To an Indian parent,

My heart kinda aches
From not being able to tell
I love you
I care for you
I miss you

Hands that clutch too hard
Make you want to escape them soon
I guess that’s how it works
Between me and you

Yet your wrinkled hands are calling me
So are your dreams
Of being cared for in old age
By your progeny

I can feel the years that weighed you down
The wrinkles on your cheek
Dear mother, dear father
My lungs scream out from not calling to you in need

This forced adulthood
This urge to being the eldest daughter
The responsible one
The one my lil one can look upto
Is weighing on me

When all I want
Is go back to the corner of our home
Hide under your hawk eye
To all thats evil towards me.

Yet I cannot do this
Or that
Or anything which makes me look weak
Or undeserving
Of this freedom I have been coveting for far too long

To not being the frog in the wall
To not being the caged Bird that sings
To write my fate
With my own free will

So I can just pray and pray
For you both
And hope your love to stay
Till I conquer the world
Achieve all that I had wished for
Get my fill of it
And be able to come back to you
And not regret it a single bit

For I love you
I care for you
And I miss you
Even if those are the hardest three words to tell your Indian parents when you feel.

CAN YOU AND I STAY POSITIVE IN THIS LOCKDOWN? Ft. Coping Strategies

It’s so hard to stay positive when we are trapped in a pandemic situation and on the top of it depressing news are getting added up – it only makes me think of the times which were simpler – like drawing a smiley face on my bread loaf in Apollo when I finally got to eat food after working at a strech till 5pm. The truth is even those days were hard, but we were too caught up in our lives to debate why it’s hard – now we are stuck, in our homes without work – some unfortunate ones away from home with a lot of work and recession looming overhead.
It’s frustrating and frankly depressing. What can we do? I created a list for myself to turn to whenever I’m depressed and want to check myself. I hope it helps you too 🙂
1. I find that sometimes the best way to get out of the cycle of negativity is to count your blessings amidst it. You can keep a journal – count the things you are thankful for. I keep one, and it’s a great thing to look back when you are caught up in the dark with no sight if light. Just spend 15 minutes with it every day and record the things you are thankful for! You might realise you are having more fun in this lockdown that you realise 🙂




2. Makeover. This the absolute best time to get yourself a makeover. And I don’t mean the outer one – an inner, spiritual makeover can gift you a better future where you have the right coping  techniques to deal with tough situations in a better way. I started therapy for this; and I am being tremendously helped by it. Ofcourse I am still not done yet, progress is slow – but the slower things are the deeper they impact. I can’t wait to come out as a better person and be a better friend, daughter, sister, partner to people post this lockdown 🙂



3. Pamper yourself. Skincare. Haircare. Yes, now I am talking about the outer makeover too. Now that you don’t have to show up for work expose yourself to pollution and grime – it’s the best time rejuvenate what you’ve lost – oil your hair everyday : No one is going to call a champu, because no one can see you sitting at home! 🤷🏻‍♀️ Geddit? Moisturize, scrub, detan, massage yourself with inexpertise (salon wali ka massage bohut yaad aata hai 🥺). Just unlock that lockdown glow.




4. Workout, workout, workout. I can’t stress on this. A simple workout has the ability to make yourself feel better by decreasing stress hormones and increasing the serotonin, the happy chemical. Today morning I felt so fucked up after reading about the vizag tragedy I spent minutes scrolling my twitter feed, reading, debating, getting stuck in a negative loop – but one dance fitness class with my favorite trainer Naveen on Cult. Fit later – I was back on track.




5. Practice clean eating. It’s hard I know, when your body wants to make that 10th plate of maggi when you’re so lazy to cook for yourself three times a day when the maid doesn’t come – but c’mon yaar! That new diet you’d been waiting to try but couldn’t because of bad hostel/ PG food/ cook adding too much oil to stuff – now you can happily indulge in it. Clean eating with lots of fruits and vegetables and minimal oil has been shown to boost happiness. So add those reds, greens and orange to your diet, will you?




