“Social Work starts from home.” That’s what I’ve been hearing since the day I said I want to become a Social Worker. But did these people ever analyze what I went through? So now I have decided to write my first blog on myself.
I was born in a very conservative muslim family and have two younger sisters. I don’t remember my infant days so I don’t have an option but to believe in what my mother and grandmother say. They said, “Your father loved and pampered you a lot.” because now he doesn’t do that anymore. Even if he does, he doesn’t express. Now it’s etched in my mind that my father hates me.
My mother, she was married at a very young age so she always thought that whatever her husband said was always right. She was this ‘typical Indian house-wife’. Till the time she realized this, the damage was done.
I have two lovely younger sisters who have always been the reason of my happiness during the dark and hard days. Because now when I look back at my happy memories, I get the flashes of their smiling face.
I was always taught that I shouldn’t talk to boys or befriend them. Never trust boys or even believe them. So for me boys were equal to evil and unearthly being. I have no brothers and to top it all, I studied in a girl’s school. So I was never exposed to boys.
From a very young age there wasn’t a single day when I wouldn’t be beaten-up by my father. There were many reasons for it, but I didn’t deserve to be beaten. Or did I? Being a girl we weren’t allowed to step out of the house nor did we have any kind of entertainment. There was a television but no cable connected because my father thought it was a bad influence. If by any chance we were caught watching movies then I would be beaten up brutally as I was the eldest of all. All the other kids would run to their father happily when they called them. With me it was the other way round. If ever someone came to me saying, “Anisa, your father is calling you.” I would start sweating profusely and my hands would shiver as I wondered, “What’s wrong? Did I commit any mistake again? Again I am going to be beaten up.”
Somewhere all this affected me. Hence my academic performance took a dip and I failed in my fifth grade. My father stripped me off my clothes and made me stand in the middle of the street. He thought he was punishing me for not performing well in my studies but in return it mentally affected me and my grades deteriorated further. Later that year my teacher had written a complain in my daily diary and asked me to get it signed by my parents. At the age of eleven I didn’t know that forging someones signature is a crime and neither did anyone tell me about it. I forged my mother’s signature as I was scared that I would be beaten-up again and showed it in school the next day. When my father found the truth he had beaten me with a rubber pipe and I suffered from immense pain for a week.
All this went on for four long years, when each day I would be beaten-up and the scars that were left behind were left forever, be it physical or mental. Then came a point in my life when I decided that I will have to stand-up for myself. I realized that no one can help me other than myself. I had overcome the fear of getting beaten. I knew that at the most I would be inhumanely bruised for a lifetime and that’s what happened. I started back answering my father and in turn got brutally beaten. I turned out to be the most rebellious and arrogant girl. Gradually all the brutality reduced and there came a point when we stopped talking to each other.
I can’t hangout with boys or even talk to them. I wasn’t allowed to wear jeans or even a short kurti for that matter. Today when I hang out with boys my father has an objection but he knows that he can’t do anything about it. He will come and scold my mother and that would result in my mother restricting me saying, “What would others think if they see you with so many boys.” I just have one thing to tell them, “I know what my friends mean to me and I don’t need to prove it to the world.”
Today, it’s been seven years since I last spoke to my father even though we live in the same house. Now I am very happy and living a peaceful life. Even though each time I look at him all the memories of those dark days come rushing back making me shed pointless tears. I call them pointless because it’s not going to change my past.
Then came the struggle to do my Masters in Social Work. Both my parents were against my decision because they were worried that Social workers had a bad image in the society. I was sent to each of my relatives house to get brainwashed and change my decision but I stood firm in it. No one can shove their decision down my throat. I turned out to be very stubborn. When none of this worked, I gathered all my documents, a few clothes and packed my bag to leave the house. As soon as I left the house and started walking towards the main road I saw my uncle and aunt coming to me. They took me along to their home and I stayed there for a week. Then my mother came and said, “You can study social work if you want, but don’t expect a single penny from us.” They thought I would give up without money to pay my college fee. But then I started working and saved money for my education and finally completed my post-graduation in Social Work.
I believe there should be no excuse for not achieving your dreams. If you couldn’t achieve your dreams, then it has only one reason that you haven’t worked hard enough to live it.
Today I don’t expect anybody’s sympathy or protection. I am capable enough to take care of myself. Even though I cry when all those memories haunt me, I’ve never regretted them and nor will I do it any time in future. Because they are the ones that have made me strong and given me the strength to stand firm through the worst storm that could possibly hit me. My darkest days have molded my identity of today.
So now I want to ask all the criticizers, “How much more social work do you expect me to do in my own house?”
This is your very first post. Click the Edit link to modify or delete it, or start a new post. If you like, use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.
I, too, have a tale of love, but rest assured, I won’t burden you with its details. Oh no, far from it! My love story is akin to a suspenseful thriller, yet it lacks a conventional climax. While I’m confident that delving into its narrative would captivate you, it would also leave you somewhat disheartened due to its unconventional resolution. Therefore, I’m sparing you from potential disappointment. Yes, you can express your gratitude, but perhaps at a more opportune moment. Presently, I’m here with a set of inquiries that have eluded satisfactory answers, along with sharing the conclusions my mind has drawn on these matters.
