & lively expressions. It’s merely not more about the way or style of how one holds, handles the weapons to point over others.

GS&SF -7

The political wave became ferocious with the checkmate of one man government & one woman government tussle. The critics & naysayers were firing the shotgun from ‘Coalgate to Snoogate’. With the historic political family background; the allegations of ‘agriculture of poison’ & ‘power equations’; the forkyy manifesto; glimpsed with the ‘development buttered spoon’. Aggressive ‘Didi’s spoonful dose; is undoubtedly a spoon feeder to scramble the agenda & start with the scratch!. With restrictions over the victory rally & processions; the ones who gonna ignite the political fireworks for every seat won; will end up celebrating, all the Indian Festivals of the year in a day itself!. :-/

With counting countdown, interestingly, excited to find; whether ‘lotus’ will bloom all over, or just splash the mud; will the ‘broom’ wipe out that mud, or will it trash out the ‘common man’ itself?!!.. Anger gulps down frustration; ideas cut slits thoughts; hunger stabs starvation; expectation squeezes aspirations; feelings thrashes down emotions; creativity kill emotions; inventions murders discovery; person is reborn into a human. Even if one is born with golden fork; one can die with silver spoon as well. With ‘Madam’s state of governing proceedings; feels like that injured bird; which is ruthlessly tortured & breathlessly suffocating & stoned to death.

Having sprouted the words & thoughts too; it seems to just clutter with spoon & fork on empty plate. Everyone is just gonna bake their political breads; some with buttered buns; some simply stale one. Many just sail along the cruise called ‘life’; some enjoy the waves, some just stare the sea, some get anchored, some just drown, some get oxygen masks, some manage with floating jackets.

With this political treat of Indo – Italian Cuisine in the mild International ambience; signing off on this note, to gulp & slurp the tempting political desserts, to be served ahead of the day.


Just as the bluntless fork & the upside down spoon is least useful; so is the rusted spoon & even a bent fork. Chamcha?.. sounds forkkyy??…. Choose your own spoon & fork too!!.. Let thy democratic republic India fly high with independence to breath ‘Bharat’ & bleed ‘India’ with joys & triumph!!… The next time you hold a spoon &/or fork, do give a wacky thought, for sure!!..

Thank You!!.. 

Switch Over

Discretionary Disclaimer:

The characters, places, events depicted in this articulate creation are purely fictional which are based on non fictional ideas & incidences. Any factual resemblance & relation, if found, to any of such characters, places, events has to be purely coincidental. Also due care has been taken while conceptualizing the connotations, nomenclatures & terminologies dealt while critically dissecting the insect of switching over from one form to another.

The pictorial representation, several content or otherwise depicted throughout the theme based in this articulate creation are for exemplary purpose & do not resemble any intentional connection to express switching over haphazardly nor any attempt of some ‘issued in public interest’ kindda stuff.

1. SwitchOver

It’s been indeed, around couple of months or so; for having scribbled down some strikingly theme based articulate creation. Without giving unscrupulous reasons & excuses of being bit busy playing with numbers & hardly left with any words to play with; & jumbling up into words, even further. Indeed diving in the world of words back, quite after a long time, seemed to be bit literally like scratching heads for puzzling out with words into bunch full of letters, sentences, paragraphs & so on….Let’s get back into the world of words & conveniently dive over with that insect of ‘switching over’ the theme of this articulate creation. When the king of loneliness struggles, to accidentally miss / & intentionally skip that U turn from dead end…. Reading from eyes is like hearing from lips & speaking through ears.

Just as the volcano of discussion, debate & all kindda productively unproductive platform for expressing opinion & suggestion; erupts from a single spark of flame, be it the word of arguments or even the ravenous curiosity to dig underneath. There’s just one such thought of ‘switchover’; & yet each such thought has repelling & refluxing energy. With every thought of ‘switchover’, crops countless thoughts; which weighs beyond the pros & cons, beyond ethics & practicalities; beyond good & evil, just as the sperm fights back to do miracles.… Not necessarily, all of these thoughts are to be considered, accepted or declined; in the name of giving a second thought.

Switchover is merely not about hunting feasible options, filtering & refining alternatives, scrapping out the odd ones; in the given circumstances & incidences. Going by the googled terminology of switch over; it’s all about change over, change by reversal, change around, as to a new order or sequence switch. Forms of transformation, makeover, trending, change, swapping are all the wings of switching over & moving on….

