Pamela Sinha Mathur's Blog, page 3

2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 3

Again late! I did write this yesterday though. Now I have got to write today’s poem.

Day 3 prompt: write a message poem

I AM SHE

I stare listlessly out of my window

Tears dried up in eyes that do not blink

Hollowness gnaws at my heart

I have lost my ability to think

I relive the horror day and night

My screams echo in my head

Their faces lurk in my mind

Leering as they leave me for dead

I had just wanted to watch a movie

Hit some stores and grab a bite

I had many plans but never knew

What awaited in the shadows of the night

They took me from a public place

Mute spectators gathered all around

I cried in fear, begged for help

But no one could hear my sound

Over and over they tore into me,

Satiating their lust like hungry beasts

Deaf to my pleas and cries of pain

Predators enjoying their forbidden feasts

They dumped me on the road, bleeding and numb

Left to rot like a piece of flesh

Medical aid saved my body for sure

My mind remained forever a mess

Those rapists are still at large

Society looks upon me with shame

‘Why were you out so late?’

They ask as if I was to blame

Hear my words loud and clear

All you pseudo upholders of morality

I won’t be cowed by the likes of you

Don’t mistake my fear for my frailty

I am she, the fountain of life

In my womb does mankind arise

You have abused and decimated me enough

In doing so you hasten your own demise

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2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

I am posting Day 1 and Day 2 poems simultaneously as I am somewhat behind in publishing myblog posts. Keeping fingers crossed that going forward I will post a different poem everyday. Or maybe, more than one in a day! Well that’s optimism for you!

Day 2 prompt: Write a voyage poem

Eons I have roamed the streets

In search of my own existence

Generations have come and gone

Yet I rarely show up on life’s lens

Man has searched for me high and low

No stone left upturned in his quest

Failure is what he usually gets

Deaf to my heart beating in his breast

He who finds me is indeed special

Clean in his mind, innocent of guile

He desires not wealth nor power

It’s the little things that make him smile

His heart holds no place for war and strife

He years to accept, not discriminate

I am Happiness and that is my home

Not a heart that is full of hate

2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 1

With an active almost 8 month old clamoring for my attention every waking second, writing had become a distant dream. I was pretty mad at myself but could not find the motivation to get off my butt, metaphorically, and do something about it. That is when I chanced upon the 2014 April Poem-A-Day (PAD) challenge on WritersDigest.com. Simply put, a new prompt would be published everyday in the month of April, inviting writers to pen one or more poems based on the prompt. There is no need to share your work on the Writers Digest blog but if you do so you stand the chance of getting your poem(s) published. No doubt that is an added incentive but the main attraction, for me at least, was that it gave me a schedule of sorts to get back to writing. Also years of writing prose had disconnected me from writing poetry – something that marked the beginning of my journey of creative writing. I had a yearning to get back to my roots, so to speak, and so decided to plunge headlong into this challenge. So put on those critic caps, dear readers, and encourage me to see April through. And do let me know if any of you are taking part in PAD 2014 as well.

Day 1 prompt: Write about a beginning and/or an ending

SO IT BEGINS, SO IT ENDS

A meeting of two hearts

Two sweaty bodies entwining

Millions racing for a single prize

The herald of a new life is beginning.

Years pass, life makes it way

Childhood, youth come and go

Ravages of time work silently

Till it strikes its ftal blow.

Withered cheeks, sunken eyes

A broken husk, bereft of health

A body that is old and greying

Waiting for the finality of death

Purani Jeans – 3

Let me continue this series by skipping forward to college. Having studied in the restrictive confines of a school till Standard XII, I found the relaxed environment of college a refreshing change indeed. Such was my conditioning that it took me some time to adjust to the fact that bunking or skipping classes, a punishable offence in school, was a way of life in college. However once I was in this groove, bunking classes led to two of the funniest incidents I can never forget. Coincidentally enough, or maybe not so much, both involved Mathematics lectures. You see, from the very first week it had become a tradition of sorts to stage a mass exodus moments before the Maths class commenced. Being engineering students, most of us were reasonably accomplished in the subject and a succession of lecturers bereft of the ability of engaging the students’ attention only fuelled our apathy for attending the lectures. By the time the first month of college was over it had become second nature not to attend this class. That is how the first incident occurred.