Why do people seem to hold onto bitterness after a breakup? I’ve tried to feel that way too, especially towards him, but it just doesn’t happen. When I tried to imagine resentment, my body reacted unexpectedly – beads of sweat, shivers, and uncontrollable tears. To my surprise, amidst it all, I found myself sincerely wishing him the best. This revelation came four years after he left, and even after over a decade, the ability to harbour hatred remains elusive to me.
I’ve come to realize that when you truly love someone, that love sticks around forever, hidden away in your mind. Even if you don’t acknowledge it, it’s there. Despite any bad experiences with ex-partners, the love and the feelings you had remain genuine and lasting.
In a chat with my sister about our past relationships, she started cursing her ex, leaving me surprised by my own reaction. I questioned, “How can you speak so negatively about him? I could never do that! I get that he wasn’t great or whatever, but you were the one who loved him! Is your judgment that flawed? Was your love for him really that shallow? Remember, you chose him in the first place. Can’t you respect that?” I might come off a bit preachy; everyone has the right to react as they wish. Here, I’m just sharing my perspective on things.
In the past ten years, many guys have opened up about their feelings for me. So, hey guys!! If you are reading this a heartfelt THANK YOU! I truly appreciate your respect and affection. It means a lot that you see me as worthy of your time and love. While I can’t mention everyone here, you know who you are, and I’m grateful for your consideration.
A dear friend who knows me inside out took the thoughtful step of proposing marriage. In our seven years of friendship, he meticulously considered the idea, believing I would be the ideal life partner. I politely declined it. Despite his proposal, our friendship remains strong, and I continue to confide in him. During one conversation, he remarked, “I’ve noticed you never check out men. Despite the abundance of smart and handsome individuals in the places we frequent, you never seem interested.” I responded, “That’s because my initial attraction often fades once I get to know someone. Looks hold little significance for me.”
A former colleague harboured strong feelings for me, earnestly seeking a commitment. I hesitate to label it love, as that distinction lies solely within his purview. While my sentiments didn’t align, I hold deep respect for his emotions. As I bid farewell to the job, he remarked, “I can’t imagine this office without you.” He swiftly found another job and moved out. Yet, a qualm arose when he questioned, “You’re single, so why not commit to me?” It’s crucial to clarify: a woman’s single status doesn’t mandate commitment to the next admirer. Mutual feelings are the foundation of any connection, period.
Being single has its own delights, and I’m savouring every bit of it. It’s not that I don’t yearn for a companion; I certainly do. However, I firmly believe that true companionship is reserved for someone I genuinely appreciate and feel a compelling connection with.
In the past ten years of being single, my affections have been quite selective, extending to just two men, the most recent being the latest. It saddens me that circumstances didn’t allow anything to blossom on both occasions. Nevertheless, these instances hold immense value for me. They offer a glimmer of hope, reminding me that I can still experience the fluttering of butterflies in my tummy, genuinely smile, blush in a man’s presence, and willingly go that extra mile. Knowing myself, genuine affection tends to stay forever, even if I attempt to stow it away in the recesses of my mind. I’m confident it will resurface the next time I encounter that person. Even if my sentiments aren’t reciprocated, they are precious to me, and I choose to honour and cherish them because they are mine. When I own something then it’s very precious to me and these feelings are my very own.
Love for someone holds a unique significance. Even if you’re no longer with the person you once loved, make an effort to honour the love you felt – not for them, but for your own well-being, so that you can keep yourself away from any negativity.
Love is a pure feeling. You can hate a person, but not what you felt for them.
Wahid cared less about the society. All he knew was that he was in love with Sakina, and he cannot give up. He cannot let society and its customs to dictate his life. He made up his mind to propose to her for marriage yet again.
When he went to her with the proposal once again, she denied it with a calmer tone this time. He told her not to worry about the society. For him the age gap didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was her. What she thought was all that mattered to him. He assured her that they will fight with this world and the society together.
Special thanks to:
#My best friend, Daniel for pushing me to write this story.
#My dearest Anuja for editing it and helping me with the title.
After a long time, I’m back with yet another piece of writing. The story you are going to read is about a person who inspires me every day and will keep inspiring me. A person who stood as a pillar by my side even when my parents ceased to support me. I tend to realize her value now when I miss the warmth of her caring hands around me. Somehow, I don’t cry over her absence but feel lucky to have had 13 precious years with this iron woman; to have breathed the same air for 13 years.
I don’t know what took me so long to write this story, but I think I lacked the sense of maturity to write it, all these years. Now that I have turned thirty and can confidently say that I have gained a fair amount of exposure and understanding of life to finally write about Sakina, my great grandmother.
Disclaimer: The core content and setting of the following story is true to the people who lived it. The framework and scenario of it is a mere fragment of my imagination.
Somewhere around the year 1942, Bombay, Maharashtra.
A handsome boy in his late teens was stepping into adulthood with a bag full of clothes and hopes for the future as he stood ready to start his journey from Bombay to Kallakurichi, a district in Tamil Nadu. Faring well with good grades in 12th class his parents were ready to go that extra mile for his further studies. They braced themselves to send their son to a far-off land for his better future. Little did they know what future had in store for them and their son.
“Wahid! You are forgetting this” he heard his mother calling after him right when he was about to step out with his father, clutching the bag, trying to be strong and confident.