6. Try spending time with your family. If you are away from them video call and talk. If you are fortunately like me stuck with them in this lockdown, you can spend a lot of them with personally. Help them with their chores. Try to make their lives and home brighter as our parents are getting old and need our support now more than ever. Some of us who are going away for higher studies, this might be the only time we get to spend them – so use it wisely. Talk to them even if you risk running into awkward conversations that make you want to break the lockdown and runaway like – marriage! *Squeals and hides*



7. I remember when I was a kid we used to have very long summer vacations. Summer in Odisha can get pretty hot and you could be pretty sure whatever date they had given for the holidays to end – it would keep on extending – just like this lockdown. I loved it then, I wonder why this was bothering me now – mostly I realised because then we used to appreciate our time alone – now we need a lot of distractions to make us feel better about ourselves. This lockdown is the perfect excuse to indulge guilt-free in your hobbies. If you are a photographer then improve your photography skills. If you are a writer, write each day. If you love to read books, read one if you have or download a PDF and read everyday. I feel this lockdown is God’s challenge to everyone who said they needed time to be able to follow their passion. Aapke paas duniya bhar ka time hai ab, fir aapka excuse kya hai to have a profession that compromised on your passion?




8. Last but not the least, chill the fuck out of this lockdown. Kya pata itna free time dobaara kal ho na ho!


Cheers,Parnini.

DEAR VIKRAM FROM #THAPPAD – WHAT YOU AND I BOTH NEEDED TO LEARN FROM AMU

Vikram, tumhari galti nahi thi. I needed to start with this. You know, few days back in my locality a neighbor filed a domestic violence against her husband; when her husband hit her she filed an FIR, she stood in the dead of night in the rain not going inside the house – it surprised me in the most surprising way. I thought it was brave of her, not that it was logical – why didn’t I think a man hitting his wife is something that can be resolved, Vikram? Maybe because I have seen a drunken uncle beat his wife and watched her never walk away and people hail it as the ultimate sacrifice for keeping the family reputation intact. Maybe because I have seen the women in my family being taught their place too. Maybe because my mother defends that and tells me I should obey when my husband will ask me to do too. Maybe because my mother tells me stories of how when a man cheats on his wife it’s always because the wife never kept him happy; not that he cheated. Maybe because my father would tell a woman who speaks creates family problems. Maybe because the guy I dated in college told me he didn’t consider me wife material as I have a lot of opinions. Maybe I did tone down for him – removing myself from social sphere, wearing only ethnic, lowering my voice and self to find his place under him. Why did I want to be under him, Vikram? Do we come from the same conditioning? Do we think everything can be compromised as long as we seem perfect to the world with having a relationship than working out a relationship?

How can it be your fault when even my mother, my Maa, my aunts, my conditioning of years and years has taught me to compromise. How can it be your fault when I see what you did and I found Amu’s response unreasonable too. How can it be your fault when I saw those one or two kisses or a hug you gave here and there to the efforts Amu made and thought it was enough too. How can it be your fault when in my family men decided what women wear, how they talk, how they behave, their pitch for years and my mothers never chose to protest; sometimes not even me. How can it be your fault when a family’s reputation is always greater than a woman’s needs. How can it be your fault for doing everything a middle class man has been taught to do?

Vikram tumhari galti toh bilkul bhi nahi thi. You went to office, you worked, you tried to best in your work – it was great, I cheered for you. I am a career minded woman – I know how difficult it is. The pressure of having to perform, the office politics, the deadlines, the meetings, the appraisals… you know. It’s perfectly reasonable to burst out – I do myself – on my Maa, my mother, my best friend, my sister – but I wonder why never on the guy in my life. I thought I was a feminist, I am the equal in the relationship – but I never make it hard on the literal “man” in the relationship. Maybe, a part of me has accepted the conditioning and compromised. Maybe a part of me feels, it has to bend to a man and massage his ego always. How can it be your fault when the woman never knew how she deserved to be treated? When Amu admits that “hum dono mein sab baraabar ka tha.. woh office sambhalega aur mein ghar”, it sounded so simple – hogayi hai emancipation – but home is not only about household work; it has relationships and emotions too; she never distributed that load with you – how is it your fault?

