I am one of the victims of a society which believes that caste holds primacy over personal individual choices.

I am always taken aback at parents’ disapproval of the person who their fully grown adult son or daughter has chosen to marry. Also here is a food for thought – does the couple really need their approval?

I belong to a middle-class family; my mother is a Catholic and father a Marwadi, yes theirs is a love marriage of 35 years. My family always wanted to give me a world-class education because of which I learned many things and one of them was my utter disbelief and intolerance to casteism. I soon discovered that love has no boundaries. I was madly, deeply and irretrievably in love with a Muslim boy. He was simple yet funny and also had the same mindset as mine in this regard. We dated for more than 10 years. We had many ups and downs, but we sailed through every time.

In 2016, after being together for so long, we decided to take this relationship to another level. We thought we should talk to our parents about this. I felt it was the right thing to do; we were perfect for each other in spite of our different religious upbringing – which by the way never concerned us at all.

Then came the time to talk to our parents about our decision to get married, but we knew beforehand that persuading them would be difficult. My parents, however, made that very clear that I was allowed to marry anyone but a Muslim. When I told them about my love, they got really angry and yelled at me and also started looking for a “suitable match”. As they were worried that I would run away with a Muslim man. I tried tirelessly to convince them, and after two years in 2018 they finally gave in and agreed to meet the boy and his family to discuss the marriage.

Our families met, and I was very elated that we made this happen. However, the boy’s mother’s behaviour was very cold, and it was obvious that she disapproved of the union. Eventually, after a week of the meeting, his mother came to meet my parents and denied any possibility of our marriage. On the top of that, she not only ended it but also humiliated me. Thus, it was all over.

All they had were these prejudices about me that ‘I am not a good person’, and I won’t keep her son happy, that only a Muslim girl is suitable for him and his family. The man I loved couldn’t muster up the courage to stand against his parents. I felt betrayed because I spent ten years of my life with him.

Now when I look back, I feel outraged, yet helpless at the sheer injustice that this situation was. There are so many couples who have to go through this agony and dilemma where they have to choose between their family and the person they love.

I feel helpless amidst all this. I want to know for how long will the love continue to be sacrificed on the altar of caste and religion? After almost 70 years of our independence, why are we still shackled by the demons of caste and religion? Should not we be allowed the freedom to choose our life partners? When will society take a step to wipe off these evils? The social evil of caste-based stigma has destroyed many lives in the name of honour and dignity. Their own family members have brutally murdered couples. Many times they are left with no choice but to commit suicide or elope.

Today, I am not the same person as I was a decade back. I am incapable of falling in love. I took resort to therapy, which has helped me a lot and fortunately, positive and loving people surround me because of which I am able to share my story with you all.

I want this message to spread to each and every parent in the world; your children don’t wish to go against you, they just want your support and understanding. They are adults and have the right to choose whomsoever they want to spend their life with. You should support and respect their choices.

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Placements play pivotal role in the last year of graduation for students, breeding a vast range of dreams and hopes. In the final year of graduation, every student starts gearing up for placements, full of dedication and hard work, because they truly believe it may change their life.

Moreover, they start dreaming how after getting placed, life will be settled, they will be independent and most importantly, their parents will be on cloud nine. This state of mind is quite prevalent for the students during placement time. In addition, the scenario near placements remains exciting. Trimmers are fully charged and all mirrors are occupied in the students’ room. Many are happy about this professional transformation.

However, some students also have a fear that if they don’t get placed, then their life can be devastating one after graduation. They usually deem placement as a gateway of opportunities as well as their fortune, which is partly erroneous perception, because there is a hidden story behind placements that happen in most colleges and universities.

The grim reality behind placements is that most colleges invite newly started companies by giving them money so that the reputation of the institution is maintained. Companies thus, during placements, usually take students in bulk. Thereafter, once students get their joining letter, they are often compelled to leave the company within a month because of an unanticipated and stressful working atmosphere as well as due to certain unexpected conditions.

For instance, one of my friends got placed in a company with a package of Rs. 3.2 lakh. However, when he started doing his job, he got a lesser salary as compared to his package; yet, he continued at the job. Soon, the company brought in a new policy that, as a bond, he would have to submit a cheque for Rs. 50,000 along with a one-month notice period extending to a three-month notice period, which is certainly unfair. Finally, the man, who was full of dreams and hopes, found himself broken and left the company.

Now, if we do a deeper analysis, then, what questions arise?

It must be noted that why should good companies come to colleges and universities when they already have so many graduates in a queue outside their gates? Yet, companies where there is no measurable stability and growth are almost always amongst those who arrive at placement sessions.

In colleges, placements are usually carried out by recommendations, and not enough on the basis of talent and knowledge. This is something I have witnessed. Because this is somewhat the ultimate truth, it is better to instill it in graduates. Often, those who do not get placed, find themselves in a state of depression and frustration, because they take placements as matter of prestige and self-satisfaction.

It is partly true, but what is way more important is to carry a positive attitude about your life and your abilities. After graduation, a graduate goes through many phases. Which is why I would like to say that every young graduate should have an utter conviction in his/her abilities because those abilities in the form of skills provide myriad opportunities to them, which result in permanent success for them. Never care about naysayers and others, what they say and think about you; always keep your parents in mind and convince them about what you are looking to do, because parental support acts as a backbone at this crucial time.

Nonetheless, if something is not working out then have patience and wait for the right time, because for a young graduate, there is a long journey which he/she has to cover. There are many friends of mine, who quit a job that was unfair to them and after a span of struggle, they are now settled and happy. Everyone finds success eventually, but one should always remain on the path of knowledge and learning.

I shared this experience because I have undergone through such phases and have inculcated that whatever is happening to you, whether good or bad, there is a big lesson behind it, all you have to do is try to decode that lesson.

Always be positive and trust your heart and soul, whatever your heart says to you, that will definitely happen in your life.

I believe these wonderful lines, “Manzil unhi ko milti hai, jinke sapno mein jaan hoti hai; pankh se kuchh nahin hota, hauslon se udaan hoti hai.”

Featured image for representative purpose only.
Featured image source: Shailesh Raval for India Today Group via Getty.

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I was looking for an NGO to take up a teaching internship. Youth Empowerment Foundation (YEF) looked perfect for this, so I applied for the same. I was asked to make a group of all the volunteers who applied for this project. Later, I realised that YEF doesn’t work in Mumbai. But I didn’t want to lose this opportunity at all so I took an initiative to begin ‘Hamari Pathshala’ in Mumbai.

Following this, I started looking for the members who would become a part of my team. Finally, I found around 20 odd people from Mumbai. Looking at all the effort I was putting in to make this great project take shape, I was made the ‘PROJECT COORDINATOR ‘ for the city of Mumbai. Responsibility definitely grew.

I knew a place in Vile Parle where we could set up our ‘PATHSHALA’, but the problem was that all the volunteers were from different areas of Mumbai. Some were ready to travel, some were not. After the struggle of 2-3 days, I managed to fill my team with 15 members. The process of planning started from the very first day itself. I had many ideas to give this project a kick start. Finally, a day before our very first event, I, along with an event coordinator went to inspect the place. The difficulty came when the park authorities were not ready to give us permission for carrying out this project at their place.

After trying for about an hour, I took the supervisor’s number, went back hoping for a positive response from their side. Finally, the access was granted on the cost of changing our timings from 12.00 pm to 10.00 am.

Then came one of the most important days i.e January 20 2019, first event of YEF in Mumbai. As a project coordinator, it’s very difficult and important at the same time to carry out the event successfully.

Due to a change in timings overnight, people in the slums weren’t ready to send their kids to us so early in the morning. We waited for about half an hour. Extremely disappointed, we went back to remind people to send their children, and assured them of their safety.

At last, we managed to bring five kids from that particular area that we tapped. Stepping back into the park, the scene that I saw cannot be expressed in words. Twenty kids from some unknown slum were already sitting there voluntarily. They were so excited to play with us. The smile that came on the face of each one of us was just worth watching. The session started with the introduction of the little kids followed by games like ‘7 claps’, ‘ice-water’, and ‘passing the passer’, filling every heart with happiness and excitement.

We concluded the very great event by distribution of chocolates and a cheerful farewell to the kids, promising to see them next week with some nice activities. It was a remarkable day indeed.