We were attending a practical session in one of the computer laboratories and our lecturer, who also taught the theoretical part, was in charge. A friend of mine and I went up to him to get some doubt clarified. Once we were done, he asked for our help. Due to certain circumstances, he had been unable to take a couple of the theoretical lectures and he needed to make up for the lost time. Thereupon he asked us if there was any free slot in the next couple of days when he could conduct an extra lecture. My friend quickly mentioned that we had an empty slot the very next day; the first lecture period of the day did not have anything scheduled. As she looked at me for confirmation I nodded but a little nagging voice in the back of my head was insisting that something was off. It was like watching things unfold in slow motion; I remember looking at our lecturer taking out a notebook to jot down the lecture timings while my brain was working furiously to understand what was wrong, Just as he was about to write down the timings of  the free slot, it clicked. The first lecture period of the next day was assigned to Maths and it was not a free period at all. I hastily conveyed the same to my friend in a whisper and we quickly told our lecturer that the slot was actually not free. We pretended we had simply forgotten about the Maths period but the memory of the knowing smile on the lecturer’s face makes me wonder even today if he had guessed the actual reason of our consternation.

The second incident occurred in our fifth semester, That was the last semester which would have Maths as a subject but even that could not inspire in us any inclination to attend the classes. One day it happened that the previous lecture ran on longer than usual and while the rest of the class managed to make a quick getaway, four of us found ourselves facing the Maths lecturer even as we were about to exit the classroom. It was pretty much the first time we had met her and for a moment a wild thought entered my mind that we could pretend we were in the wrong class . I hastily discarded this insane idea; it could backfire on us later. As it happened, there was supposed to be a guest lecture by some visiting faculty which was scheduled to begin soon. We had had no intention of attending that either but at that point, not knowing what else to do, my friend hesitantly told the Maths lecturer “Ma’am there is a seminar we want to attend so we were going there.” The lecturer’s reply shocked us. She said, very matter of factly, “Go ahead. In any case you all never attend this lecture.” With that indisputable statement, there was nothing else left for us but to mumble an indistinct “Yes Ma’am” and shuffle out of the room without meeting her eyes. However we did try to make up for it by attending her lectures more or less regularly for the remainder of the semester.

Mommy Hues

I have been away from blogging for an unforgivably long time and it is with considerable gritting of my teeth that I have forced myself to burn the midnight oil and tap away at my laptop keyboard in the hopes of churning out a meaningful post after such a long hiatus. Yet I do so with trepidation for as each strike of a key resonates across my quiet room, I warily look around at the crib next to my bed where a little bundle of seemingly inexhaustible energy reposes. Yes, dear readers, it is her that I am wary of rousing with the clickety-clack of my keyboard, my little daughter, who lit up our lives with her arrival some 5 months previously. As any new parent would affirm, disturbing a sleeping baby is no less dangerous than insulting a Hippogriff; it might be the last thing you do, for the next few hours at the very least. Writing and blogging had taken a back seat as I had struggled to cope with the exhilaration and exhaustion of being a new mother, battling bouts of self doubts or simply looking, in awed silence, at this living, breathing, exquisite creation of mine. Instead of perusing my earlier hobbies and activities I found myself scouring through websites offering parenting advice, religiously following all posts on the multiple parenting groups that I signed up for on Facebook or simply being content with snapping hundreds of pictures of Her Majesty, the princess of my heart. In the glow of motherhood it is easy to forget your own dreams and aspirations and that is what I was also guilty of doing. But I realise I need to pull myself up, not only to quench the fire of ambitions raging in my own heart but also to set an example to my little baby, to teach her how to fight for and realise her own dreams.