When you went to Amu’s house after she leaves your home after you hit her and offered her a hug, a simple apology and an ornament as a gift to ask her to come back – I was floored. If I was in her place I would’ve come back – why are my expectations so low, Vikram? My father always taught me how I should be ruthless in my career, i followed it; he taught me to be ruthless in the world and reign over it, I try to do it; but that night when he and I were discussing he said how Sita should have towed the Lakshman Rekha and she faced all she did as she didn’t listen to the advice of her elder. I asked him who is the elder – he said Ram – I asked innocently, “By age?” – he replied, “No, by being her husband.” “How being someone’s husband makes you their elder?”, I told this to my father and he said I will have a lot of problems in my marriage in future. Even my aunt tells me this every time I tell her a guy treated me poorly – she tells it’s something I have done. She never sees how the guy mistreated me in the first place for me to burst out on him. In the end you said you hit her because you thought you had a right on her; is this what my father and aunt meant too, Vikram? Is making a guy my husband or my partner allowing him to draw the lines for me? Is it letting him treat me whatever way he wants and me having to be the one that compromises and massages his ego each time? Don’t I need to be taken care of emotionally too?

Vikram tumhari galti thi aur meri bhi. You know I love fairy tales. I was even obsessed with Twilight. Now that I am 26, my best friend tries to convince me of even liking Christian Grey. But you see the pattern right? Emotionally unavailable men, with supernatural skills or unnatural wealth as their only saving grace. Unhealthy romances with the guy being so unsure of his feelings he decided to fuck up the girl’s brain too; the love is in the chase – not the man. The love is in the outer covering, not the insides – when millennial girls are raised on these, will they demand healthy guys who know how to treat a woman right ever? They won’t. I have seen the media of our parental generation – if it taught them unhealthy marriages; my generation media and movies has taught unhealthy romance. Arjun Reddy and Kabir Singh is famous – psycho guys who control the woman of their life and are toxic to every other girl calling it love. I think just like Amu and you took a break from each other finally to understand how you both can grow as healthy individuals to begin again with or without each other in the future – our generation needs to revaluate what’s love and needs to grow too.

I hope you and Amu find each other again at a later point of your life when you have figured out your shortcomings. Yes, I don’t denounce you as bad – how can you bad when you were conditioned to behave that way. We can’t decide where we came from – but we can definitely decide where we to go. I hope you find your place, even if it’s not next to Amu as her husband again – I hope you both are great parents to your child.

Love,

A girl who will try to be Amu from now on.

***

PS : I am glad to be living in times when a movie like #Thappad is being made. It has taught me how to demand not only a financially secure future with a man but an emotionally secure future too. It has laid out roles for everyone in this. If you are a girl’s father you get to look at Amu’s dad who was rock solid support for Amu from start till end – and even didn’t hesitate chiding his son from misbehaving with his girlfriend trying to save him from being another Vikram. If you are a mother-in- law it teaches you to be like Amu’s mother-in-law in the end letting her go and be happy. If you are a neighbor it’s being like Dia Mirza in this movie refusing to give false witness to save Vikram’s ass and tell that she had a wonderful husband who respected her and treated her the right way – he shouldn’t try to obliterate the respect she has for men-kind. If you are stuck in a bad love marriage like Nethra looking for escape outside marriage, trying to find your lost lover in another guy, maybe you need an escape from the marriage itself; not try to honor lost love by sticking to an unhappy marriage and fuck up the guy’s life outside your marriage too. I thought the housemaid’s ignorance and acceptance of her poverty and living will always let her accept that her husband bashed her up to show that he is a man every night. If she could rise above that to stand up against her man – can’t we? We can. If you are the man who I build my future with reading this, I hope you know now what we both need to bring to the table. I won’t compromise and I won’t let you too. Let’s be equals, for real.