Cheers to YEF!

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I think this sounds funny and ridiculous to many of you right now. But this is a serious issue that hasn’t been given even a little importance. Because, I get it. I get that there are a number of other serious issues that needed to be prioritized with emergency. If you may wonder how a student can bully their lecturer, let me take you back to my college days. I have seen and been in situations where a few students in my class disrespected our lecturers by giving them fitting replies when they tried interacting with us.

I have also seen a few students passing livid comments on the appearance, color, size, shape and capabilities of our lecturers. We all did that at some point, right? But in those days it was fun to us because we as teenagers were never in a situation to understand the other person’s pain. And there was I, who used to wonder in the class while these situations were happening on how bad my lecturers might have felt. And now, I understand how rude that was, having faced it myself.

The education systems in our country have totally become commercial. The entire educational sector, especially the engineering and medical colleges, are only concerned about their money and reputation. I seriously don’t see any one such educational system that really bothers about the society at all.

Of course yes, in colleges we do have ethics, gender sensitization and personality development classes as preferred by the AICTE. But, to students these classes are just rubbish and not worthy. Our country has always been favorable and protective towards the students. Protecting them against bullying by fellow students through providing anti-ragging laws, anti-bullying laws and laws against lecturers bullying students. Seriously? Well, I am not looking away upon the real problems some students faced from their respective lecturers.

I’ve seen many a times in news about such issues and believed it to be true. When those issues were real, why can’t this student-bullying-lecturer issue be real? Why can’t this be taken into consideration as well? No. Because you are too busy in solving students’ issues as they pay you. And you pay us, so we don’t have a right to complain against any of your payers. I know, right?

In colleges and schools there will be a very uncomfortable treatment for the lecturers or teachers from the management. One complaint against the lecturer, and they are kicked out even without being asked for an explanation. Because they think that the lecturers are just their slaves who work for money.

No. A lecturer or a teacher works for the society. We intend sending a person into the outside world. A person who can be a change, an example or an inspiration to thousands out there. A student can grow up to be a person only when they have some moral values incorporated into their mindset. But no. That is not happening. Now let me explain why and how.

First of all, these days, 80% of the youth are targeted towards earning money. That’s it. And for that, they need a job for which they just need a degree. So, they come with an agenda to get a certificate that shows their qualification. And there are these 20% students who sincerely wish to achieve something and be a person in a society on which they can have an impact. So, this is not about those 20%.

The other 80% students attend the classes just for attendance, and avoid paying a condonation fee, to not get caught outside the classroom to be punished and to not have any trouble from the management and their parents. They are not interested about what’s happening on the blackboard. Here, the real problem starts.

They don’t even want to keep quiet; they start distracting others, making noise, eventually disturbing the other sincere students. And when we try to act upon their behavior, they start revolting against us with arrogant answers, taunts, sleazy comments and sometimes threaten us. And, this is what I call students bullying lecturers. They don’t even have the common sense that a person older in age and experience should be respected, no matter what.

Though we are standing in front of them, they behave like there’s no on in the classroom. Here, the problem is teenage. I get it. Yes, some, sorry, many assholes can’t handle their teenage. Sorry for the language, but this is a deep pain which you all look away from. The college management is the one that needs to be blamed for all this.

Had it been given some respect and priority to the lecturers over the student, this situation wouldn’t have been like this. You disrespected and degraded us in front of the students and now they took it for granted and don’t even respect us. It isn’t too late, though. At least, private educational systems should impose stringent punishments for the students who disrespect, dishonor and misbehave with a lecturer. Then trust me, all the other goats will come in line.

Featured image for representative purpose only.
Featured image source: Twentyfour Students/Flickr; Pixabay.com.

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By Chinmayee:

To escape the whole ladki dikhana (introducing potential bride) routine, *Chandrika, who works for an FMCG company in Ahmedabad, decided to put her own matrimonial ad in the local newspaper.

“Independent, working girl looking for a partner; caste/community no bar, men believing in an equal relationship with trust and love need reply”. Did Chandrika find her soulmate?

All Good Things

As I was packing my bags to leave Mumbai for good, a strong nostalgia engulfed me. The city was my home for five years. I thought of all the things I will miss about Mumbai – time with friends, the endless trips in the Mumbai local, the Ganesh visarjan and the pav bhaji at Chaupati.

I wondered if my life in Delhi would be the same with Mumma and Papa. Their only aim was to find a suitable match for me, but I wanted a good job, and maybe a boyfriend too? But Mumma said I need to lose weight as men don’t fall for girls who are overweight.

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By Shruthi Dhyayapullay

Encountering Awe-Inspiring Women

Passing through the lush greenery, we have reached the skill training centre in Chittaura block in Bahraich district (U.P.). After attending the orientation program conducted by NRLM, my friend and I went to a nearby village for fieldwork. Tajkhudai village has a significant and equal population of both Hindus and Muslims living in their respective mohallas near to each other. As the road was blocked due to the Eid procession, we had to take a detour – which meant passing through the heart of the Muslim based community. The news flashed in my mind which I heard three days back: a communal riot had happened in another village, Khaira bazaar when Hindus had Chatt pooja ceremonies. Our driver was driving so carefully through the roads, being mindful of the domestic goats seated in the middle of the path. Even a slight disturbance and we could be in trouble. I could feel the communal tension as we were driving through the narrow lanes.

We reached the house where all the women were supposed to gather and have a meeting. The meeting went on for three hours and the work done by ICRP women was outstanding. The women who have risen from ashes were standing there and raising their voices against oppression and patriarchy, which was awe-inspiring. They were tremendously courageous in bringing women from the village together and empowering them. There were a couple of women who were pulled out of the meeting by their family members. All the while, the Eid procession with huge celebrations was going on intermittently.

After the skill training got completed, I was saying my goodbyes to all of them. A woman came out of the crowd. I said namaste, and as she was approaching me, she was trying to touch my hands but was reluctant. So, I slowly moved towards her. She softly said, “Aap madam bade sheher se ho. Mein gobar ka kaamkarti hu toh mein aapko choo nahi sakti… ( You madam have come from a big city. I work with cow-dung, so I cannot touch you…).”

And she backed away. I stood there frozen.

The people I was working with were calling out my name asking me to get into the jeep. I had to turn towards the vehicle, and when I looked back hoping to see her, she was not there.

“How am I any different from her?”, My conscience said.

“Is it just sheer luck that I am born with all the prerogatives, and she is not. How can one’s life get decided based on luck? How unfair is that? And I quibble sitting here in the mid of all my privilege that life is unfair.” Tears rolled down my cheeks.

The helplessness I have seen in her eyes still haunts me. I wish I could hug her. I wish I could tell her that we both are no different.

Understanding The Real Joy Of Being Together

Exhausted by my travel, I entered a house where I was supposed to stay. It had two tiny dimly- lit rooms. There were 10 people living under one roof. I felt apprehensive. In the back of my mind, I decided that I am gonna book a hotel room and leave by the night.

Sunita Yadav, whom we were working with in Bahraich is a woman of zeal, dedicates herself entirely for her social work on various issues along with having her own NGO. She has an inspiring life story of courage and determination. She has adopted five kids and has two kids of her own.

The whole bunch of kids in the house ran to me as I entered the room, randomly wishing me for my birthday with super glee on their faces. I felt so happy. I thought I would stay for the night and would leave the next morning.

The youngest kid of the lot, Ruhi, 21 months old is showered with enormous love and pampered by everyone. Her mother Renu, 25, lives in the home as well. One of the children Munni, pursuing her graduation wants to become an IAS officer and another kid Mouni, studying in 6th class wants to become a doctor. Their dreams are as big as their hearts.

It was lunchtime, and the movie ‘Mohabbatein’ was airing on TV. As Renu was feeding me morsels of food, we made every satirical joke possible whenever a romantic scene came up. Then, we all slept together in a line watching a horror show. Munni used to take care of my food timings and oil my hair saying, “You don’t take care of yourself at all didi. Let me do it.” The care and affection among these kids for each other is heartwarming. They as a family stand by each other, make sacrifices for each other despite all the adversities they have. As I lean back on the wall and watch this family sharing pure laughter and happiness, it made me realise what Love is and how Inseparable it is. It took just a split second to capture the frame of this scene which has etched in my heart as a beautiful painting. I felt content with a wide smile on my face. It was a perfect ending for my birthday. I felt home.