Since I did not intend this post to come off as philosophising or self rhapsodising I was having trouble deciding what to write about. That’s when I recalled a conversation I recently had with a friend whose baby boy was born some four and a half months after my little angel. We were talking about how everyone just talks about the pain of of delivery but never speaks about all the other important stuff. So from one new mother to those who are yet to embrace motherhood here is a guide to what you can reasonably expect when you are expecting and beyond. As for those experienced hands, do take a moment to read through and laugh reminiscently.

Planning for a baby

So you are married for 2,3,4 or ‘n’ number of years and you have finally stopped tuning out your mother / mother in-law / random aunty at a wedding when they bring up the B-word. Probably it was when your heart melted on seeing that cute baby in the stroller at the supermarket or when you shed a discreet tear or two when the baby kicked an “All Izz Well” chanting Aamir Khan in 3 Idiots. And so, that night, you turn to your husband and tell him, almost shyly, “I want to have a baby”. Well here’s the kicker ladies, ten to one you are going to have one super freaked out man standing / sitting / lying next to you. No matter how often you might have spoken about family planning before, the moment when you make that decision will be greeted with raw, unadulterated fear. And its not only the prospective Dads who are susceptible to this. You will find yourself alternating between ‘should we or shouldn’t we’ until you find yourself just gritting your teeth and taking the plunge. The idea of having an actual human being whose whole existence depends upon you is indeed a scary prospect and let no one tell you otherwise. No amount of analysis can actually decide if you are ready to be a parent or not so ultimately its better to listen to your heart and your body and just do it!

Pregnancy

The plan is set and implemented. Voila, you have that positive pregnancy test and you want to jump in joy. Only you can’t because you are too scared you will hurt that little life inside you. Get used to this feeling ladies for you are doomed to feel this way for the rest of your lives. Never again will you be able to take any decision or do anything, big or small, without thinking of how it can impact your child.  Every time your tummy aches after a meal during your pregnancy, you will spiral into a guilt trip. The leftover food that made you throw up will admonish you for not eating right. Even your innocuous cup of coffee will recall to you the articles you read about caffeine being bad for your baby’s development. Add to it the feelings of self doubt that will assail you time and again, questioning your ability to be a good mother, and you have the perfect recipe for a meltdown. Good news is you will be the perfect mother for your child for when you carry that baby inside your womb for nine months, you create a bond that is, simply put, unique. And with every kick, every sleepless night due to nausea, heartburn, backache, swollen feet, this bond will only strengthen. This time is made beautiful both by the smiles and the tears it brings so enjoy every moment, good or bad.

Delivery

I cannot comment on a scheduled C-section but yes a normal delivery is the most painful thing you will ever go through. It is impossible for me to describe how the contractions felt for I have never been subjected to such pain ever in my life. And yes, we are made to survive it. Our bodies grow towards this point so that we can withstand and forget the pain of childbirth. It takes a moment, the time taken to place that squealing, blood encrusted baby in your arms, to forget the hours of labour that had made you contemplate killing your husband for putting you through it. Don’t worry if the first sight of your baby is not how it is described in books. You are exhausted after an arduous delivery and you may not feel any overwhelming feeling of love on seeing your little bundle of joy. That doesn’t mean that it is not there. I was pretty much blank when they gave my daughter to me but when we had to readmit her to the hospital after a week for neonatal jaundice it felt like a part of me was being ripped off, that too without anaesthesia. So cuddle your baby without any worries and one day you will be rewarded with a smile that will make you melt like ice cream on a hot summer day. By the way, remember that alien like being that you had seen in those ultrasounds during pregnancy? Your baby will still look like that when s/he is born so you should probably discard those Anne Geddes images you might have conjured up in your minds during your pregnancy!