“Just a slap?”

“Just a slap par nahi maar sakta.”

PARASITE – #AMovieReview

There are movies you watch, and there are MOVIES. The last time I felt this mind fucked was when I had watched Gone Girl. I try to avoid dark movies / series by choice (life is already grim enough) but after being repeatedly recommended I had to watch this.

The movie starts off, and you are latching on to a sort of predictability considering the reviews you’ve heard. As it progresses you get gripped by a sort of uneasiness, as you watch a family out from the sewers literally latch on to the Kim family as “Parasite”s, you wonder if this is what the movie was all about? Because, honestly, the class difference movies where you try to use your poverty to dupe someone rich as your birthright without working for a life, irks me to no end.

Then there is a sudden twist on a rainy night and you are introduced to the actual parasite living in the sewers below – the commotion that unfollowed is borderline comical. Soon, though the scene changes into something entirely unpredictable and the main thinking point of the movie as the family escapes out of their borrowed piece of Cinderella life and are ejected into the sewers where they came from. As the aspiring con guy yet naive at heart Kevin beseeches his father over the royal catastrophe that their plan had become, you resonate with these characters for the first time across the movie – What kind of plans do not fail? No plans at all!

A soothing jab to my dreamy self at the beginning of this year thinking 2020 will be mine; that a tiny virus couldn’t ruin it.

The climax is an outburst of class difference, solitary confinement and Stockholm syndrome. The part where Kevin realises that you cannot borrow someone’s life, and you have to create your life if you want to enjoy it permanently is where I gave it another 💯. If you are looking for your next movie in this dreary lockdown – This is it!

Self Quarantine and Thoughts : Day – 1

It’s a strange feeling to be back home. I had never planned on being back. Three days back I was completely unaware that my life will take such a turn that it will initiate a series of events leading up to this, but then, there’s a strange peace at being in a place that’s familiar to me in these stranger times too.

I have travelled about 2000 kms in the past three days by whatever means of mode possible as trains and buses and all modes of transport are being cancelled. I have taken a flight from Chennai to BBSR, a car from BBSR to Bam and back and a near death car ride from BBSR to Rourkela ( my home ). No long hugs, no contact, as the situation demands – a sanitizer, masks, gloves lie on my study desk as my sister is in the midst of her boards which now stands postponed till further orders, and I need to maintain a safe distance from her.My maa still can’t resist herself and keeps on pampering me with home cooked food all the while maintaining a safe distance, as she has to sleep next to my sister in her room. And, I’m struck by a strange feeling. It’s a wonder, at how many simple things we have taken for granted till today.

This is a strange world now. You don’t need social media influencing, you don’t need to know 10 different ways to style an outfit, you don’t need #ootd, you don’t need to take that dangerous selfie to appear cool on Instagram, you don’t need amazon delivery boy bringing you a parcel each day, you don’t need to post a picture of #whatsonmyplate everyday, you don’t need to make your life happening everyday… You just need to live. Life has been forced to the bare minimum.

You yearn for a touch, hug and contact with your loved ones. You yearn for fresh air and long walks. You yearn to sit on beaches and watch the sun set and rise again. You want to go out with your loved one again. You love the humdrum routine of braving the traffic and making to your work again. You yearn to interact and crib about work to your colleagues again. You appreciate every morsel you get. Your parents talk of going back to village. White supremacy and materialistic life has been banished overnight; simplicity and minimalism have come to fore again.

I don’t need that Goa trip in August of 2020. I just need a beach and my friends most of all. I don’t need concerts and dinner dates. I just need a meet with my loved one. I don’t need the latest outfit in the shade of lilac. I need to wear something to go out again (if I can). I don’t need an exorbitant bank balance and a penthouse apartment ten years down the line, I need to be able to live somewhere with the one I love, near the ones I love going to a work that leaves my brain semi happy and even if not I can discuss and crib it over a cup of tea with my partner at the end of the day.