Enlisting all such trending instances & incidences from gadgets, apparels etc; from Chawl to High Rise Towers; shuffling & reshuffling job profiles; Jelly Bean to Sandvich; Kiraana Store to Malls & Multiplexes; Retro to Remix; 2G to 3G upgrades; Mobiz to Smartphone & Tabs; Specs to Lens…. Such endless & countless reasons behind the curtain, simply to switch over from Old to Newest Trend; with the quest to make the best outta it. The bargaining is undoubtedly & by all means on both sides. If not equally & rationally, yet, balancing & just playing with ownership, authority, responsibility indebtedness, gratitude & all sort of so-called professional termos.

2. SwitchOver Some say, believe & oblige that opportunity knocks the door once, but the destined fact behind the haunted curtains; lies that, there are countless lakhs of such opportunities knocking outta thousands of doors & ringing hundreds of bells. Yet just one & only key to the only locked door of destined fortune; is hidden under the doormat carved with determined efforts of gritty productive intentions.

At times, aspiring for something more, with bit of extra stuff (beyond DreamBig&FlyHigh); ought to get on to the nerves under the calcium powered bones. Creating ruckus & tantrums, within the brain cells, within nerves, veins, blood vessels, just anywhere & everywhere. Either it’s the classy multi colored butterflies called ‘commitment & determination’, which hovers around all over in the stomach, brain & mind, consciously & even sub consciously. Until the dark black clouds of hurdles & obstacles tends to supersede & gulp down the butterflies into stormy winds & whirl around on the ground of futility.

Stepping even the wrong foot, at the right place, at the very right fraction of second; seems to be aptly convincing; while rising back with thunderous bolt from the hell down under. It’s just merely something like rolling bare feet over scattered broken pebbles; while hunting an untraced & unknown path to walk over the finest of the marbles. Without much switching over the meaning & implications, striving & quest for that pinch full extra, even with handful of dwindling choco frappe in one hand & chocolate fudge in the other hand. Crossing by with the thin line of conspicuously coated & filled with hell lot of tricks, tactics; & disturbing the flow & line of action, to grab that blinking bright star right above the head of the moon; with the blend of efforts & destined fortune; with pinch of destiny & luck by chance. By & large, walking against the odds, pays a price, just as to walk with the crowd & think & act like a odd, has its own compensatory inversely direct relation of rewards & reverts too.

3. SwitchOver

Even when one bucks up & gets prepared from ins & outs; to face & tear out the full volume loudspeaker; even a silent tune playing in the tucked headsets soothes gives the signals & vibes, just to tune into the fine piece of strings & let the scrambled pieces fall in their places gradually. Having kicked back the fortune & destiny; there may be 100 reasons to stay back & stick onto the quivering & shuddering pebbles; at times with struggle, mind games or just like a lame automaton. But, at the same point of other side of the same coin, lies just 1 single reason to lure, mislead, tempt to shake everything 360 degree upside down.

The moment one accepts the blunder, of either sides of the tossed coin; one is just tempted & addicted to experiment more, so as to digest more excuses & reasons & broadening the extent of adjustment. That so-called adjustment of accepting & accommodating just anything & everything, with a flexible approach & attitude. For some, switching over & moving on is all about the ripened fruits of independence & freedom; for some it’s mixed vibes & feelings & while for rest others, it’s just blank emotions.

4. SwitchOver

To lose something, & to grab better & best things, moments; lies a timeless, yet time bound puzzle of known & unknown facets of life, destiny, & beyond unthinkable. Leaving behind that ‘something’ with a scratch, scathe or simply a mark.… which may not be barely visible to thyself….but becomes seemingly visible in the mirror. Without simply regretting, rejoicing, celebrating or even mourning; the spirit of moving on, deepens the intensity of purpose & intention of having switched over. Letting the unstable mind outta freaky options, choice, alternatives, substitutes, & complementary stuffs & so on. Stretching rubber band to such an extent & even beyond by exerting limitless pressure of expectations; to tear out into pieces of shattered opportunities, splintered hope, wrecked dreams, smashed emotions & lots more irreparable stuffs.

