The suppressed cry...

Little Neeta walked towards the kitchen. She raised her glary eyes to her loving mother. Mother was fully equipped with the breakfast preparation and she knew mother had no time to care her. Neeta slowly stepped out of the kitchen and moved into her den. The room is small, with less furniture and is almost bare. But the four walls had an intense affection to Neeta. They have seen her weeping in agony, laughing at pranks, wondering at stars and shouting at herself. Nobody could have known Neeta better.

Little Neeta had tears ready to roll down her cheeks. As she entered the room, she could hear the loud horn of her school van. Neeta jumped onto the bed and draped herself with the blanket as if to hide. She could hear her classmate Rithika’s loud voice and a few other sounds from the van. “Neeta is not well. She has stomach pain,” Neeta’s dear Daddy said to the driver. Neeta looked helplessly up to the roof with her tearful eyes.

Neeta could sense the tears rolling down her cheeks faster than before. She knew it was uncontrollable. She kept the tip of the blanket at her mouth and bit it heavily so that the sound gets suppressed. Her tears could make her mother cry and that is something she really cannot bear.

The horn of a scooter awake Neeta from weeping. She got up and peeped out of the room to the sit out. The curtain prevented her view, but the wind occasionally moved it sideways for her to see. “That is Rajeev Uncle, Daddy’s friend. Why is he here?” thought Neeta for a moment and stood. She could hear Daddy talking on phone. He is asking somebody to bring money. It is sure that is to help Rajeev uncle.

Neeta moved nearer to the door. “Ah..You didn’t go to your school today? What happened?” Rajeev uncle bent to little Neeta and asked. “She is not feeling well, stomach pain,” her father replied as if he never wanted Neeta to answer. Neeta’s dull face supported her father’s lie.

Another bike entered the gate and a stout dark man walked towards the sit out. Neeta’s father and Rajeev uncle stood up with smiling faces and greeted the man. Neeta moved backward and watched them silently. He handed over a thick bundle of money to her father, who in turn passed it onto Rajeev uncle.

“Daddy could have taken five hundred rupees out of it and paid my fee”, thought Neeta. The thought made her broken and she wanted to cry aloud. Neeta ran into her room crying stronger, but silently. “You know to get money for others. You could have did the same and paid your daughter’s fee. Are you a father?” While pressing her head onto the pillow, mother’s voice banged her ears.

Breaking news is breaking the head!!!

Lazy days are increasing in my life. It is either because I am growing lazy or because something else is preventing me from doing what I love the most. But, that is the reason why I am glued on sofa as a couch potato thinking innumerable things and creating stupid, sometimes not-so-stupid thoughts on things around. This time the thought is about the news channels.

Yes! Another Olympics. Although I am not a diehard sportsperson, I definitely owe to watch a few stunning games. It is not for the sake of seeing the winning medals, but for the colourfulness and cheer of the events. And there I am, surfing through the channels.

I reached channel No. 44 and ceased for a moment. There scrolls a breaking news-an update on Anna’s fast. He is healthy on the second day of the fast. The issue is really burning, not just on televisions, but in my mind as well. Lokpal bill-Would that not lead to a creation of a new Government above the existing one? As a citizen, I am too unfaithful because I pay bribes to make my things work fast. I have done it many times despite of knowing it is unlawful. Trust me, this does not mean that I am against Lokpal bill. I see the tortures at Government offices for getting a document signed. In addition, the shameful scams of the recent years. It is definitely high time to put an end to these torments. How about legalising the act of bribes? I still have not thought its pros and cons, especially because I felt the idea as little stupid.

Whatsoever, my thought was definitely not about Lokpal bill. It is time for me to continue my voyage. This time it is channel 37, again another breaking news scrolling. This time the topic was new and yes, it was about a verbal fight between two prominent ministers. My surfing continued. Channel No. 32, 28, 23, 22, 14, 9, 8, 3....every news channel had its share of breaking news. Interestingly, each one was different and I must say the first time read was worth.

As I said in the beginning, I still have lots of time and so, the browsing goes ascending. Channel No. 1, 3, 8, 9, 14, 22, 23...several news channels pass in front of my eyes, breaking the repeated news. I watched half an hour of Slumdog Millionaire and continued my surfing. Still the same breaking news passes through every channel. Which viewer in this country expects breaking news every second? I sincerely wanted to ask this question to the promo producers. I remembered the golden days when breaking news really meant something spontaneous and new. Isn’t it time to have a research to find viewers’ tastes rather than just calculating TRPs?

The need of a voice from deep beneath

The day is quite moody. I do not blame the showering rain of God’s own country for this darkness. Forgo the reason, the day reminds me of a girl with a gloomy face who seems to have fought with someone so dear to her. I saw a similar girl at the doorstep of my neighbour. No reason to notice her, except her red glossy frock that contrasted her skin colour. She is dark, with a peculiar curve at her nose. She has worn red matching bangles, which again did a disaster to her beauty.

She was wearing her slippers back on her foot, which clearly implied her visit at the neighbour’s house was done. As she walked away, the beauty pageant of our flat, the wife of my neighbour put her head out and saw the lazy me, staring at the little girl. I was with my morning newspaper, wearing a loose worn out t-shirt that my uncle presented me years ago. The mustard colour of the t-shirt has almost faded and my mother keeps blaming me for using it over the years.

“That is our servant’s daughter. You remember bhai arranging a seat for her in Carmel Gardens. She refused that seat,” my sizzling neighbour said.

I wondered why my neighbour beauty addressed her husband bhai, which according to me denoted brother in Hindi. Whatsoever, I know the matter she said. My neighbour is a rich politically acclaimed personality, who truly stands for the emancipation of downtrodden. He has helped many and this time his generous heart was extended towards his servant’s daughter. He managed to arrange a seat for her in a well known school in the city.

“She refused to go to that school. She has no idea of the foolishness she did,” my neighbour continued.

I could understand that little girl’s fear of entering into a different class of society. I remembered a similar incident my teacher told me some time back.

Yes, there are voices raised to uplift every oppressed. There are reservations, organizations and law to ensure the justice. But, who works to free them from the mental shackles they undergo? After all, it is the mentality that makes a man a loser or a winner.

As I lifted the newspaper, I saw a big flick of a crowned politician shouting for the rights of the people.

My fear...

I fear rounded eyes, dirty looking men staring at me.

I fear the man who sits near me in the bus.

I fear to walk through the road after 7pm.

I fear the stranger sitting next to me in the theater.

I fear to cross through a crowded market.

I fear to travel alone in a vehicle on a lonely road.

As the list progresses, I realise my fear is just one, but in different situations. Whom should I blame for not giving me a protective environment?

There is a reason for everything to happen

There were times she wanted to be like other girls - Roaming around with friends, arguing for the latest gadgets at home, cheating parents, gift her boy friend the costliest gift. She never did any of these because she had a different life, difficult to explain to the world. She browsed internet, read books and watched movies to find a similar story as that of her life. Surprisingly, that remains hitherto unsaid.

When tears rolled down through her cheeks, she asked blatantly, “Why me?” Nobody could explain her reason, but somehow it was obvious that her walks of life are strange. She had a generous heart for not cursing the situations or the people who drove her life. Naturally, she became patient and that is where she won.

It is now the spring time for her. She is on a stable path, being respected and recognised. She is known for her uniqueness and charisma among the mass. Looking back, she says “My life had to be weird, to make me who I am”.