His mother came in a hurry holding a piece of paper. She thrust it into his hand saying, “This is the address and the name of the person you need to speak with for your residence in Kallakurichi.”
“Yes! I have managed to find this place for you to stay with utmost difficulty. Don’t lose this paper.” His father said fretting over the thought of how his son was going to manage in that town all alone.
“Aiyyo! Sorry ammaa. I thought I kept it in my bag.”, Wahid replied while taking the paper. He glanced at it one last time and traced his fingers through the written content reading it carefully. There he read the name ‘Sakina Bee’. He tucked it in his bag carefully.
He looked at his mother one last time before leaving from the house and saw tears in her eyes. “Ammaa, not again!”, saying that he hugged her once more and then walked away. He heard his mother’s constant reminding to take care of himself, his meals etc. etc. behind him.
Year 1942, Kallakurichi, Tamil Nadu.
After a long and tiring journey when he set his foot in Kallakurichi at 5 pm in the evening with the address in his hand, he reached his destination. He was searching for Sakina. All he knew was the name. He didn’t know how that individual looked like or what she did. He thought of asking someone and looked through the vicinity. He saw a woman trying to balance some utensils in both her hands and then he noticed a boy next to her with some more utensils. The boy must not have been more than 12 years of age. Both of them were moving towards the house whose address Wahid was clutching in his hand. He picked up his bag and went ahead to approach them.
With each step he was trying to form a judgement about the woman he was about to approach. He thought she must be the boy’s elder sister. And the more he observed the more he realized that she was a beautiful woman with unavoidable grace in her movements. She wore a saree and the pallu was tucked in the front which conveyed she was busy with her day’s chores.
The boy ran into the house and was back empty handed to help her carry the rest of the utensils. Her hair was loosely plaited and placed in the front. It was getting stuck again and again in the utensils that she was carrying. She tried flipping it back but couldn’t as both her hands were completely occupied.
“Ammaa! Wait. Let me help you.”, the boy told the woman and immediately pulled her plait back and took some utensils from her hand.
Listening to the boy, Wahid’s approaching legs slowed down as his first judgement faltered. She was the boy’s mother. But she looked quite young to be a mother of a twelve-year-old, his mind contradicted. Then he wondered why it bothered him and got rid of all his thoughts. He decided to do what he was there for. With two long strides he reached them.
“Excuse me! Sakina, is it?” Wahid asked. Both mother and son turned to look at him.
“Yes. What do you need?” Sakina asked in a firm and no-nonsense tone.
“Assalam Alaikum! I’m Wahid. I might be your new tenant if I like the space.”, said Wahid humbly.
Sakina eased a little and replied, “Walaikum Assalam. I was informed that you would be coming. Please come in.” she gestured him to go in. She still had the aura of not entertaining unnecessary talks.
The boy entered the house followed by Wahid and then Sakina. The house was a humble dwelling even though it was a 3BHK. His eyes scanned through the entire place and taking in the minutest of details. The dimly lit hallway had 2 wooden chair and a cot. It looked quite odd for this big a house to have utilities in bare minimum.
“Please sit while I get you water and some snacks.”, she said and called her son to come along with her to the kitchen.
The boy came out with a glass of water and some appams with chutney. He placed it on the cot.
Sakina came out and stood at a distance and directly spoke business without any greetings or regards. “This house is where me and my kids stay. There is a guest house right at the back. It has a separate entrance to it. So, I decided to rent it out. Please have the snacks and then I can show you the room.”
He had the snacks in silence and then Sakina and the kid took him to show the guest house. Wahid saw the room and was satisfied with the basic facilities it had. He finalised it and moved in. He was a college student and so he had one concern. Food. Sakina said that she runs a tiffin service and that’s how she earned a living. So, that issue was also resolved.
Once he freshened up and lied down on the mat, the evening’s conversation with Sakina came rushing back. The matters like renting a part of the house, showing the room and finalising the tenant were usually done by the male members of the family. Why did Sakina do it all by herself singlehandedly?
Slowly and gradually, as days passed by, all his doubts were answered. He also got acquainted to two more members of Sakina’s family.
Sakina was a thirty-four-year-old woman but looked quite young for her age. She was a widow with three kids. Eldest was twelve-year-old Abdul Wahab. Second son was a ten-year-old Abdul Rahim and the third one was a four-year-old daughter, Habiba. She was a single parent with no help in any means. She was taking care of her small catering business, taking care of the three kids physically, mentally, and financially.
That’s all about Sakina who stood strong amidst the orthodox setting of 1942. This was an era when a woman with all the needs being fulfilled had to face so much discrimination. One can imagine the plight of a widow with three kids in such a setting.
When Wahid’s regular college started, he emerged as the college’s handsome hunk. In those times very few girls came out for further studies and those few never left a chance to drool over him. Little did these girls know that fortune had already taken over to write a history.
As days passed by the nineteen-year-old boy started falling for the strong headed and independent Sakina. He would return from college and teach reading and writing to her kids. His mind and heart were in a constant battle. His mind would state the fact of the age gap between them, and his heart would simply deny stating love has no boundaries.
A single boy residing next to a widow’s dwelling was just enough a reason for people to form tales on them and gossip, during those times. Soon the rumour travelled across the town that they had an affair going on.
Sakina cared less about these rumours, but it turned her life into a living hell. Her business also got affected due to it.