Next three days were the most unforgettable days of my life. Every day we had meals together watching every possible saas-bahu serial and make fun of it. We watched a bunch of flop movies together; we played games together. Every night we slept together, and I hadn’t had such peaceful sleep in a very long time. There was a small pooja room where we used to light a diya in the evening.

The other day after completion of my work, Renu and I went out. After a long walk, we got into an open rickshaw, and as we were passing by a stall, Renu blurted, “Wait up here, I would bring Makai ke lava for you to eat, you will like it.” I did not know what it is so I said not to bring. The rickshaw driver voiced, “Madam, zindagi bas ek hi baar milti hain.. kha lijiye.” (Madam, we live only once, have it.)

Though it was a pretty cheesy line, it brought a smile on my face, and I told her to bring it. And indeed, they were really delicious.

The happiness on the kids’ faces when I got home bringing gifts for them was priceless; three days were over just like that. Living with these lovely people became a memorable experience of my lifetime. As I was leaving home thanking everyone, Munni hugged me and softly said, “Di, stop saying thank you so often. You are a part of our family now.”

These kids taught me: Happiness is in unconditional love. Joy is in being together. I feel rich leaving their home with all their sheer unconditional love. I feel richer being a part of their family. It was an absolute joy watching them and most importantly, living with them.

So here it is, I take pride in saying this is my clan, my beautiful clan!

About the Author:

 Shruthi is a student of 2^nd batch of PGP in Development Leadership at ISDM

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I was just 16 years old when I was molested. And it happened only a few meters away from my home. It was the eighth day of ‘Navratri’, and I was returning home after playing dandiya in the neighborhood. The road leading to my home was poorly lit, isolated and looked scary. I was walking alone, I was relieved when I saw a familiar face; a person I used to call ‘Bhaiyya’(brother).

He said that he’ll walk me up to my home and I was more than happy, as I was scared to walk alone. We were about to reach my home when I suddenly felt a forced touch. He started grabbing me which made me really uncomfortable. I pleaded him to stop, but he started forcing himself on me. I could see my home which was so close, yet I didn’t shout, fearing what ‘Bhaiyya’ might do with me. Somehow I gathered the courage and escaped. I ran as fast as I could, without looking back. I reached home and went straight to my room and locked the door. I was shaking thinking about what had just happened.

I was too innocent to understand at that time, that what I went through was not my fault. It is now that I realize, what I went through was sexual assault. I was lucky enough to escape but many children are not. Our televisions, newspapers and mobile phones are deluged with news of children getting sexually assaulted, raped and killed. India’s children are living under constant threat. It breaks my heart to write that they are not safe outside, and sometimes not safe even at home.

I could save myself in that situation, but take a moment and think about children who can’t speak, who don’t even understand what’s happening to them and who are not able to save themselves. There are high chances that a child might be going through such a situation as you’re reading this.

It is very difficult for children to lead a normal life after facing sexual assault. I still remember every detail of that horrifying night, and how I went into isolation after that. I stopped going out after dark. I can only imagine what young survivors and innocent children go through after sexual assault.
Survivors often choose to not report such crimes. There is a social stigma associated with it along with the question, “Why were you silent then?” I wish there were answers to such questions.

Even if children and other survivors choose to report such crimes, the entire court procedure is so lengthy and tedious that they lose all hope halfway through the trial. If a charge sheet does get filed, it takes years for the judgment to be pronounced and the perpetrators to be put behind the bars.

At an age, when they should be in schools, children are forced to stand in a witness box. Children are bound to get justice at the cost of their childhood.“Court Kachehri Ka Chakkar (Who wants to deal with courts)”, this phrase itself highlights why parents choose to stay silent after the crime. This encourages the perpetrator to attack another child. It is unfortunate when instead of going to school, the children have to go to the court The justice should be swiftly delivered to them. Our legal system should be fast enough to take actions against such perpetrators. There should be a sufficient number of fast track courts in all the states to handle cases under The Protection of Children from Sexual Offences Act (POCSO Act) 2012.

I strongly believe that “Justice Delayed Is Justice Denied”.

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I have this very annoying habit—I keep holding on to those people who leave me scarred and bruised. My birthday is the perfect day to revisit my failure pasts. I kept hoping that he might call me this time and wish me. I always knew somewhere in my mind that I would act strong and would not give him the slightest hint of my shattered heart. I would make small talk with him. After all, I was the one who needed to move on. It was not an easy life.

I was all over him when we were in college. I gravitated towards, him but our relationship never graduated from friendship. He was always my only distraction. In our ‘golden days’, we argued, fought, sang, laughed, and kissed. Later, I came to know how much he hated me for kissing him.

After a span of four years, our arguments turned into agreements, fights into understandings, song into poems, laughter into tears, and kissing into nothing (I wish I could say it turned into something else). Even after he got married, he wished me on my birthday. He talked to me in the familiar way he used to.

I wanted to move on from this mundane life of mine. So, in the last three years, I stopped wishing him on his birthday. But he earnestly kept discharging his duty on mine.

I kept it to myself that I want to end this relationship. Once, I thought that I would never let go of this person. But circumstances shaped our lives.

This birthday, he did not call me to wish me. No more birthday message from him. I don’t know what to make of this. I think he is safe and happy. Maybe he is looking after his new born baby. Maybe he has forgotten me. Maybe he is caught up in work. It still bothers me.

This is what I wanted for last three years. Or may be not.

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I am very simple human being and aspire to do something big in my life.

I have my own philosophy—”Hame jindagi ek baar milti hai, hame kuch aisa karna chahiye ki log hamesha yaad rakhe (We get only one life, we should do something path-breaking and unprecedented so that people remember us)”.

Furthermore, I believe that humans can do anything. Nothing is a pipe-dream, because everything is possible if you work hard. Trust me, I don’t believe in ‘soft work’!

No one in my family has any professional degree or is working in any company. Therefore, for me, everything was new. I never cared about people laughing at me. Rather, I learnt from my experience, so that future generations don’t have to face what I did. I believe in a process of observing and learning, rather than cursing fate.

All my friends have wealthy backgrounds and don’t lack resources. When I used to tell them what I wanted to do, they sometimes used to ignore me—they all used to think of me as boring, as someone talking non-sense. They also, somewhere, doubted my caliber and potential. Sometimes, they thought I’d gone mad!

At that age where youngsters talk about girlfriends and boyfriends, I used to talk about serious issues. I had no interest in the words “girlfriend” and “boyfriend”. I think, as a result, I became very sensible and matured on account of the responsibilities and experiences life gave me. I had a dream for my family and parents. I wanted to make my family financially stable, rather than crave for something else.

Whenever you do something creative, people laugh at you and mock you. When you try to improve yourself, others may have disdain for you. Today, I am the only graduate in my family, doing my Master’s degree. Furthermore, I have already published eight papers, made machines for companies, worked four good jobs, qualified IELTS exam, and got accepted to Germany with 100% scholarship. Currently, I’m running my own news portal. In addition to all this, I have a dream of becoming an entrepreneur. I have already started working on my idea, and, hopefully, in the next couple of years, I will execute it.

I don’t care about people whether they praise me or not. I am just moving at my pace and upgrading myself day by day. I could have told you about my struggles and problems, but I feel that everyone faces same problems when they want to achieve something.

I learnt that one should keep telling themselves one thing: “I WILL NEVER GIVE UP.” Always say to yourself: “NEVER GIVE UP”

I promise that these words will change the course of your life.

Featured Image source: Getty Images.

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There exists a comfortable, hence entertaining distance from appalling stories of violence that stay restricted comfortably to newspaper pages, Bollywood movies and inherited anecdotes. Similarly, sites of violence remain at pointing distance, we drive past them, marvel or shudder at them, sometimes even make videos of them for recreational purposes.

A friend of mine was recently beaten up by a group of men on a busy road in Gurgaon. He sustained serious injuries but is thankfully recovering. However, the impudence, inhumanity and violence of those men shocked me and it enrages me that they got away.

We have no leads on those guys but I have chosen to write this article because nobody should get away with putting rod to face for fun, because it was only when I heard about this incident that I began to realise how real, unfair and anarchic violence is and how impudently it can be used to harm someone with no fault of their own, because even though its a fairly long shot, I’m hoping that by writing about this, we can track these men down and bring my friend to justice.