Knowing nothing & yet, the vibes of having a golden crown over & above some diamond studded crown…. Just as the sand particles filled with intense perseverance, pours down that tiny hole of targeted goals & streamlining the best of the possibilities, the countless waves flowing somewhere close or maybe far away; are unaware about even the boundless time swiping by naively….Leaving the royal golden spoon for some gold plated platter.

Without going much into intricacies & digging much more into the words. Coz, just even the thoughts & words are bouncing & wandering to sprout into new, fresh themes for countless articulate creations & explore the best into the world of words, in the near future & always!!….


PS: Having switched over, shuffled & reshuffled words & letters into sentences & paragraphs. Leaving on this note for now…. The journey to the world of numbers & words continues in the articulate creations to be born in the near future….


~Thank You~

Because I Cannot Speak

Name – the identity of oneself, isn’t it? But I don’t have one. No one has named me yet. People call me with whatever name comes out of their mouth. And believe me, I don’t mind it. I feel elated with each and every new name I’m christened with. All that matters to me is their love, the care and affection bound names they call me.

“Life is not about creating an identity but to be engraved in peoples’ heart as an unidentified one. Knowing you is not a big deal but yes holding a place in someone’s heart despite being an unidentified one surely is colossal.”

Sep 13th, 2013 : 6.00am:        I remember the very day I entered this college encompassed by forests, adorned with the best infrastructure and scenic beauty located in some remote part of Andhra Pradesh. I quite liked the place and the people- they are so benevolent. The kindest ones I have ever come across. I’m definitely not a student but a spectator of the pompous ambience prevailing there. I see a lot of things. Some are busy chatting, some gossiping, some bleating about professors, banging head over assignments, tests etc. But the fun, the bonding, the friendship is the spectrum I enjoy seeing.

More the moments you grumble, more the joy you crumble.”

Oct 27th, 2013 : 4.08 am:        It was dawn when my abdomen started getting cramps. I felt the convulsions across my body and I felt my spine cracking. I was groaning in the pain but none listened. No one saw me suffer. With all anguish I gushed my pain away. Yes, I was suffering from sheer pleasure. I just bore a baby. I’m a mother. That little tiny one I have is my baby. The smell of new born is still afresh. The tiny pink paws are closed and the beautiful eyes – oh! How can I forget? They are going to be open soon. My kid will see this beautiful world.

You have seen the world enough alone with your eyes. Now, see its time to see together.”

Oct 28th ,2013 : 11.15pm:                  It’s raining cats and dogs. I have nowhere to go. My kid is asleep getting drenched. I begged the rain to stop. Tears roll down my eyes blending with rain drops. But I’m helpless. I cuddled him tight under me to provide warmth and safeguard against any ailments. The rain is ceaseless and not a hint to pause. It’s been three days now. I haven’t had food for three days because I can’t afford to leave him alone. I’m famished and I feel chill rushing down my spine. I stand devastated.

Oct 31st, 2013 : 6.00am:                     The fourth day of my baby being born. The rain finally showed its mercy and stopped. I’m very happy seeing the sun light. The ray of hope sparked in me. My baby will not feel sick anymore. I exuded my happiness and gratitude to the almighty.

Oct 31st, 2013 : 11.45pm:                        My baby is sleeping. Still, his eyes are not opened. I’m truly getting impatient. “When will we see the world together?out of blue, I hear someone rustle. I’m fettered with fear. I clung my baby tight visualizing what it could be. And at the drop of a hat, I feel the agony around my neck. Tethered to a lasso I felt nauseated. I saw myself being dragged away from my baby. He is still lying there – whimpering. The rope choked me. I endured and pushed myself to limits to get back to him. I was dragged further. Blood oozed out of my nose. I tried further. I was whipped. Then I see a man’s hand picking my baby and putting into a trash bag. I wish I could kill him then right away. I couldn’t. I was intensely choked. I was bashed and thrown out of the institute.

Oct 31st, 2013 : 1.00pm:                      I managed to get up and still rummage all the trash bags to find my baby. I could find nothing. My baby is gone. He is lost. After striving for four hours I see pink paws of my baby. A thick book was piling on him. With all my might, I jostled to put that book away. It took all my strength. A struggle of half-an hour helped me win eventually. I’m happy. I found my baby. But, he is not whimpering. He is not breathing. He is not moving. They bloody killed him. Those dogcatchers murdered him.