After a year of immense turmoil, Wahid’s heart finally won the battle and he decided to propose to Sakina for marriage. This would put an end to all the rumours surrounding them, he thought. He was very well aware that he was going against his family, relatives and society. It took him enormous courage to cross the line of tradition and culture of the surrounding that he was brought up in.
He mustered up the courage and proposed to her one fine day. Hearing his proposal Sakina was furious. She denied the proposal saying, “I am not in love with you. Do you see the age gap? How can you even think about it? And I don’t want to confirm these rumours by accepting your proposal.”
She impulsively denied his proposal. But that moment changed something within her. The young girl within her who craved for love, care and affection started hoping against the strong wall that she had built around her. And this wall threatened to crumble down in pieces. She could not let that happen.
Sakina was taught to behave in a certain way, to follow the customs and tradition. Being a widow, she accustomed herself that she didn’t have the right to enjoy the little pleasures of life, didn’t have the right to live life in her own terms. It took her time and fortitude to undo all those traditions and age-old customs to get empowered. Unknown to her, she started looking at herself in the mirror. She started taking care of herself. It took a while for her to accept the change of feelings within her and accept it as normal.
Finally, when her heart wanted to fall recklessly in love with Wahid while her mind reasoned otherwise. She had a past that was unknown to Wahid. Oh, he knew that she was a widow with three kids and was fifteen years older than him. But there was yet another past that he was unaware of. She was assured that once she reveals that, he wouldn’t want to marry her. And that stopped her from hoping for a happy life again.
Wahid cared less about the society. All he knew was that he was in love with Sakina, and he cannot give up. He cannot let society and its customs to dictate his life. He made up his mind to propose to her for marriage yet again.
When he went to her with the proposal once again, she denied it with a calmer tone this time. He told her not to worry about the society. For him the age gap didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was her. What she thought was all that mattered to him. He assured her that they will fight with this world and the society together.
She said that society can never influence her decision. She was way more independent than that when it came to taking decisions about her life. She said she had a dark past. The one which he was not aware of and that stopped her from moving on. Wahid asked her what it was as his heart picked up pace.
Sakina once was a young and naïve girl when she was married off. The man who married her, turned out to be a fraudster. He spent a night with her and fled the next day with all her jewelleries leaving her helpless and dependent. Her parents then married her off to Abdul Rehman. He was a noble man who loved her and took care of her. They also had three kids. But unfortunately, he was down with terminal illness. And again, her life took a drastic change leaving her with three lives that depended on her.
Sakina said if she married Wahid then he would be her third husband. She knew that Wahid belonged to a reputed and a wealthy family. If he marries a woman with such a horrid past, let alone the fact that she was fifteen years elder to him, it will tarnish his reputation forever.
He went through a storm within him when he decided to marry her knowing that she was a widow. And now these new revelations were too much for him to wrap his head around. He went back to his room all broken and shattered.
Again, his mind and heart were in a battle. His mind kept repeating her past and his heart kept reminding him the reason why he fell in love with her. He loved her because she was strong and an independent woman. But how did she become so strong? Because she went through so much in her past which made her what she was. If that horrid past was the reason behind the best qualities in her that he loved so much, then how can he not accept her with that?
Yet another year passed by when he finally made up his mind that he would again propose to her and this time he would win her over.
When he proposed to her for the third time, that was THE moment for Sakina. The wall she had built around herself came crumbling down seeing his love for her despite so many reasons for it to falter. Wahid said he loved every bit of her existence. Even the horrid past that she carried along.
But this didn’t stop her from standing up for herself. She put forth a condition in front of Wahid. She said she would marry him only if he promises that he wouldn’t expect a child of his own. To some she might look selfish. But she stood up for herself and her body. She already went through five pregnancies and two still births. She couldn’t put her body through more pain.
Wahid agreed to her condition and promised her that he wouldn’t expect a child of his own. All he wanted was to have Sakina in his life as his soulmate.
1945, Kallakurichi, Tamil Nadu
Wahid completed his graduation and by the time they got married, he was 22 and Sakina was 37. Her eldest son Abdul Wahab who was 15 at that time, was a perfect product of the existing orthodox society. He called his mother a selfish woman and fled from home.
1945, Bombay, Maharashtra.
When Wahid came back to Mumbai, along with his newly wed bride and her children, they knew they were to stay strong and fight the world. But what awaited them back in Mumbai was a wedding preparation in full swing. Wahid’s parents had finalized an alliance for him with a girl of their choice and the wedding was scheduled to happen in 10 days.
He was the most eligible bachelor amongst the big extended societal circle. The wealthiest and the most reputed families were ready to marry their daughters to him. And his parents had chosen the best girl who fits the definition of ‘perfect’ in the eyes of the society. But to him the definition of ‘PERFECT’ was Sakina.
When he revealed his marriage to Sakina, his parents refused to accept her as their daughter-in-law. But Wahid didn’t budge from his decision for even a second. His parents knew that they were fighting a lost battle. Then they finally decided to accept her only to make her life a living hell. They didn’t leave a single chance of torturing her. She endured everything because she knew that Wahid was a strong pillar of support to her. He promised to be with her through thick and thin, and he kept his promise. He endured all the pain and torture along with her that his parents put her through.