Postpartum

This is the big one and the one least talked about. As my friend remarked, more than childbirth itself, it was the postpartum issues that are harder to erase from your memories. Your stitches hurt when you sit or lie down and standing for long tires you out. You are losing blood, you are weak and your baby won’t just stop crying. You are exhausted from trying to keep up with the baby’s constant nursing demands and just want to sleep. Fat chance of that for even if you are one of the rare lucky ones whose babies sleep long stretches at night, you yourself are so attuned to them that even the faintest of whimper will wake you up. But when things are that bad they can only get better and they do. So stick out those first couple of months and get others to pamper you fully. Take rest whenever you can and let hubby dearest take over the household duties for a while. Hold those tiny little hands and feet and congratulate yourself for bringing a new life into the world. For when that little baby falls asleep in your arms you will realise that all that pain and discomfort was worth it, every minute of it.

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Sky is the limit!

This happened when I was travelling to Toronto with my father by Alitalia airlines. The route we were on was Mumbai – Milan – Toronto. The first leg of the flight, that is Mumbai to Milan was pretty much uneventful. The fun began as we were waiting to board the craft at Milan airport for the onward journey. A little while before boarding was due to start, there an announcement that due to some technical issues, there was a change of crafts and boarding passes needed to be reissued at the boarding gate. Everyone accordingly got this done and then boarding commenced. We were a bit behind in line and walked onto the craft to find utter chaos. Apparently, the boarding passes had been reissued randomly which meant that families had been allocated seats in different rows instead of together. The icing on the cake was when we finally got to our seats and found that the seat allocated to my Dad had been given to another gentleman as well. The cabin of an international flight had turned into the local fish market as passengers clamored for the cabin staff to sort out the seating issues. After about forty five minutes delay the flight finally took off, leaving us wondering how could a major international carrier create so much chaos over a simple change of crafts.

Of God and Men

I usually face a major dilemma when people ask me about my belief in God. Our country being what it is this is one topic which c.an pretty much come up in any conversation. The fact that I am married into a deeply religious family does not simplify matters. My biggest dilemma is how do I classify myself. The easiest thing to to do is say I am an atheist. The dictionary defines an atheist as “a person who denies or disbelieves the existence of a supreme being”. Fair enough I guess. After all, from a broad perspective I do not believe in God, in a Supreme Being who holds the strings of our lives in the palms of His hands. However if one looks closely, I do have faith. Faith in the goodness of my fellow humans. Faith in the fact that my talents and abilities will reward me with what I deserve in life. Faith that whatever happens, no matter how bad it seems now, happens for the good. Faith that I am not alone in the world, that someone somewhere is watching out for me. Faith that I have the courage and conviction to live my life to the fullest no matter how bleak the future seems. Not all these beliefs of mine come true. I have faced many disappointments on many of these fronts but I have not lost my faith. So what does that make me? An atheist who is spiritual? I admit, it sounds funny to my own ears.

Thing is, I am mostly disillusioned by the concept of religion. For centuries our country has seen bloodshed on the grounds of “My God is better than your God”. Isn’t tolerance supposed to be one of the first tenets of any religion? We grew up learning that in India there is ‘unity in diversity’. But where is this fabled unity? It’s like the Loch Ness monster or the Abominable Snowman – everybody talks about it but no one has actually seen it. Not all religious people are intolerant, at least not in practice.In spite of that we are still divided by our respective religions. How much do we know about the religions other than our own? Come to think of it, how much do we know about our own religions? We follow all the rituals but do we really try to understand the meaning and lessons imparted in the stories we have grown up hearing?

There was a very pertinent dialogue in the movie ‘Oh My God!’. Mithun Chakraborty, who played the scheming godman in the movie dubs India as a God-fearing nation rather than a God-loving nation. That is so very true. In our quest to appease God we end up avoiding washing our hair or refraining from travel on a particular day. I don’t want to be irreverent or offend anyone but can someone please explain why God would be displeased by such small issues when things like rape, pillage and murder continue to haunt our nation every single day? Somehow I feel that, God, if He really exists, would be happier if we spend our time doing our bit to make the world a better place. Instead of donating crores to build a grand temple or a mosque or church, wouldn’t it be better if the same money is utilised to building schools where underprivileged children can get good quality education? Instead of wasting litres of milk or oil or kilos of sweets on a stone idol, wouldn’t God be more pleased if all these were distributed among people who don’t get even one decent meal a day? We quail at handing a one rupee coin to the beggar child at the traffic signal but happily spend thousands to pray for our son or daughter’s admission at a good college. God does not expect us to turn to Him to solve all our problems. He has given us the capabilities and reasoning power to solve these ourselves. He will be our pillar of strength when we are weak but most of the time we end up bargaining with Him to make our lives better instead of taking steps to make it better ourselves.