This is what happened:

Around 9:30 p.m. on February 6, my friend was stuck in traffic near the Ambience Mall, Gurgaon and a Xylo stacked right behind him kept honking at him even though the traffic was at an impasse. When eventually the traffic began to open and the Xylo came to stand right next to my friend’s own Ecosport, he rolled down his window and asked the guy sitting in the car why he had been honking when the traffic was barely moving.

A short, harmless remark and 4-5 guys (they were bulky and we think they belonged to a gang) sitting inside began to unload from the car, carrying rods and started beating the car with the them. At some point, when it wasn’t viable to even sit inside, my friend, who was in the car with his uncle got out and these men, drunk and brazen, began to beat him after snatching his phone from him.

He was bleeding from the head while these guys proceeded to brandish guns and pointed them at him. My friend’s uncle tried to call the police, but they didn’t pick up. He begged the men to not beat him, to not harm him but they persisted in their assault, glad to have my friend outnumbered and hurt. These men were of the mind to abduct him and they tried to force him to sit in their car. He somehow managed to break free of them and ran away from them in one direction, while his uncle ran in the other.

My friend was single-mindedly focused on reaching his mother, so he tried to borrow a phone from someone. When a man agreed, even as he could see my friend’s face botched in blood, offhandedly told him his phone was running low on battery and he should hurry up. Thankfully, he was able to reach her.

Afterwards, he went back to the car, fearing for his uncle, who he thought had been abducted by the men when he couldn’t find him in the car and the Xylo had vanished. Thankfully, his uncle had screamed, “police aagayi,” (the police is here) and those men, fearing, had driven away. My friend then drove to the Army hospital himself, with no response from the police, no help from any bystander and open wounds.

He is recovering now, but the shock and anger is fresh, the imagination at a loss and the mind boggles at the complete absence of the heart. Those men, big, untamed and clearly unwilling to stop at anything, thought it was completely within reason to beat a man who was unarmed, outnumbered and with no fault of his own.

Their insolent confidence to beat a man up at peak traffic hour on a busy road led me to wonder how many similar assaults they might have mindlessly perpetrated before and without repercussions, and how many more they are still at large to carry out. Nobody interfered, nobody helped, not the bystanders, not the police.

The police called my friend’s uncle back four hours after. My friend survived it, and it is sad that I find it a coincidence that he did, seeing that the events could have stacked up in so many worse, horrifying and unlucky combinations.

Violence and assault is bigger than the simple act of it, involving so much trauma, fear and mental onslaught that the individual who is unjustly subject to it grapples with. The saying befittingly goes, the axe forgets but the tree remembers. If it takes so little, a harmless remark to trigger some men to such a horrifying show of intimidation, how real are the protections and freedoms the state entitles us to, how real is our personal compassion and empathy, when the police proves to be an absentee bystander and the bystander proves to be viscerally and morally absent?

I imagine something similar happening to me and I imagine faith leaving me with every blow of the rod and with the indifference set in all the eyes that watch me but stay unwilling to help me. It could so easily be any of us.

I think about myself sitting in the back of my parents’ car, passing by an instance of violence or assault, remarking at it but never even fully registering it, god forbid it moves me. But I don’t want to grow up to be so thoroughly numb to what happens on the receiving end of violence because it means I pay a price and barter away my humanity every time I pass violence by.

I don’t want those men to think that they are safe and right in what they did, that they can round up anyone on the road, beat him up and make a spectacle of their anarchy because they take the indifference of the bystander and the inefficiency and evasion of the police for granted.

Their estimations were not wrong, but they don’t have to be right yet. If there is anyway to reach these men, if anyone knows who they are, please reach out here: callforhelp19@gmail.com.

Featured image for representative purpose only.
Featured image source: Burhaan Kinu for HT via Getty.

The post My Friend Was Beaten With Rods While Bystanders Stood And Watched appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

I too believed in the statement my mother often said to me, that school was my second home, a place I was safe. Until it became a source of trauma and pain for me.

Born in an upper middle-class family, I had the privilege of attending a well-known school. I was admitted in kindergarten and stayed up to class 8th, after which I changed my school and joined a nearby one, which was affiliated to a central university. Like every student, I got my share of school life. Each school offered me a different life, one was traumatizing to the extent that it took a toll on my mental health, and other was healing to some extent.

I vividly remember my first day at kindergarten, all dressed up in yellow and blue with my hair tied into tiny ponies, my dad holding my finger and walking me to the class, unaware of what was to come in the following years. From the very beginning, I was the chubby kid and as years advanced, I became chubbier and ended up being the chubbiest in my class. I had not the slightest idea in my mind that my physical appearance would give others a reason to seclude me. I thought I was the same, just like everyone else, but others didn’t. They saw me as someone out of the ordinary, deviant from normal and strange. I suppose I didn’t occur to them as a human.

I remember not being invited to birthdays and being intentionally ignored for I was different. Sometimes people used to come up with weird questions, to which the 10-year-old me had no answers to. At times I couldn’t even comprehend their questions and would just leave with my head buried in my chest in embarrassment. Waking up at six in the morning was not as difficult for me as walking the corridors of my school in recess all alone. Most of the days, going to school seemed no less than a war, where I was killed, every day.

The 10-year-old me knew no ways to cope with loneliness and this had a profound impact on me. I was convinced that I was not good enough and I could never be. I became uncertain of myself as the world around taught me that I was dispensable. These convictions led to the devastation of my mental health. My self-confidence, self-esteem and concept of self fell apart right in front of me and I could do nothing, I was too naive to even comprehend what was happening. I let loneliness destroy me. My mental health was left in shambles. I left the school after some years, but the memories continued to haunt me for another five years, sucking out all that was left in me.

Years later, when things started to make sense, I realised what had happened and how it had impacted me and then began the process of healing myself. It took another year and a lot of hard work to build myself all over again but it was worth it.

The reason why I am writing this is not to let the world know of my grief, but to spread awareness about something that remains hidden until one becomes a victim. I was subjected to seclusion because I was not like others, I was different. The cellulite on my body became a reason for others to seclude me and drive me into isolation and loneliness. I became a victim of body shaming. Incidents of body shaming occur due to lack of acceptance. We are not ready to accept what is different from us.

The concept of out-group in psychology perfectly elucidates what happens. According to this concept, we perceive members of other groups (of which we are not a part) as possessing undesirable traits. The fat on my body made me appear different and allowed people to consider me a member of an outgroup, therefore treating me accordingly. Different is considered alien in our society. We’ve set our rigid definitions for everything and face a very hard time in accepting those who fall out of these set boundaries. This is where issues like body shaming stem from. When we broaden our definitions and blur the set boundaries, such issues will begin to diminish. Following are some of the ways through which this can be achieved:

Parents:

The role of parents is of utmost importance when it comes to personality development of a child. Parents can from the very beginning teach their children the meaning of difference and importance of acceptance. Redefine some words if you have to. There will be no need to blur any boundaries if there ain’t any.

Let your child know that you are always there for them so if tomorrow anything arises they can always talk about it without any hesitation. If your child complains about anything that seems to be disturbing him/her, take immediate action. Report to the school authorities if needed.

School Authorities:

School is another place where kids spend most of their time after home. It plays a significant role in their personality development. Schools can tackle this problem by organising what I call ‘acceptance classes’ where students can be taught about the existing human diversities and the need for acceptance.

Schools can also organise various programs for parents.

Another important thing is the availability of counsellors in schools. Counsellors should be appointed so that students can talk about any issue they come across within school or anywhere. A small students’ committee can also be made to discuss their problem if they are unable to do so with teachers. This committee can further report the matter to teachers. If any complaint is received, schools should take immediate action.

Another important thing that I want people to know about is my healing process. My mental health was left in shambles, and I had to undertake several measures to build myself again. These will turn out to be of help for those suffering from similar issues.

First, try to understand what is happening with you, try to figure out things. Observe yourself and make note of things you have to work on. In my case, it was low self-confidence and distorted self-concept.

Visit a mental health professional. Do not hesitate in doing so, you visit doctors when you’re physically ill then why compromise with your mental health? It’s of equal importance.