Nature in it’s most indigenous ways has brought the human race down to the knees and given itself time to heal. May we survive this. May our loved ones survive this. May we learn from this. May we value every meet, hug, kiss we get. May we value meaningful human contact. May we value our world, before it’s too late; or is it too late?

ମା

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଇ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

ମା,

ତୋ କାହ୍ନି ରେ ପୋଚିଛି କେତେ ଯେ ପାଣି ଛିଟକା

କେତେ ଯେ ଲୁହ ଧାରା

ତୋ କୋଳେ ଦେଖିଚି କେତେ ଯେ ସପ୍ନ

କେତେ ଯେ ସପନ ଭାଙ୍ଗି ଚୁରୁମାର ହେବା ଟା

ହେଲେ ପ୍ରତ୍ୟେକ ଭଙ୍ଗା ସ୍ଵପ୍ନ ରୁ ତୁ ଦେଖାଉ ନୁଆ ସପନ

ଜାଣି ପାରେନା ଜୀବନ ରେ ଯାହା ଭଲ ହୁଏ ସେଟା ମୋ ପରିଶ୍ରମ ନ ତୋ ବିଶ୍ୱାସ ର ଗଢ଼ନ୍!

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଇ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

ମା ତୁ କେବେ ଦେଖୁନା, କିମ୍ବା ଦେଖୀ ପାରୁନି

ମୋ ଭିତର ର ସେଇ କଳା ମେଘ,

ଯେ ବାନ୍ଧିଚି ରାଗ, କ୍ରୋଧ, ଦ୍ୱେଷ – ଏକ କବିତା ଭଳି

ହେଲେ କବିତା ଟି ଅସରନ୍ତା ଝଡ଼ ।

ତୋ ପାଇଁ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ସେଇ ଶାନୁ,

ଯିଏ ବାଲ୍ୟ କାଳେ ତୋ ପଛେ ଦୋଉଡୁଥାୟେ,

ନିଷ୍ପାପ, ନିସନ୍ଦେହି, ନିର୍ମଳ – ତୋ ବିଶ୍ୱାସ କୁ ନ ଭାଙ୍ଗିବାକୁ ଯାଇ ମୁଁ ନିଜକୁ ନିତି ଦିନ ସୁଧାରୁଥାୟେ।

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଏଁ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

ତୋ ହସ ଦେଖିକି ହସ ଫୁଟେ ଆମ ମୁହଁରେ

ତୋ ଲୁହ ଦେଖି ଅନ୍ତର ବୁଡିଯାୟେ

ତୁ ଜୀବନେ ଦେଖିଛୁ ଯେତେ ଝଡ଼ ଜଞ୍ଜ।ଳ

ତାକୁ ସୁଧାରିବାକୁ ମୁଁ କର୍ମ କରିଯାୟେ

ଜାଣିନି କେତେ ଯାୟେ ସଫଳ ହେବି,

ଜାଣିନି ତୋ ନାଁ କେବେ ଟେକି ପାରିବି

ହେଲେ ତଳେ ପକେଇବିନି ଏ ଶପଥ ନେଇ ଥାଏ ।

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଏଁ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

-ତୋ ଅତିପ୍ରିୟ ଶାନୁ

to be or not to be ft. quarter life crisis

I believe it was the movie 3 Idiots that sparked the national creativity in imagination for the first time. The first time people/kids on the brink of choosing their career paths started debating for the first time if they wanted to fall into the cosy moulds set by their parents or take the plunge into fields of their dreams – fields they genuinely loved and wanted to make a name in. Unfortunately for me, when I was old enough to say T.V. my father decided to turn it 180 degrees – yeah, literally! The cable connection had been cut and the television showed whatever pixels it had to the wall that it faced now – strange house, i know right?! And my father considered going to the theatres a sin anyway, so that’s that, the three idiots revolution reached our hallowed family quite late – so late that I had been brainwashed and well stuck in the sinkhole to be a doctor.