Darkness all around. The joy of motherhood is gone and here again I stand alone. Just because I’m a dog, am I not allowed to have a happy motherhood? Just because I’m not strong enough, does it give a right to kill my baby? Does being a non-human means being thrown away like trash? I have never harmed anyone but have only loved. I’m deprived of my happiness, the feeling of being a mother just because I cannot speak?

“Every love pays a price. I paid mine.”

[Animals are spectacular creation by god. Let’s protect them. Let’s come together and help them survive. Animal cruelty is an utter disgrace. Let’s try to eradicate it. Let’s grow together.]

Malala : Destiny’s Own Child

“Malala, that man is looking at you, that man is looking at you! Cover your face! What are you doing? It’s disrespectful!” And I said, “Mom, I am also looking at them if they are looking at me!”

Words of a young lady of 16 draped in black as she goes on to unfold the memoirs of a recent past that brings a beaming smile on her charming young face.
Malala Yousafzai, born in the SWAT District of Pakistan has been deemed the most courageous woman alive. And we know why!!
Getting shot in the head by the Taliban and crawling back from the clutches of death.
Standing up and saying ‘I may be a li’l afraid of Ghosts, but Taliban. Never!’
Women as seen by the youth of today are at par with the men of the society.But is that all the woman we see. There lurking in every corner of this earth is a major chunk of flesh that happens to be born a girl, oppressed and deprived of the mere rights to move around with an exposed face, the rights to play, dance, get an education and for all that matters ripped off every right to be a human being with a desire.
Out of these frustrating endeavours in some corner of the Earth rose a gleam of hope; Malala; a rebel so powerful that even death had to bite the dust in front of her courage.
A girl like any other but with wisdom beyond her age. Malala was in favour of education for a girl child since early days as she agrees she was a competitive student.
At that time the Taliban militants had gradually started making their influence felt over the SWAT valley of Pakistan. Girls’ schools were banned and a thousand others dreams were shattered. In the need of the hour to expose the plight of the people under Taliban’s atrocities Malala started expressing her experiences in a blog for BBC.
The tiny flutters to break away from the shackles of the Taliban dominace was given wings by the western media as they swooped in to cash in on the moment.
Breaking all inhibitions the young lady took the war to the forefront. Openly expressing her ideas and supported by the media on each step as she catapulted the ideals of the idiosyncratic Taliban hypocrites into a logical one, the right to education was her motto.
The question now arises, did not the media know of the consequences of such a bold move,
Did not those who heaped praises, prizes on the young girl realize that she was but a li’l girl?
I think they did. I think the hype, the frenzy to bring this woman to the forefront as a rebel to fight for those many deprived souls comes down to that one bullet fired at her, which pierced through her head ,neck and ended in her shoulder, lying on the laps of death only one thing pulled her back to this world , hope!
Hope of 61 million deprived girls who cannot mouth their opinions, who cannot get the basic rights to be educated, I believe Malala knew what the consequences would be to be a rebel against such political and religious norms as the Taliban established to be. But most importantly she knew she was the hope of a million others. Some believe she is a pawn of the western media as a desperate attempt by the white people to justify the western imperialism as the perfect ideal.
But I feel she will live to tell another tale.
When asked why the Taliban bothered to reciprocate to her propagandas, she gives her reply with such a calm demeanour that knows no fear for she has seen death in the eyes and returned back smiling.
She explains that woman is a powerful entity, in fact more powerful and capable than any man can ever be, and that the Taliban knows this fact and fear the power of woman, so they are trying to uproot the root cause to subdue woman before they find a medium to opine their views, Education.
She aspires to be the Prime Minister of Pakistan someday and remove the crisis ridden state of her country.
As this lady Stands in front of a crowd of 500 at the United Nations, she has already captured the imagination of millions and as she delivers her speech with élan uncertain of how the future would unfold yet constantly vying with the atrocities of the society back home.
She delves into the unknown future with dreams and hopes and aspirations to make this world a better place and I pray she does succeed in her endeavour and by the time the world collapses I hope she has left the mark of her dreams in every eye.
If only Ozymandias was a Queen and P.B.Shelly still alive, she would have dedicated her most admired work to this brave heart.
So I end with an extract from Ozymandias, a tribute to the spirit of Malala
My name is Ozymandias, “King of Kings”:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing besides remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

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