Try to explore yourself beyond the definitions of people. I tried understanding myself completely. As in, my likes my dislikes, my opinions and my hobbies. This helped me in restoring the concept of self.

Note down your achievements on a piece of paper and stick it somewhere in your room from where you can have a good look of it every day.

This one is of utmost importance, accept yourself for who you are. You are much more than what people say or think about you. Only you know what you are. Cherish your differences and celebrate your individuality.

Practice acceptance for yourself and for others as well.

Read self-help books and try to practice them in real life. I read a lot of self-help books and underlined all that I found useful for myself. I witnessed significant changes in my life when I began practising all that I had learned from the books.

Set small goals for yourself and try to achieve them, helps in building self-confidence.

Work on yourself if you feel the need to do so, you are no less but there’s always room for improvement. Why not make most of ourselves?

No child will be afraid of being fat or different in any way if we achieve acceptance for all and begin celebrating differences instead of criticizing them.

The post The Cellulite On My Body Became A Reason For Others To Drive Me Into Isolation appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

My two-month long summer vacations of school were usually spent at my relatives’ place. They looked forward to seeing us, to know everything about what was happening in Delhi and also to know if I enjoyed my school life.

It was during one of these visits that my uncle once said, “Beta tum English-Medium school mei padhti ho, achchi kismat hai tumhari. Mujhe dekho. Mujhe kabhi English achche se seekhne ka mauka nahi mila. Meri zindagi waste hai.” (You are fortunate to study in an English medium school. Look at me, I never got an opportunity to learn English properly. My life is a waste). After a pause he slowly added, in English, “I am a big loser.”

I was completely shocked to hear this from him. It was true that my uncle did not have an amazing command over English vocabulary or grammar. It was also true that he couldn’t speak English fluently. But he did understand the language. The idea of calling oneself a loser because of the lack of command over a language itself sounded preposterous to me.

English had been a part of my life right from my childhood. The Catholic school which I studied in, gave a lot of importance to the language. In fact there was a rule made by our class teacher that everybody was supposed to speak in English and a fine of ₹5 on uttering a Hindi word was also imposed because of which we spoke in English. (This rule was short lived though because the teacher also uttered Hindi words out of habit sometimes.) Thus, it was natural that I never held English in very high esteem and nobody around me felt privileged to know the language because it was a part of our lives.

However, two years back I did encounter such a situation. It was the first year of my college and I met a girl (she eventually became my friend) who held English in high regard and her opinion about herself was similar to that of my uncle. The girl had wonderful command over Hindi and wrote beautiful stories and articles in this language. She had a good grasp on English, (but never accepted it) but the inability to speak it fluently made her feel left out in college.

She was completely awed by the way everyone else interacted with each other in English and aspired to talk just like them. She shied away from speaking in front of the class because of course the medium of communication used was English, mostly. Our professors gave us the option of expressing our thoughts in any language. But then my friend would argue that if she was the only Hindi speaker, she would become the subject of mockery.

Seeing her develop an inferiority complex over three years, I have realised that people gave a lot more importance to English than was actually needed. It was not only my uncle or my friend who felt this way, most of the people in almost every corner of this country feel the same way about this particular language.

In fact, I realise that this attitude exists all around me but it was I who never really paid attention to this. Now when I think of it, I remember overhearing conversations where young people mock others who wrote captions in English which were full of grammatical errors.

It is interesting to see that while some students don’t openly say that they are not comfortable with English, there are others who confidently avow that they can’t speak Hindi fluently. They prefer to use English even when they are asked to write in Hindi. Who is to blame here? The students? Or the loopholes in the education system which gave rise to such a scenario? Hindi medium schools do exist in our country, but the fact that best universities in India English medium is certainly one of the many reasons which gave birth to such a scenario.

Harshita Upadhyay, a third-year graduation student at IP College for Women says, “Some of the students might be more comfortable using Hindi as a medium of communication, but I don’t think that they will ever say it openly because of the fear of getting judged. By listening to other students around them speak fluently in English, they develop a kind of inferiority complex.”  This is true in the case of my friend.

Bollywood movies, such as Hindi Medium which revolves around parents who want to send their child to the best English medium school and English Vinglish which captures the journey of a housewife who tries to learn English to earn respect from her family also clearly depicts people’s obsession with this language.

Preetika Verma, a third-year student at Indira Gandhi Delhi Technical University for Women (IGDTUW) views this issue with a different perspective. She says, “It is up to the student to consider this as an asset or a liability. After all knowledge of English is not everything. The ability of being able to express yourself and communicate your thoughts clearly in any language is what matters the most.”

If we think about this, we see that Preetika does have a point here. We have several examples where people who did not use English as their medium of communication earned a lot of respect. The best example which comes to my mind is that of Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the first Indian Prime Minister to speak in Hindi at the United Nations.

I would like to tell my unconvinced friends and others that English is just a language. It is not a means of earning respect or of portraying yourself as an intellectual being. The most important thing is not the knowledge of the language but the confidence you have in yourself.

Understanding that confidence is the key. The key to all your problems and worries. The key to empowering yourselves.

Featured image provided by author.

The post In A Country Full Of Vernacular Languages, I Think Our Obsession With English Is Outdated appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

यूं तो बचपन से ही रेडियो घर में था लेकिन रेडियो से दोस्ती उस वक्त हुई जब सिविल सर्विसेज़ की तैयारी में रात भर पढ़ना होता था। अपनी ही मेहनत के पैसों से एक प्यारा सा रेडियो खरीदकर लाई थी जो सिर्फ मेरा था। मेरी टेबल का एक कोना ही उसका आशियाना बना।

रात भर कभी किताबों से तो कभी रेडियो से बातें होती थीं। कुछ गीत जो दिल में बस गए एक प्रेरक गीत की तरह जिनकी पंक्तियां हौसला बढ़ाने का काम करती थीं।

हर उस वक्त में जब अभावों में संघर्ष करना पड़ता, ज़िन्दगी एक सफर है सुहाना… चांद तारों से चलना है आगे और ज़िन्दगी का सफर है ये कैसा सफर……यह दोनों ही गीत मन के अनसुलझे सवाल और जवाब बनकर बजते रहते थे।

शादी को लेकर तमाम दबावों के चलते सिविल सर्विसेज़ की तैयारी तो सिसकियां लेने लगीं लेकिन किताबों और रेडियो से इश्क हो चुका था। तमाम ज़िम्मेदारियों में किताबों से भी दूरियां हुईं लेकिन रेडियो ने मेरी मोहब्बत को दिल की गहराइयों से स्वीकार लिया था तभी तो ससुराल, रसोई, घर, बाहर और गाड़ी हर जगह रेडियो मिलता गया मुझे और कहता कि तेरा मेरा प्यार अमर फिर क्यों तुझको लगता है डर ……

एक दिन ऐसा भी आ गया जब रेडियो और मेरे प्यार को स्वीकृति मिल गई और मुझे रेडियो एंकर के रूप में चुन लिया गया। अब रेडियो और मैं एक दूसरे की आवाज़ बनकर साथ गुनगुनाने लगे थे। हमारे प्यार का एक नया सफर शुरू हुआ जिसमें ज़िन्दगी में तमाम नए रिश्ते जुड़ते गए और इन्हीं रिश्तों के ताने बाने में एहसासों के सफर पर चलते-चलते मन में पूरी दुनिया ही बसा ली।

इस खूबसूरत दुनियां में बहुत कुछ सीखा जो जीवन जीने के लिए ज़रूरी होता है और रेडियो से मेरा रिश्ता गहराता ही चला जा रहा है। आकाशवाणी के स्टूडियो से गहन होता रिश्ता कई मायनों में खास है क्योंकि इन्हीं दीवारों और साउंडप्रूफ कमरों में रहकर सीखा कि मन के भीतर की सिसकियों को बाहर मत जाने देना, बाहर सिर्फ चटख, चहकती और सुरीली आवाज़ें ही छनकर जा सकती हैं क्योंकि यहां आवाज़ के जादूगरों का बसेरा है।

यहीं पर सीखा एक बंद कमरे में खुद से बातें करना, खुद को खुद की पसंद का गीत सुनाना और अपने ख्वाबों में अनदेखे अनजाने तमाम दोस्तों को हर बार एक काल्पनिक सफर पर ले जाना। अनदेखे अनजाने दोस्तों के दिलों में खास जगह बनाना और उनका प्यार पाना। सिर्फ आवाज़ों और गीतों के सहारे तमाम लोगों से जुड़ जाना।

यह सब किताबी बातों सा लगता है लेकिन सच कहूं तो स्टूडियो के बंद कमरों में स्क्रिप्ट और माइक वाली यह काल्पनिक दुनिया ही कब वास्तविक होती जाती है पता नहीं चल पाता।

अनदेखे-अनजाने लोगों का हमसे जुड़ना और हमारा उनसे, साथ में उनके पत्रों का आना-जाना, पत्रों में फरमाइश, शिकायत, रूठना और  हमारे द्वारा उनकी फरमाइश के गीत बजाकर उन्हें मनाना। ऐसा निःस्वार्थ ताना-बाना जो सिसकती आवाज़ों को खनकती आवाज़ में तब्दील कर दे कोई और है क्या?????