I don’t regret it – trust me, I don’t. There is no other place I feel I could fit in than a hospital is what I feel on most days, but then, there are days when I realise as the great Ranchhoddas Shyamaldas Chanchad of fabled 3 Idiots and so many stalwarts following in his footsteps have said – when you do something you love, even your job wouldn’t feel like a job – that is when I ponder. . because honestly, this doesn’t come to me effortlessly. The motivation to study is something that is effortless because I love reading books, but medical books? that requires effort. The motivation to go to hospital and be there 24×7 working in the wards in effortless, but immersing myself in petty hospital politics? that requires effort. Who said that just because you love something it won’t require effort? Trust me since I was a baby I have always known I will be a doctor someday, but now when I am a doctor, continuing in this path is requiring a hell lot of effort.

People love to see prefixes. People are always people – they will appreciate you for your honey-combed words and everything that you put on as a sweet, sweet garb – but the day you decide to show them the real you? You become too much for them.

I have made my peace though – I have realised that I will have my days – my days of confusion, my days of wanting to take the easy way out of everything, my days of sheer frustration of being a part of the system that is so, so, so bloody mind-numbing, my days of knowing that I have to again face an entrance exam that will decide my future in a day, an exam for which I am having to lock down my skills in a box and hone the rat race creature within me. . . but somehow I feel, you can either try to change it or be a part of it.

I kept my head down and accepted everything for 20 years. I kept my head high and resisted everything and everyone for 5 years. Now that I am 25, I have made my peace. I have learnt to flow with time, space and circumstances. I have learnt a lot – from my mistakes in people and pride – at believing that good things happen to good people. Yes it might be, but not until good people make good efforts for these good things. I have always excelled professionally, whereas I have been a failure in personal. Somehow my grandiose thoughts of how interpersonal relationships should be have marred whatever I have attempted to create or people that had made efforts to be with me. I believed that if it’s meant to be, it will be – WRONG! How can something be without conscious effort on your part? I have been the worst judge of humans, the flawed judgement skills that has been passed down to me accompanied by my rebelliousness created a heady cocktail that downed my early twenties – which I am, to be honest, in retrospective, quite grateful for. For how do you explain becoming something – unless you have been through everything that happened to you? I do feel broken on the inside, but I would not change a bit of it – because somehow my flight for air has rewarded me with pleasure and pain that I had never known in my sheltered life before. Yes, I have cried a lot – but then why shouldn’t I? Like the great Dr. Jehangir in Dear Zindagi said – “Agar aap khul ke ro nahi sakte, toh aap khul ke has bhi nahi paogey” (or something close. Forgive me, I am all filmy but I don’t remember dialogues perfectly)

I have rambled for a quite a long time now. I can’t remember why I started writing this post – but I won’t edit or try to make it look crisp and well-written, because that is what I aspire to be from now on – unedited. Raw, real and rough on the edges. I could live my life trying to fit into social dictum, banging my head on the wall questioning why the world works the way it does – why is life so harsh, people so mean, why do people love certain people, why do I always land into scrapes but nahhh. . . what’s the fun in that? I have learnt to breathe and take life in as it comes. To accept whatever comes my way, learn from it only if it is necessary, experience if it wants to be experienced and let go before it steals a part of me like everyone before. I might sound selfish, but now at quarter life crisis I heck as well deserve the liberty to care about myself. I can’t stumble around wondering why I am too much or too less for people anymore. What is, is and what has to happen, well, will work it out – might as well enjoy the ride.

Adios.

The frog in the well

I sat down with my books on the floor, to make an attempt to finish the mounting pile of curriculum I needed to get over with. A steady stream of cold air gushed in through the open door infront, which led to the balcony. I looked up. At a distance I could see construction workers in full sway at a new multistoreyed building that was being added to the locality. A new blob of affluency; that had increased recently in my hometown – more buildings, more four wheelers, more branded stores  and glittering glassed restaurants. What caught my attention though, were the hills behind it. 