God and religion have become more than a way of life today –  it is a very lucrative business. Take a look at the inflated prices of flowers and sweets outside places of worship and you will know it is the truth. There are fixed rates for every ritual performed by priests and these rates are pretty exorbitant. Recently the disaster at Uttarkhand is all over the news. A place of worship has been reduced to rubble by natural forces. Thousands of pilgrims are still missing, the death toll is steadily increasing and even in these dire circumstances unscrupulous people are taking advantage of the hapless souls trapped there. Reports of food, medicines and other basic necessities being sold at five times the actual price make me feel ashamed to call myself an Indian. Is this what our scriptures and religious texts have taught us, to make money off other people’s tragedy? That too in a place of pilgrimage, a place where God is said to reside? And then people wonder why I am cynical about religion and the widespread belief about the existence of God. If these people can believe in God and still justify such inhuman behaviour then I cannot bring myself to believe in their God.

I am an atheist who believes in a God Who is there to support me at every step. I do not seek Him in stone idols, rather I see Him in my family, my friends and every person who has walked alongside me in life. I do not object to a person’s belief in God or religion; all I am saying is do not believe blindly. God is our friend, not a strict principal who is forever on the lookout for transgressions on our part. So trust in Him and the abilities He instilled in you. Let’s try to make the world a better place to live in; by doing that you will be giving God a gift more valuable than any other offering you can ever make to Him.

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The Lost Art of Reading

I have an account on Goodreads and today I came across a discussion on English fiction writings in the Indian literary landscape. Specifically the discussion began with asking who are the stars to watch out for in this context. The popular names that come to mind in recent times are Chetan Bhagat, Ravinder Singh, Amish Tripathi, Ashwin Sanghi, Ravi Subramanian et al. There are also a host of new authors debuting on the scene, yours truly being one of them. The publishing industry is on an overdrive, churning out new titles every week.. No doubt there is a market for them, otherwise such investments make no sense. But has this actually benefited the art of reading? Somehow I don’t think so.

Back when I was in school (seems like a lifetime away) I used to eagerly await the beginning of a new year. I simply loved getting new books, covering them with plastic coated brown paper and labelling them with those stick-on labels bearing pictures of cartoon characters or flowers or whatever else caught our fancy at the time of purchasing them. Even before classes started, I would read through the literature course books, both English and vernacular, just to enjoy the stories before studying them academically. In junior years we also used to have a dedicated library hour, where we had to read quietly in the library. We were free to read whatever we liked and many an hour I had spent reading Famous Five or Hardy Boys books. As we grew up, we were allowed to borrow books as well. I wonder how many schools promote reading nowadays. The teaching material and methods have changed over the years and in some cases these changes may have been for the better. But when it comes to reading books, sadly it has only gone downhill.

And it is not only the schools. I have come across many parents who declare that they don’t read at all and are very proud of it. From where I stand, that’s nothing to be proud of. One may not like reading novels, agreed, but how many people even bother to read the newspaper cover to cover everyday? If you don’t read yourself, how can you set an example to your children? Just today my mother was mentioning that the MBA students interning at her job did not read newspapers daily and do not have any qualms about it. Reading has become a chore, something to be done to get marks at school and college. And reading for pleasure has become restricted to leafing through one of the innumerable quick reads that populate the book stands nowadays. Many people tell me that their one and only criteria for picking up a book is its size – the thinner the better. Unfortunately the downside of this demand has flooded the market with quite a few run of the mill, mediocre publications which ultimately end up hurting the interests of the first time author. Serious bibliophiles often balk at picking up new titles, believing them to be a waste of time and money. This in turn can lead to new authors being sidelined, particularly if they are not backed by a reputed publishing house.