कोई और है जो करे बचपन की ठिठोली बाल जगत में, महिलाओं को गृहलक्ष्मी का गुण बतलाए, युवाओं को राह दिखाती युववाणी, श्रम की परिभाषा श्रमिक जगत में, गाँवो की चर्चा हो खेती किसानी लोकयन में और वृद्धजनों की बात जहां हो कल्पतरु की छाया सी।

यही तो है आकाशवाणी, यही तो है मेरी रेडियो ज़िन्दगी और मेरा सूफियाना सा सच्चा इश्क। वेलेंटाइन सप्ताह के आखिरी पड़ाव यानि प्रेम दिवस पर सब लोग मेरे लिए दुआ करना कि मेरा यह इश्क बरकरार रहे और हर किसी को मेरे इश्क की रुमानियत महसूस हो, जब तक रहूं रेडियो और मैं एक दूसरे की धड़कन बनकर। धड़कते रहें करोड़ों दिलों में इश्क की आवाज़ बनकर।

विश्व रेडियो दिवस की असंख्य शुभकामनाओं के साथ आपकी दोस्त

शालिनी सिंह, एंकर (आकाशवाणी लखनऊ)

The post विश्व रेडियो दिवस पर जानिए रेडियो से मेरी मोहब्बत की कहानी appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

[Disclaimer: the views expressed in this piece are purely personal. If you disagree, what are you doing here? Go fight a war or something. The Army needs you.]

To all of you snowflakes who don’t know what it is like to be in the real world, let me set the scene: it is a cold December morning. Fog is tightly wrapped around the city, shrouding everything. The birds are yet to wake up. The only people out there are your colony’s security guards, nearing the end of their duty, huddled up near the fire. If you can withstand the cold, winter is the best season to be a security guard, because no criminal wants to die of hypothermia. The sun is yet to rise and everyone and their mothers are inside their blankets, the idea of waking up impossible.

Wordsworth called it “the beauty of morning: silent, bare […].”

You call it “God damn it, time to get on the Metro.”

I would like to suggest all of you ignorant, fickle, vile atheists to travel long distances to get to college. You’ll start believing in God, for the things you have to deal with on a daily basis on the commute require some belief in the existence of a higher being who’s looking after you and will make everything alright.

This is not how life is supposed to be. The higher being has bigger things in store for you. That’s why you suffer. As is written in Isaiah 43:2, when you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.

As it turns out, there is a God. Because, when was the last time the Bible was wrong?

Personally, I see God in the king-sized bed that I come home to every night. Johnny Cash was once asked about his idea of paradise. “This morning, with her, having coffee,” he replied. That’s what getting on that bed every night feels like. Paradise.

Shah Jahan, for all his good qualities, didn’t have to travel on the metro for two and a half hours a day. That’s how he ended up being wrong about Kashmir being paradise on earth.

Earlier, when I used to live nearby, my attendance used to be spotty at best. I used to sleep in, and sometimes I’d skip classes to go watch movies. I was still afloat, but barely. In other words, I used to have a life. And then I moved far. Time, it seemed, came to a halt.

We’re humans. Our time on earth is limited. With us, time itself does not progress. Instead, it revolves. (That’s Oscar Wilde. Go read a book.)

Humanity is burdened with the unbearable weight of the passage of time. And nobody knows that better than a student who travels long distances to college. It costs me ₹60 and two hours each way to commute to and from the university.

Now, on days I attend university, I do not miss a class. I hereby issue a challenge to the Jamia authorities: schedule a class at 9:30 p.m. I dare you. I will attend the living hell out of it. I will attend it like my life depends on it. More often than not, it does.

And, God bless you if you have friends. And no, the Delhi Metro doesn’t count as a friend. Don’t @ me.

When you traverse the breadth of the land to reach your college, all you want to do is attend classes and rush back home. You practically become God’s lonely man. You meet your friends during class and for a while afterwards, and that’s it. You can’t catch evening shows, because that means reaching home at midnight. You can’t eat out with them, because that means getting late.

Since the moment I moved out, I laugh at anyone who lives near their college and tells me they’re tired if I want them to meet me somewhere else or come to my house one day. Sure, snowflake. You’re precious. Are your feet dirty after walking those 10 steps?

To those who idle around a bit too much, try becoming long distance students. You won’t know where your time went. Minutes and hours seem to blend into one and you find yourself catching up on lost time at any given point of time. Because time, for long distance students, passes a bit faster.

Travel, for all its good qualities, kills you. It makes you miserable and it also makes you treat the coaches as if they were your aunt’s house where you have the free hand to do anything. The other day, I saw a person shying away from sitting cross-legged on her seat on the Metro. Oh pilgrim, you are so naïve. In here, we lie down and we sleep if we get the chance.

But on most nights I come home to the smell of my mother cooking something. The TV is usually on and my brother is studying in front of it. She steps out of the kitchen and asks me how my day went. I change and she serves me a hot dinner. After dinner, we sit in front of the heater and talk. And for a moment, maybe just for a moment, I’m not bitter anymore and everything seems worth it.

That is, until the next morning.

Featured image for representative purpose only.
Featured image source: Vivan Mehra for India Today Group via Getty Images.

The post Commuting An Hour And A Half To College Everyday: A Portrait appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

14 फरवरी को जब पूरी दुनिया मोहब्बत बांट रही थी, ठीक उसी वक्त कुछ लोगों ने मोहब्बत और अमन को खत्म करने के मंसूबे से इस देश की आत्मा पर हमला कर दिया। देश के जांबाज़ बेटों को मोहब्बत को बचाने के लिए अपने प्राणों की आहुति देनी पड़ी।

मैं आज यह लेख पूरे तीन दिन बाद लिख रहा हूं क्योंकि दो दिन तक मुझे समझ नहीं आया कि गुस्सा ज़्यादा था या गम। कलम चलाते हुए हाथ कांप रहे थे और किसी से बात करते वक्त ज़ुबान भी लड़खड़ा रहे थे।

शहीदों के परिवार वालों का जब-जब मन में ख्याल आता तब-तब आंखें भर आतीं और मन रोने लगता था। आज किसी तरह से मैंने कलम थामी और लिखने की हिम्मत की है क्योंकि कुछ तत्व इस दुःख की घड़ी में भी नफरत फैलाने का काम कर रहे हैं।

आतंकियों का मकसद है देश को तोड़ना और कुछ लोग आज सोशल मीडिया पर नफरत भरे मैसेजेज़ के ज़रिए आतंकियों को कामयाब कर रहे हैं।

इस देश में आतंकी हमला करने वालों के दो तरह के मनसूबे होते हैं- पहला इस देश को सीधे तौर पर नुकसान पहुंचाना और दूसरा इस देश के सांप्रदायिक माहौल को खराब करने का छिपा हुआ मंसूबा।

इस घटना ने पूरे देश में ऊबाल ला दिया जिस वजह से हर कोई सोशल मीडिया पर अपना दुःख और गुस्सा दोनों व्यक्त कर रहा था।

कुछ कश्मीरी छात्रों ने विवादास्पद टिप्पणियां भी की जिसके कारण उनके खिलाफ कार्रवाई की गई लेकिन कुछ लोग पाकिस्तान को गाली देते-देते इसी देश के मुसलमानों को कब गाली देने लगे, पता ही नहीं चला।