I had grown up being in love with the hills that my hometown was blessed with – lush green and reaching out for the sky, but barely managing to kiss it. I had always admired it from the tiny terrace of my house, craning up my neck to look at it and wondering – How tall it is! How would it feel to be on the top of it? How would the world look like from it? I looked forward to the day I could be at that height. 

Today though, something was different. I watched the rods jutt out from that building – a harsh piercing in my view. It rose from the under-construction terrace of that building and higher than my hills itself.

The height of my world had changed! The hills didn’t look so tall anymore, so imposing, so out of reach. . .  And I wondered, is this the height I wanted to reach or is the height I wanted to get stuck at?

A WAKE-UP CALL FOR ODIAS

The chariot shall roll today. Devotees shall throng the streets. Hands will rise with fervent cries of “Jay Jagannath” and fall down only to catch the rope to pull the chariots from the Jagannath Temple to Mausi-maa Mandira. Odias outside Puri will get hooked to their television for the live telecast from Puri bada-daanda. When the chariots in Puri will have rolled, people will run out to gather in their own streets waiting with bated breath for the chariots of their locality to come along. Messages shall be sent out wishing each other on this auspicious occasion. Odias of my generation will be Odias for a day – to celebrate that one vestige of their Odia identity that they have been shedding bit by bit over the years. The slow decay my mother tongue has fallen to. The shame that creeps in the tongues of my fellow Odias when they shy away from it and switch to Hindi. That joke of not acknowledging one’s history, one’s motherland, one’s birthplace. . . yet harping on the laurels of “Odisha origin” people making it big abroad. The disgrace they’ve brought upon the language which our forefathers shed blood and sweat to keep intact from attempts to wash it off by our very own neighbours. “Rath Yatra”? “Rajo”? “Shubhokamna”? Seriously!?

Ratha Jatra : The dramatic spectacle. That takes place yearly on the the streets when the mighty lords, the teeni thaakura – Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadra takeover the streets of Odisha; and several places in India and abroad. The world gathers to see them in come out of their abode once in a year. The world bows down to them.

Kalinga // Utkala : Our history. The mighty kingdom that resisted invasions from several rulers and even when it did succumb, it fought till death – the greatest war in history – when blood seeped into the Earth and the heart of mighty Ashoka – who gave up his ways of life and adopted the path of peace – Buddhism; vowing to never take a life again.

Namr : Humble – our people.Wherever they go they have left behind a trail of their humility and friendliness, accepted everywhere. Humble and content with their simple ways of life. Content with their bowl of pakhala after a day’s work. Content with the backwardness that first their usurpers gave and now their political rulers. Never complaining. Never questioning. Dragging on and down.

Aatm- trupti : Peace that fills your soul – with the pristine beaches, mighty waterfalls, green hills and countrysides. . the raw, natural beauty Odisha offers. Yet, we go around spending thousands on fancy holidays elsewhere – in over-hyped places that were promoted by their state governments cleverly – while our own home state lies there not promoted, unwanted and ignored. The tourism industry in shambles.

Sahitya : Literature. The rich literature our Odias have produced. The magic they have woven with every word, in every couplet, the rhythm and words. From Sarala Das who wrote Odia Mahabharata to Atibada Jagannath Das who wrote Odia Bhagabata. Kabi Smarat Upendra Bhanja, Kabisurjya Baladev Rath, Fakir Mohan Senapati, Gangadhar Meher, Kabibara Radhanath Ray, Pratibha Ray, Madhusudan Rao. . .  . the list is endless, yet how many could you name before this? How many have you read?