And that’s how love conquered. This is the love story that broke all boundaries and stereotypes that the society had built. And I, Anisa, the great granddaughter of Sakina and Wahid proudly share this timeless gem of a hidden history of true love.
Just fresh out of the COVID 19 lockdown each one of us wanted to get some fresh air away from our residences. We discussed on a small one-day trip with just four of us to the nearby hills. But then we shelved the plan and made a bigger one with a larger group of people and a longer duration. Yes! We precipitated this fortuitous journey upon ourselves.
This trip was an extraordinary journey in every aspect with overwhelming experiences to share. From asking people to join, planning and to the most tremendous one being the execution part. Eight of us volunteered to go on this trip and just one week before the trip, we all had our fingers crossed that none of us should dropout from the trip. There wasn’t a single day without the ‘Goa-trip-meme’ being shared.
The final day arrived when we all had to start our journey in the evening at 4 pm. Everything about that day was very distinct. The start of the day itself indicated that something unexpected was at store for us. It had to start like any other regular working day. As an organization we are helping the health department to vaccinate people against COVID 19. And I was on duty for the same on that day. But at 4:30 am in the morning I receive a WhatsApp message from a colleague that I am not to leave from home until further notice for the vaccination drive, as the doses are not yet allocated. I waited for the further instructions still in bed. At 7:30 am I was asked to reach the vaccination camp by 9:30 am. Due to some reason I got late and was leaving from home at 9:30 am. That moment itself my conscience kept repeating that something about the day was to go wrong because I have a track-record of never being late to work.
And right when I thought so, I see a message on the WhatsApp group one of our members backing out from the trip on THE day stating his wife was not well. We had planned to cover the trip in pairs, and we were eight of us. If even a single person backs out, then his travel buddy also had to face the brunt. He said he will drop me at the district office and rest of us will try to find an alternative. One of our members had to take his bike which wasn’t in a condition to risk it by riding on the mountains. Some how we made the arrangements and yet we were short of one helmet. So, we had requested that member who backed out, to at least lend his helmet for the trip. By then we were delayed by two hours from the scheduled time. We were to leave at 4 pm but it was 6 by the time we started, and we still had to collect the helmet on our way. We planned to complete our journey and reach the destination before it got dark but what happened next, screamed unpredictability at our faces.
When I called for the helmet, he said even he was coming along, and he backed out from backing out! He joined the trip with his four-wheeler and that way, all our planned members were intact. So, four people on two bikes and four people on two cars. As planned, we were split in pairs. In all this drama we missed the daylight and it already started getting dark. Slowly and steadily, we drove through the mountains as rain hammered us all the time. It was pitch dark throughout the way and I was enjoying the luxury of the car in such a weather. We halted at a few spots for a quick snack and puff and continued our journey.
When we were just two kilometers away from our destination the most inconceivable incident happened. As we were slowly moving towards the guest house where we were to stay, the car in which two of our members were travelling stopped abruptly and started taking a U-turn. We wondered what’s happening and our members who were on bike said there was a landslide, and they could literally see the earth above us sliding down. The rain still coming down hard on each one of us, the most affected being the ones on bike. We hurried backwards and our members on bike taking the lead. The panic button was pushed to next level when one of our members on the bike went to check the land ahead of us. When she placed her leg on that part of the land it actually slid away! We unanimously took a call to stay put. Our members on the bike were soaked from head to the tip of their toe and the weather on the mountains during the night is piercingly chilling. They parked their bikes at one corner and came to sit in the car with their rattling teeth and shivering bodies. We turned on the heat in the car and all four were huddled in the back seat.
You can actually see the forced smiles on our faces while all this was happening!
We were all so sure that it was the last moment alive. It felt like we were counting our last few breaths of our lives and any moment another landslide was going to sweep us all away. We were actually repenting our sins and wrongdoings. We recalled all our loved ones and the moments shared with them in our minds. We promised each other that we won’t blame anyone for the menacing situation we all fell prey to. Right then we got a call from the members who were in the other car. They had stopped a little ahead of us and out of our sight. They said they had called the helpline number at Dehradun, and we were patiently waiting. It was doubtful for us whether we would survive the night and see the next sunrise.
Right then one of our members said that we should inform the guest house people about our situation and that suggestion came as a bright ray of hope to fight the death that was gawping at us. In the next ten minutes people from our guest house came to our rescue. We were stuck between two landslides, and they helped us cross one of it by giving us instructions at every step. We were scared out of our guts even while crossing it because the rain was still being very ruthless. We all safely reached our destination eagerly waiting to express all the emotional roller-costar that we experienced. One of our members who was helping us out from all this was still stuck at the site waiting for the rain to show some mercy. We were all happy that we were safe but at the same time our throats were going dry with fear of what would happen to that one member along with the cab driver. It felt like the pouring rain was in sync with out thundering hearts. Almost after three hours of anticipation we saw our member and the cab driver safely climbing the stairs of the guest house.
The next two days were like icing on the cake. We enjoyed every moment in the mountains and lived those moments to the fullest. Like someone told me that the mountains in the North are lethally beautiful. We actually experienced it. And yes! We live to tell the tale.
We live to tell the tale.
Each time I recall this encounter my mind voice repeats this Tamil line, “Yamanukke dimki koduthuton! (Ha ha, we fooled the Yamraj himself!)” with a thankful smile lingering over my lips.