इसी बीच कल मुझे कुछ ऐसे फेसबुक पोस्ट दिखे जिसने मेरा दिल तोड़ दिया। लोग खुलकर मुसलमानों के खिलाफ ज़हर उगल रहे थे। अब तक जो गुस्सा और दुःख था उसके साथ डर भी लगने लगा क्योंकि कल से ही फेसबुक और ट्वीटर पर ऐसे पोस्ट्स की तादाद काफी अधिक हो चुकी है, जिसमें सीधे तौर पर इस आतंकी घटना को हिन्दू बनाम मुस्लिम बनाया जा रहा है।

उन लोगों ने शायद शहीदों के नाम तक नहीं पढ़े इसलिए वे इस तरह की जाहिलाना बात कर रहे हैं। उन्हें यह पता तक नहीं है कि यह हमला ना किसी हिन्दू पर हुआ और ना ही मुसलमानों पर, यह इस देश पर हमला है और इस देश को हिन्दू-मुसलमान मिलकर बनाते हैं। कुछ लोग कल रात से फोन करके इस बारे में चर्चा करने की कोशिश भी कर रहे हैं और साथ मिलकर इन चीज़ों से लड़ने का आश्वासन भी दे रहे हैं।

पटना से एक मित्र का फोन आया जो कह रहा था, “भाई हमारे यहां आज कश्मीरियों की दुकानों में तोड़-फोड़ हुई है।” ‘आइडेंटिटी’ हमारी एक बहुत बड़ी समस्या है। हम बस सामने वाले का नाम पढ़कर ही उसकी देश-भक्ति आंक लेते हैं। इस देश में जब भी कोई ऐसी घटना होती है, सबसे पहले इस देश के मुसलमान को उसकी भ्रत्सना करनी होगी।

16 फरवरी को राजस्थान में दो घटनाएं हुईं। राजस्थान के प्रतापगढ़ ज़िले में एक मुस्लिम स्कूल प्रिंसिपल ने सेना को लेकर एक विवादास्पद बयान दिया जिसके बाद उस पर कार्रवाई हुई, मगर नफरत फैलाने वालों को हिन्दू-मुस्लिम के बीच खाई पैदा करने के लिए एक तरह का हथियार मिल गया है।

स्क्रीन-शॉट वायरल होने लगे। वहीं, सिरोही ज़िले में दूसरी घटना हुई जहां सिरोही विशेष न्यायालय के जज ने भी सैनिकों को लेकर विवादास्पद बयान दिया। वहां की बार काउंसिल की तरफ से कार्रवाई की मांग की जा रही है मगर उस जज साहब को एक फायदा है। उनके नाम से इस देश में दंगा फैलाने वालों को कोई दिक्कत नहीं है या आप यह भी कह सकते हैं कि जज साहब का नाम दंगाईयों के काम की चीज़ नहीं है।

आज इस देश के आम नागरिक पर एक ज़िम्मेदारी है कि वे देश का माहौल तनावपूर्ण होने से बचाए। एक मुसलमान होने के नाते मुझ पर एक तरह से दोहरी ज़िम्मेदारी है।

मुझे यह सब का दुःख और गुस्सा झेलने के बाद देश के सांप्रदायिक सौहार्द को बचाने के लिए भी लड़ना है और जो लोग सीधे तौर पर इन सब के पीछे इस देश के सारे मुसलमानों और इस्लाम को ज़िम्मेदार ठहरा रहे हैं, उनसे भी लड़ना है।

एक भारतीय मुस्लिम होने के नाते मैं एक बात कहना चाहता हूं कि मैं भी बिलकुल आप ही की तरह आहत हूं, गुस्से में हूं और दुखी भी हूं। यह देश मेरा भी है, इस देश के सैनिक मेरे भी भाई, बाप हैं।

इस देश के बिना मेरा भी कोई अस्तित्व नहीं है मगर जब कुछ लोग सोशल मीडिया पर मुझे और मेरे धर्म को गाली देते हैं, तब यह दुःख दोगुना हो जाता है। आप लोगों से एक गुज़ारिश है कि हर बार मैं इस बात का सबूत नहीं दे सकता। आप हर वक्त मुझे संदिग्ध नज़रों से मत देखा कीजिए, हर बार मुझको ताना मारती हुई भड़काऊ पोस्ट मत किया कीजिए।

कुछ गद्दार हैं जो हर बार इस देश को धोखा दे देते हैं और यह मेरी बदनसीबी ही समझें कि उनके नाम मेरे नाम से मिलते हैं। मैं भी मदरसे गया हूं और वहां कुरान पढ़ी है।

मेरा इस्लाम तो यह सिखाता था अगर आपकी वजह से आपका पड़ोसी भी सुखी नहीं है तो भी आपका ईमान मुकम्मल नहीं है। यह कैसे मुसलमान हैं जो लोगों की जान लेने को जिहाद बता रहे हैं। नहीं, यह मुसलमान नहीं हो सकते हैं।

आप लोगों से मेरा एक सवाल है। आप कुछ 10, 15 या 50 लोगों की गलती की सज़ा 20 करोड़ हिन्दुस्तानी मुसलमानों को तो नहीं दे सकते ना?

हमें इस मुश्किल घड़ी में साथ मिलकर आतंकवाद जैसी गंभीर समस्या से लड़ना पड़ेगा और इस देश में सामाजिक समरसता भी स्थापित करनी पड़ेगी।

नोट- अन्सार YKA के जनवरी-मार्च 2019 बैच के इंटर्न हैं।

The post “मैं मुस्लिम हूं और पुलवामा हमले से उतना ही आहत हूं जितना आप हैं” appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

The name is Diyun. I won’t call it “my home city” as it hardly has any semblance of a city. It was once a vast expanse of impenetrable forests and jungles. Now, it’s a quaint upcoming township located in eastern Arunachal Pradesh in the district of Changlang and so, I would rather simply call it “my place”. This is where I was born. As with everyone else, one’s place of birth always holds special significance and, by and large, defines one’s core “who you are” and also perhaps where you finally end up in life. I can, however, vouch for the fact that the story of my place is intricately interwoven with my personal life’s story.

The story of my place might sound strange and incredible but this is what it is. My place was made habitable by my forefathers including my late grandparents who migrated from erstwhile East Pakistan, now Bangladesh, to erstwhile NEFA (North Eastern Frontier Agency), now Arunachal Pradesh before being finally rehabilitated by the Government of India under a definite plan of rehabilitation during the period 1964 to 1969. My parents were born here and subsequently, I was.

As a young kid, a charitable educational institution took me under their tutelage far away from home where I spent seven years. It was commonplace for me as a kid to get news of some groups coming to my place and burning down houses, hear anecdotes of oppression, poverty and financial struggles faced by the people, including my family.

Today, the situation as well as the landscape has changed but the larger issues continue to haunt my place. An ‘outsider’ tag continues to be attributed to a large section of the people residing here. Retributions suffered as a consequence can be said to border on xenophobia, and include allegations of indigenous peoples’ rights dilution, population explosion, illegal migration, violation of law of the land, etc.

The majority people of my place are barred from applying for state government jobs, participation in election to Panchayati Raj institutions, cannot obtain licenses that require government authorisation, including trade, land rights, ration card, etc. and are excluded from most of the social welfare and livelihood schemes implemented by the government across the nation. Subsequently, they are even rendered ineligible or cannot avail themselves of bank loans including Mudra loans.

In general, as a consequence, there is a prevalence of artificially created identity crisis, perennial economic and academic backwardness, loss of cultural identity and heritage, discrimination, exploitation, lack of equal opportunity and various other socio-economic issues. And, I am a product of my place.

My place continues to be shackled and precariously reel under untold challenges. These, in turn, take their heavy toll everyday on the majority of its residents who are born here in ways mainstream India can hardly imagine. But, here, people feed on hope, that they shall overcome someday, and depend solely on their ingenuity to stay alive and thrive.

Looking back and as I dig deeper into my conscience, I’ve come to be convinced that my place has had the biggest influence on me as a normal human being. On the one hand, it has given me its deepest scar while on the other, it has taught me patience, resilience, to live in turmoil and also given me hope.

As a saving grace, my place is still in a learning phase and has miles to go before it sleeps. But it also offers a thousand lessons to learn. Personally, I take solace in the fact that my place has the brightest moonlit skies, freshest morning mist, sparkling river water descending from lush green mountains and soothing fresh air which the more one fills one’s lungs with the less it is.