Nrutyakala : Dance. The culture of our state. The world famous Odissi. Gotipua, Chhau, Dalkhai, Karma Naacha, Baagha Naacha, Ghumura, Mahari. . . dance forms that can take you to ecstasy or serenity; wanton playfulness or wonder. My Odisha has it. Yet, the rot that fills our film industry which has only gone down in scripts from the illustrious days of Matira manisa to some crap they sell with Hindi and English words thrown in the titles and the songs. Where did we lose it?

Parba parbaani : Festivals. Ratha Jatra, Rajja, Kumar Purnima, Manabasa Gurubaara, Kartik Purnima. . .  baar maasa re tey-ra parba // Thirteen festivals in twelve months. Festivals that recognize womanhood. Festivals that celebrate life. Festivals that are celebrated with pomp and show – with pithas and mithas. Yet, we have stopped celebrating half of them or converted them into mere occasions where we buy new clothes and go out to have fun. Where’s the alata on the feet of the girls on Rajja? Where is the steaming haladi patra pitha served on Prathamashtami?

Janani : Mother. The mother land and the mother tongue we have been watching silently, sinking to depths. Anglicizing our accent, forgetting our history, we have moved on to a point where the glorious Odia culture and language will die in near future out of no interest in the new generations for it. Changing Odia spellings to make it seem more North Indian, what ridiculousness is that? Disgracing the very culture our forefathers shed blood and sweat to protect when our neighbors said, “Oda ektu bhasa noi”

Odia : My language.

Odisha : My heritage. My identity.

It’s time we all woke up and embraced our identity before it’s too late. Before it’s pilfered and destroyed beyond recognition. Before we lose it to our mindless march of modernity. For “Matrubhoomi matrubhasha ra mamata jaa hrude janami nahin, taku jadi gyani ganare ganiba agyana rahibe kahin!”.

Jay Jagannath!

© Parnini

PS : Leaving interested guys with one of my favorite Odia poems –

UTKALA SANTANA

Tu para bolau Utkal Santan ?
Tebe kimpa tuhi bhiru !
Tohar Janani Rodan karile
Kahibaku kimpa daru ?
To’ purbapurushe Bira paniare
Labhithile kete khyati
Hakima nikate Dukha kahibaku
Kimpa thare tora chhati ?
To purbapurushe Jaya karithile
Ganga tharu Godavari,
Tankari aurase Janma hoi tuhi
Keun gune tanku sari ?
Tu mane bhabuchhu toshamada kari
Badhaibu Jatimana
Toshamadiara Kukura prakruti
Aintha patare dhyan.
Jatira unnati hebakire bhai
Swarthaku Jagat mani ?
Godar godare maunsa lagile
Deharaki subha gani ?
Jatira unnati se kahun kariba
Swarthe jar byasta mana
Shaguna bilua Chikitschak hele
Shaba ki paiba prana ?

– Utkal Gouraba Madhusudan Das

 

 

Good girls don’t behave like this

My father told me, and told me, “Good girls don’t behave like this.”

They keep their morals high, and their hemlines low.

They don’t talk back, they don’t put up a show.

They don’t have an opinion, unless it’s carefully dipped in molten honey; trimmed and speckled, until it’s an acknowledgement.

They don’t have a life – “Do it after your marriage”, “Want it after your marriage”, and likewise.

They don’t go out without filling a requisition form for how many hours, places, people, yards of cloth on them.

They live within their limits – “Sita had her lakshman rekha, you have the boundary of our house”.

They aren’t friends with boys, they don’t talk to men – because her character is the neighbourhood gossip and the family’s honour is in the parts of her body.

They don’t fall in love, they fall in arrangement; where they are shipped off early as a sacrificial lamb with other offerings to be devoured by customs and customers of life.

They don’t demand, they accept; they don’t complain, they forget – how they had to put up with decades of inequality and how they have to put up with more.

How this is the only way they can be saved from being abused, molested, raped, burnt and filmed; by not wanting more than what their fore-‘fathers’ had decided was enough for them.

For my father told me, and told me, “Good girls don’t behave like this.” but he didn’t tell his son, “Good boys don’t behave like this”.