These are my dearest people whom I have left behind in Mumbai! I miss each one of you so much that I am unable to stop the ocean of tears that flow. Love you all to the moon and back! And yes! This is how I have you in my living space.
So, I have recently shifted from Mumbai to a small city (I would rather call it a small town. but people reading this might get offended.) called Kashipur in Udham Singh Nagar. I got a job here because of which I had to relocate. It was my decision to leave Mumbai and come to this new land, to experience the life here away from my family and friends.
In my interview for this job I was asked whether I wanted freedom from my parents’ restrictions and that’s why I wanted to move away from my home. I guess I gave a befitting answer and so I’m here. I am writing this blog today to share my experience in this new place and also an answer to that question.
My friends back in Mumbai keep asking me, “So, how is the new found freedom suiting you?” and I started pondering over it. My answer to that is, “I feel like I have been stripped off of all the freedom I got in Mumbai.”
I love the organization I am working for. People are also very warm and welcoming. But certain things will always remain different from the place I come from. Number one being food. My north Indian friends in Mumbai love south Indian food. It’s the most integral part of their lives! Here, people have a phobia for south Indian food. Puranpoli, bhakri, misal pav, vada pav, pav bhaji, alu vadi, kolhapuri, upma, ragda patis are all aliens here! I miss shawarma the most. Oh yes! we get Shawarma here as well but it’s totally different from what I’m used to. It’s the most oily thing I ever had. Biryani is also very different from what I used to have. But yes! it’s very delicious. Thanks to the people here. And many more to explore as of yet.
I travel all alone at 12:00 midnight in Mumbai as carefree as I can be. But here, going out at 8 pm in the evening gives me shivers. The lanes and roads are so deserted.
In Mumbai, I have the freedom to flirt with anyone and they wouldn’t take it seriously! Here, I have to constantly be on my guard. What if people here take it seriously?! Here, people flirt with me. But I have to be very careful as to how I respond to it. If I flirt back then the consequences might be very tough to handle. Not that I mind people flirting with me. If I expect a good company for food and travel from a guy here they assume it otherwise and start judging. But Mumbai! I can travel the world with a guy just being friends and also without a fear of being judged. I love dressing up. That too, ethnic wear is the dearest to me! So, when I have time in the morning I deck up and look my best. I dress-up for myself and not for others, but people assume it the other way round.
I have also observed the reverse side of it. When people come to Mumbai from other places of India, they think asking for casual sex is the most coolest thing to do. I might be wrong in generalizing here. But this has been my observation.
Gender discrimination and stereotyping is passively prevalent in Mumbai. But here I can see it in the most active form. One of the teachers I work with have openly expressed that girls are meant to be in the kitchen and boys in the office. This statement blew my mind away!
All in all I am getting what I asked for! I knew all along that living in Mumbai is like living in an illusion that the rest of India is also the same. But now I am getting to see the real India.
Mumbai is definitely meri Jaan! but also being aware of the reality is necessary.
I am a dumb when it comes to movies and acting. I know these big words like cinematography, screenplay, director etc exists in the world of cinema. But my knowledge about them is not well equipped to comment which is the quality work or who is a better actor or director. I love watching films and that too just for entertainment. But there is this one actor for whom the world has only praises. Irrfan Khan. With an extra ‘r’ to his name, the way he preferred it.
I don’t know anything about acting. So, I can never comment on how good or bad his acting was. All I can say is every time I saw this man on screen, I just believed him. I totally forgot that he’s Irrfan Khan and thought he was really a college rowdy in ‘Haasil’, a doting father in ‘Angrezi Medium’, a retiring accountant in ‘The Lunchbox’ and the list goes on! Unlike the other big Khans of Bollywood. He did some magic that the viewers were forced to believe him. And this magic hit me real hard just six months back, making me sit-up and admire his work.
Just two weeks back I was watching ‘Angrezi Medium’ and I promised myself that the next time an Irrfan Khan movie releases I would definitely watch it in the theatre. Alas! That’s never going to happen.
A week back on that terrible day it was 11 am and I was still sleeping. It felt like someone hammered my head real hard when my sister was announcing his death on top of her voice. I sat up startled and said, “I am not going to waste my thoughts on some stupid WhatsApp forward which is definitely a rumour. I have had enough of that in recent times.”
My sister replied, “akka it’s true! Read Irrfan Khan’s Wikipedia page.” I grabbed my phone and did as instructed. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read ‘Died: 29 April 2020’.
I said, “Did you know that anyone can edit that page? It’s definitely a mistake and will be rectified soon.”
I opened my Instagram as usual and it was flooded with posts of his death and mourning. My mind refused to process that news as my mouth kept repeating, “inna lillahi va inna ilaihi rajioon.” It took me two days for the news to sink in. And when it did, something broke inside me. I could hear my voice shouting at me, “I will definitely watch his next film in the theatre.” And the realisation that its never going to happen made me cry. I wept myself to sleep for the next five days and now I’m here writing this blog.
It’s A Tiny Ache That Doesn’t Matter because there are bigger grief of actors, directors who wanted to work with him, his friends and family. And here I am crying because I won’t be able to watch him on the big screen. Also I can’t cry in front of my family because they are going to laugh and mock me.