The post Growing Up In Eastern Arunachal Pradesh: Lessons From My Personal Life appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

There are so many quotes to live by, however it is only you who can create a unique quote for yourself, and apply to your life!

If the one medicine is not the cure for different diseases, how can one quote work for different lives? We all experience life differently and it is we who attach meaning to it. It is we who define our life-quote with respect to the situations we experience. There is great importance given to the situations in one’s life, as there are various ways to tackle them. There is nothing called a ‘good life’ or a ‘bad life’, there is just life, one that we live and make it what it is!

Quotes from others’ lives are true for their situation, but not mine. Because I will create my own life-quote one day! Yes, we can, and we should make our own life-quotes which are authentic to our situations and are in fact our own “experiment with life”.

The post Forget Online Quotes, You Are Your Own Motivation appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.

Uncertainty. It’s around you, it surrounds you; you sense it and eventually learn to cope up with it. Life is no scene from “Mary Poppins” and change is the only constant in the world. Everything else is up in the air. Being uncertain makes us feel lost at times, but the idea is to breathe, plan, pray, and keep progressing. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel and if it is still dark, you learn how to shine in the dark.

In April this year, our family took a trip through the tunnel, travelling more than a month to find that light. On April 5, Papa thought of getting his usual blood work done. To the surprise, the doctor suggested to him something he was not prepared for.

“Can you please get your chest X-ray done?”

My father, perplexed and reluctant, abided. Need I say how lucky we are that the doctor suggested it? Sometimes He himself comes disguised as a human to make us aware of the situation.

My father went to get the X-ray done and it was not until hearing the radiologist’s questions that he became alarmed.

“Do you have difficulty in breathing?”, popped one.

“No,” he said. But the calm sea in which my father was residing was disturbed.

“Do you feel any pain near the chest area?”, came another.

“No.” By now he was anxious.

Once the finally radiologist surfaced from his questioning, my father wanted to dive into some.

“What is it?” He asked, getting a grip on his racing heartbeat.

“A tumour. Right next to your heart. Please get it tested urgently.”

Without any further delay, Papa got himself hospitalised. Soon, a sample was withdrawn from the tumour and was sent for a detailed biopsy. Those 10 days, when we waited for the results, were horrendous. The waiting game takes a toll on the players involved.

Meanwhile, our family and our extended family were informed. Everyone was startled and prayers started flowing in from every part of the world. There are times when a human feels so weak and helpless that they realize how small they are in the bigger scheme of life. Many of us are spiritual on some level but somehow spirituality, in its true form, only rises in times of need.

Time is always running, but in times of crisis, I knew I needed to slow down, kneel before Him, and seek His blessings. When I beg and cry in front of Him, I feel His presence, around me, inside me. That’s the power of connectivity. Now imagine a whole family kneeling and praying–that’s the power of collectivity.

Ten exceedingly long days crawled by and the tumor was identified. I, in Hyderabad, was on a video call with my younger sister in San Francisco, when the medical reports came over email. I remember how she closed her eyes in gratitude before spelling out: “Benign”. We exchanged the look siblings do when they are sailing in the same boat. Miles apart, we speak the same language; after all, it was our father in question.

Every human being has their own way of handling stress, especially in matters relating to health. I am a person who is practical in life. I keep every possibility open. So when I came to know about the tumor, I promptly analyzed every possible outcome that we might have had to encounter and also the course of actions in those scenarios. On the contrary, my sister is a complete believer, who feels “sab achha hoga (everything will be fine).”

It’s difficult when two individuals who are poles apart in rationality and spirituality talk. Our outlook differed but our desires completely met. I kept quiet on this subject and hardly spoke with anyone. Iin times of distress, the less you talk the more it benefits you. Everyone has unsolicited advice and suggestions to, and questions to ask, and when you are feeling. But all you want is not being poked on that subject.

Even though the tumor was not malignant, it had to be disconnected from my father’s chest as soon as possible. He was carrying a huge threat; 800 grams of threat. In a short span of 15 days, all was done at a lightning speed. Dates were fixed and on April 27, this year, my father underwent a major surgery at Max Saket, Delhi. He was hospitalized for a good ten days. The removal of 800 grams of tumour was a six-hour operation. An expert panel of doctors and surgeons, a lot of blood and courage, and more prayers from all parts of the globe. Papa was lucky to survive the tumor. The memoir it left on him were 35 stitches, strategically placed from under his left arm to his nipple. One of his ribs and a phrenic nerve were compromised, owing to the location of the tumor. It will take time for him to recover fully, but, as of now, he is healthy and healing.

I will repeat–Papa is blessed to survive, knock on wood. Life is so uncertain that you can’t do much when it lays down its rules. You just have to play by those. You don’t have a choice. Do you?

Luck and blessings not only hold true for survival but also for a united family. We are lucky that we have a strong connected family who rises to help in the times of need. There were family members who did not blink an eye to stand next to Papa in our  time of crisis. We had family members travel to Delhi to be there for an extended period; family members who abandoned sleep, laying on the hospital room floor and the waiting room; family members who donated blood to meet the hospital’s requirements; family members who went out of their way to organize appointments in a short span of time with one of the best surgeons in the country; family members who opened their homes and hearts to him; today and always. Above all, my father has my mother. Papa is a rational person; Mummy is an emotional human being. But in times like this, she becomes the rock who pulls us out of any hopeless situation, time and again.

As for us, the sisters, we act as the support system, the reassuring factors, the abstract cure, asking our maker, our father, to have faith. Because in the end, that is what a family does. Our parents taught us well and now we practice our upbringing.

Right after delivering my daughter in 2014, I had trouble walking. Due to the improper stitching done post normal delivery, I felt a gravitational force acting on the lower half of my body. I visited several gynecologists in Kolkata (where my folks resided then) who told me there was nothing to worry about and it will recover with time.

There was one who even suggested “Don’t worry. The err will be rectified after another delivery.”

I knew I did not intend the second time, so when, even after three months of delivery, I could not walk properly, I became massively depressed. New mothers are much more prone to such emotions. One fine day, when I came home after another doctors’ appointment, I found my father seated in the hall. After a quick chat, I confessed to him, “I don’t think I will ever walk the way I used to. This uncomfortable feeling is here to stay.”

He looked straight at me and said, “You had a whole human being come out of you. A human body can endure any sort of pain. Childbirth is a natural phenomenon. Just give it some time.”

In a month, the Kegel exercises kicked in and got me out of dire straits, but what pumped me to believe in my health recovery were those golden lines. That’s the power of parents!

Parents make you believe in you like no one else. When things start to fall apart, they will catch you while falling. “Haan Beta, ho jayega. Phir se koshish karo (It will happen. Keep trying).” A child may not succeed but the parents want them to keep trying, for themselves. Maa-Baap kahi nahi jaatey. Parents will never leave you. They are in you, by you, with you, for you.

Two weeks ago, my Macbook died and I decided to buy a new one. The moment I mentioned that to my parents, my father spoke from the other end, “Mera le lo Saumya (Take mine). It has a great processor, good storage. It’s Dell Inspiron 2016 model. What will I do with such an expensive laptop? I just read news on that, I can buy another cheaper model for that purpose.”

I was left in tears by the time I disconnected the call. Turning to my husband I said, “Parents don’t even think twice na? When it comes to their children, they can donate very drop of their blood.”

It’s not about a laptop, it’s about providing for their children, even when those children are grown up and have their own children. They will be parents till their last breath.

When I heard the news about my father’s health, I was taken aback, but not shattered. I believed in the power of Good because, of all the valuable life lessons my parents taught me, the most important one is belief. Believing in myself. Believing in the good around me. As for the rest, we have prayers–connective and collective.

My wishes and prayers go to everyone out there who are fighting the evil that has made them or their loved ones a hostage. Even when there is uncertainty, believe in yourself–either you will conquer it, or you will learn to live with it.

Uncertainty is here to stay. The idea is to learn how to deal with life’s curveballs. You may feel low, lost, and depressed, but that’s okay; it simply means you are living.

The post 800 Grams Of Threat: What The Tumor In My Father’s Chest Taught Me About Life appeared first and originally on Youth Ki Awaaz and is a copyright of the same. Please do not republish.