With the plethora of applications focusing on learning in a fun way, it is a common sight to see toddlers glued on their parents’ smartphones. Many of these applications are really good and one must really thank technology advancements for making these available to us so easily. But reading has its own attractions and it can open up vistas of imagination which even the most interactive of applications are not capable of. For captured among the crisp, crackling pages of a book are lands full of mystery and adventure which stimulates curiosity and a thirst for knowledge in a child and ultimately shapes a better human being. Let us not lose this valuable treasure; let us revive and reinvent the lost art of reading and introduce a whole new generation to the fascination of a well written book.

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The Confession

Author: John Grisham

Type: Fiction

Genre: Thriller (Legal)

Published by: Arrow Books

First Published: 2010

Nine years ago Travis Boyette abducted, raped and strangled a popular cheerleader. He buried her body so that it could not be found and then watched in silence as an innocent man was arrested and convicted of this terrible crime.

Nine years ago Donte Drumm was a local football star with a bright future ahead of him. Now he sits on death row, awaiting his execution four days later for a crime he did not commit. 400 miles away Travis’ own fate is sealed due to an inoperable brain tumor and in the face of impending death he finally decides to confess. But will he be able to convince the authorities that they are about to execute an innocent man?

This John Grisham novel is as dark as it can get. It shows us the murky side of the law where confessions are coerced and racial discrimination rears its ugly head. It gives us a peep into the psyche of a rapist and murderer who creeps out even when he speaks of being sorry for his unfortunate victim. And most of all it presents the conflict and controversy surrounding the death penalty. That Grisham is wholly against the death penalty jumps out at you in this book and the only discordant note in this otherwise good novel is the way it portrays the pro death penalty faction as distinctly unsympathetic.

The story is told from the point of view of some of the main characters. A pastor from Kansas to whom Boyette confesses his heinous crime, the lawyer who has fought relentlessly for Donte over the last nine years, the mother of the unfortunate victim who has made it her life’s mission to see Donte executed and Donte’s mother who still hopes for a miraculous reprieve, all these people infuse life in the novel. Robbie, Donte’s lawyer, and Reeva, the victim’s mother are sometimes hard to identify with but the brilliance of the author lies in the characterizations of Boyette and Keith, the pastor.

The story is a sombre one and would, more often than not, leave the reader feeling emotionally disturbed. It raises a barrage of questions related to the machinations of the law and is apt to leave the reader debating with himself on the merits and demerits of the death penalty. It is a compelling read and highly recommended. Be warned though, this is one book that can never be classified under ‘light reading’.

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Purani Jeans – 2

Another incident, another memory. This was back in Class VII. Our Geography teacher was usually woefully out of her depth when it came to maintaining order in a classroom filled with around 40 rowdy boys. She finally decided that making the girls and boys sit together allow the girls to exercise their calming influence on the boys. Needless to say that was one plan that backfired spectacularly as the girls became more talkative instead.

This incident happened the day we were studying the African continent. Our teacher was pointing out different places on the atlas and she was having some trouble locating Rwanda Burundi. I was sitting with a couple of good friends and we were not paying the slightest attention to the lesson as we were chatting and giggling away happily. Unfortunately this did not go unnoticed by our teacher and she hauled us up in front of the whole class to give us an earful.

As she demanded to know what we were talking about, we bowed our heads, hoping to escape her tirade by a convincing show of penitence. As luck would happen, my eyes fell on the open page of my atlas and miraculously I saw the small area marked Rwanda Burundi barely visible in a corner of the map.

“Ma’am we found Rwanda Burundi” I announced triumphantly, much the same way Christopher Columbus would have announced his discovery of America. Funnily enough, our teacher actually thought we were trying to locate that place on the map and let us off the hook. To this day I chuckle at the thought of how a chance geographical ‘discovery’ got us out of trouble with an angry teacher.

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