My ache might look tiny to others but it means a lot to me. His sudden death left me shattered. I could actually feel that dialogue, “I suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye.” from the movie ‘Life Of Pi’.
From now on every time I go to a movie theatre I would be reminded of Irrfan Khan’s death. And that’s going to be terrible!
All my blogs have been about my personal life experiences and this is no different.
As India is struggling to retain its true essence of Diversity and Communal Harmony, its effects can be felt in the daily life of Muslim citizens. No, I am not going to discuss anything about CAA and NRC or its pros and cons, or how is it going to affect and not affect Muslim citizens.
I will just take you into what it feels like to be a Muslim in India.
I have been raised as an Indian first and then a Muslim. Its always a pride to call myself an Indian. How awed I have been each time I witness varied culture and tradition of India and thank Allah, because it’s a blessing to be born as an Indian.
The first question on my citizenship was raised at the innocent age of six when I was sent to a convent school. My fellow classmates used to ask me, “You are a Muslim! Are you a Pakistani?” at such a naïve age too it sounded so wrong that I could feel a thousand swords slicing my heart. I was forever taught to take pride in being an Indian and then they question my very own existence! And that was just the beginning. Now I am twenty-seven years old and each new day would bring the same old question concealed with a different set of words. Then I end up asking myself, “Why me and why not the others have to face this?”
The people who hired me asked me to stop wearing my hijab. I countered them with a question, “Would you demand the same if a Sardar joins your organization? Would you ask him to stop wearing his turban? No! then why only me?”
I learned to ignore all of it and focused on how to live a happy life. One day a lady said something and the wall of austerity that I had built around myself comes crumbling down. Being a Mumbaikar local train is the most crucial part of my life to the extent that it very much justifies the frequently used word ‘life-line of Mumbai’. Every passenger would have a set of interesting stories to share and even I have a couple of them. One of them happened a few days back. It was a usual day and I took the 5:12 pm train while returning from office. A reasonably crowded train. I was standing right behind the first row of seats. Two little girls were standing in front of me. A woman deliberately pushed me and came forward. I said, “Please don’t push. There are little kids standing in front of me.” The woman replied, “What if I fell down?”. I tried being quiet and end it there. She provoked me to reprimand and then her words that followed etched in my heart and mind forever. “Gandhiji was very wrong to let Muslims stay here. He shouldn’t have agreed to it.” I wasn’t prepared for this! For one moment I couldn’t believe that she said it for real. The next moment my mind went blank. It felt like my tongue had a paralytic attack. That was the moment when her destination arrived and she left the train. I had no time to answer her! That one incident made me cry for nights.
My friends’ circle is full of non-Muslims and when I speak about these issues with them, they just choose to be ignorant. It just doesn’t make any difference to them because it’s not affecting their lives. The pain and misery can only be felt by those who are going through it. Whenever I vocalize my ache it becomes a pain in the ass for them. How do I express my plight?
Just yesterday I was going to Kurla. I took a fast local from Mulund and it was jam-packed. I couldn’t even move an arm. A frenzied crowd got into the train along with me. A few Muslim women and many others entered together. Other women who were on the train stood blocking our way inside to get down at the next station. One of them said, “Yeh Musalman log hi rasta nahi de rahe hai. (These Muslim women are only not giving us way.)” I looked around to see how many Muslim women were there in that crowd and I only saw three including me. I felt so offended and replied, “Aap Hindu-Muslim kya kar rahe ho? (Why are you speaking about religion?)”. Why do people wear lenses called religion while dealing with people? I feel so targeted! It feels like we can’t even breathe without being tagged by our religion. I sense becoming a victim of religious discrimination with each step I take.
I cry myself to sleep each night. Every morning I start my day with a prayer and a silent tear rolling down my cheek that today nothing of that sort should happen to me. I have become so vulnerable these days and I just don’t want my parents and siblings to witness that. I try wiping my tears before someone notices and put up my strong face in front of them. Each day I am fighting a new battle.
When I told one of my friends that I want to go away from all this, I want to go abroad and work, he said, “Do you think it’s not happening in other countries? Do you think Muslims are treated very well abroad? The condition is much worse there.” I replied, “I am well aware of what’s happening in other countries. And I know it’s going to happen with me too when I go. But there is one big difference there. This is my own nation and people treating me like this which wrenches my heart apart. Foreign land and people might treat me much worse than people here but that wouldn’t affect me so much because that’s not my nation and my people.”
This is not the nation I envisioned! This is not a nation where I would want to raise my children.
During the partition of India and Pakistan Mohammad Ali Jinnah had said that Muslims would have to prove their loyalty towards India time and again. And people of India have proved his predictions right time and again.
I’ve been writing about the darker side of my life and since then a few of my friends suggested me to write about my beautiful phase. So, I thought why not?
Yes! I call it the most beautiful chapter so far. This is the phase that I cherish forever. Learnt my virtues and formed my principles during this time.
I too fell in love like everyone else. A rather unusual story. Won’t bore you with the details but a few cherished moments.
It all started when I was an English trainer in one of the English-speaking class. I was teaching in the Chembur branch and had to come down to its head office for some official work. That was when the receptionist introduced me to him saying that there is a new joinee in the office. He gave a bright smile and spoke in Hindi which was layered with a strong south-Indian accent.
It started with a usual friendship and then lead to him developing feelings for me. He expressed it and I said a flat no. Then it continued with the same friendship for almost a month. He went to Bangalore for a few days and so we were out of contact till then. I started missing him terribly and anxiousness reached its peak. The moment he returned to Mumbai I couldn’t contain my happiness and this time I was the one to confess.
Now came the complicated part. I started questioning my decision. All I could think was what a blunder I had committed by confessing to him. I started regretting it. I wanted to go back in time and change what I had told him. I was dodging each and every opportunity of meeting him. He had asked to meet me several times and I kept making excuses because I was having second thoughts about him. Then one day again he asked to meet me and I had some work in the bank that day. This time again I found an excuse. He said its okay, he will meet me at the bank. Now I had no escape.
Funnily, our 1st meet after confessing to each other happened at the bank. This is the first and the most beautiful moment of my life. I was sitting on a bench and looking at my cell phone, praying that he should call me up and say that he won’t be able to come. But I got a text message saying he is on his way and would reach in five minutes. I kept looking at the entrance of the bank and my heart started beating wildly.
Finally, the moment came when the door opened and he stepped inside. Our eyes met and a bright smile broke out on both our faces. Suddenly all I could see was him in that crowded place. All my doubts and inhibitions got cleared as my heart beat came to normal. It was like a breath of fresh air. There was a sudden calmness that spread through me and it felt like two pieces of puzzle finally clicking into place. Nothing else felt so right other than that moment. I could remember this like it just happened yesterday.
He was the humblest and a selfless man I have ever seen in my life. I have become a better human being after I met him.
We would get into a lot of arguments and debates and they became my best memories with him. He, being a Kannada Brahmin, won’t eat any non-veg food and I am a hardcore non-vegetarian. We would always argue which was healthier.
I would often ask him why he loved me and his answer would be, “I don’t know.” After a couple of times he said, “I don’t know why I love you. If I find out the reason behind it then I can also find an alternative to live without you.” That answer of his blew my mind. He gave me a definition for love.
I never thought of a future with him ever because whenever I dream of something it never lasted. I didn’t want my happiness to be shattered. It was his department to think about our future of togetherness.
I don’t know why it didn’t work or why he is not in my life anymore. Maybe he found the reason behind his love for me. But all I know is that I am very thankful that he came to my life and helped me become a better human being. I have shed countless tears but I don’t regret even a single second of that phase.
Today I am able to write this because I have moved on in life. It’s the most beautiful phase of my life that I have shared with everyone today. God has definitely blessed me with this beautiful experience for which I would be ever grateful.
Has it ever occurred to you, why a strong woman is always called a man?
Why is it a matter of pride when someone calls a woman or says, “you are like a man.”?
Being a tomboy is very normal but being a tomgirl is problematic. Why?
Does anyone think on these lines? After a lot of thoughts and observation I have come to a conclusion that we women ourselves are to be blamed for this inequality that exists in the society. We can’t blame the men for treating women like a toe-rag.
Have you come across this quote, “If you don’t love yourself, nobody else is going to love you.”? The same goes with our gender as well. If we don’t love or respect our gender then even the men won’t.
If you have read my previous blogs then you will know that I was challenged for being a girl in every step of my life, nevertheless, I was shocked when I realized that I never regretted being a girl. In fact, I have celebrated womanhood in every second of my life. I feel so blessed that God has gifted me with such a wonderful thought even after going through so much. Even if there comes worst situations in future, one thing I am very sure of, that I am not going to regret being a woman. I get very offended when someone calls me a boy or a man. It upsets me when my mom proudly says, “Anisa beti nahi, beta hai humari.” I always tell her, “don’t call me a son. I’m a girl and let me be one. I am proud of it. So, please don’t snatch away my identity.”
I wish every girl thinks the same.
To all the women out there, feel proud to be a GIRL. Wear your womanliness as a badge of pride and then see the magic! Respect your womanhood and the world will do the same.
Title of this blog post is the biggest lesson life has taught me. In my previous post I wrote about my hardships and struggles. Those were the times when I learnt this.
When I was in pain and desperately searching for a way to end all that, my so-called well wishers persuaded me to get married. They said I was being tortured in my parent’s house, if I marry someone and go to my husband’s home then all the torture would end. I believed them and also agreed to get married in that naive age of 15!
It was a dicey situation. I was not sure whether my life would get better after marriage. What if my life worsens? What was I going to do then? Again, search for someone to rescue me? NO!
For a few days after that I started looking at my past and realized that I didn’t have anyone to even console me when I was dragged through the misery. I was all alone in my struggle. It made me think that if I had the strength to endure such a pain then I surely have it in me to fight against it and make my life better. When I questioned myself whether I need someone to remove me from that hell and my mind shouted back that I don’t need anyone in future as well. It’s my struggle and I was the only person who could help myself. Why should I wait for someone?
I made up my mind that I won’t entrust my future in someone else’s hand. I decided to write my own fate and destiny smiled at me.
There would be challenging situations in life. If we don’t have the faith and confidence in ourselves then we are sure to fall prey in the hands of circumstances. But before that we should have the will power to stand-up for ourselves. Only then we can find a way to cope with it.
Don’t let situations control you. Pave your own way and come out victoriously.
The lost soul 