On the occasion of Mother’s Day...I can see you in Me!

Today, 8^th of May is known as World Mother’s Day! Well, for me every moment of my life is a mother’s day. When I look into the mirror, I always wonder did she look the same when she was my age.

Today if my mother would have been there she would have been nearing her 50s and she would have never shared he age and weight with anyone! I remember how she used to tell me not to mention to my friends that she has joined gym or dieting to reduce weight. I remember our frequent and secret trips to the Balaji Pani-Puri and Bhel centre nearby our house during her dieting days.

Haha...i remember her scolding me while i was digging into the sev-puri one day and spilled it all over on my dress, “now what would your father think looking at your dirty dress? He doesn’t know we are here.” And i had answered with epitome of innocence that “ohh don’t worry Aai, I will tell Baba that you didn’t eat!”

I remember my trips to the market on her Black kinetic Honda which used to make horrible sounds and it still does as my father uses it. Even if i still hear a kinetic Honda I feel like running up to the door and asking her “Aai, what have you bought for me today?”

There was always something, a kayani cake, Pattice from Hindustan bakery or crème rolls.

Huh...right now I feel like I will explode writing this blog as there is so much congestion of feelings, memories and thoughts within me. Even after 10 years...even after growing up into a 21 year old girl, even after finding a career path I miss being 13, I miss my school days, i miss my home and her which has never been the same again after she died.

Her memories within me have no grief in it, no regret; I can only remember her as a woman of substance, an achiever to whom everybody back in Pune remembers as a good woman. But what I loved the most in her is her polite, sweet and sometimes a childlike behaviour (not to mention her endless attempts to lose weight!)

She is the one despite not being around me has made me believe that i can love, I can feel and i can fight...I will try to fulfil your every wish my beloved mother ...ahh but forget about getting married at the age of 20...as i have already crossed that age (and I do not wish to destroy someone’s lifeJ)

So...Happy Mother’s Day...I can see you in me every day and it will remain the same till the very end.

Those are the ‘words’ that will lead you to freedom

Have you seen the movie called ‘Freedom Writers?’ In which a hopeful and aspiring teacher transforms the bunch of hopeless kids, how? She uses the most powerful weapon...and what is that? Well...Words!

Miss G, as she is called in this movie makes her students write, read and listen the words full of hope, virtue and belief. She simplifies the chaos in a teenager’s mind into paragraphs written in a diary.

What is in words? What can words do to a human being? Have you ever realised that all our relationships define and sustain on the words we use? We call somebody our friend—which is again a word and share some words of friendliness with him.

You call someone a Father and what you get in return is love...what i have realised somehow is that a relationship with anybody will prevail if that person is least bothered about how you say to him but listens with open heart, what you say to him and sometimes stands beside you, speechless just to let you know those cosmic words which are unspoken yet conveyed through eyes, a simple touch or a smile. When we finally experience this all we do is to collect these memories in mind and convert them in to words to share with someone else.

Watching those kids in that movie troubled with racism, gang wars and constant gunshots, open their hearts in a personal journal and express the meaning of fight, chaos and how they miss their friends they have lost in the futile gang wars, have made me write this content. And when i wonder why, my memory of the first diary that i wrote comes back to me.

I guess I was 15, just passed my SSC exam and got a diary to write in vacations...what i wrote, i clearly remember was about my family and how much i used to feel alone, How i found everything was a lie and nobody loved me. I have no idea where these thoughts came from and how i tackled them later on but these few written words still make feel a little guilty about those feelings but that belief of expressing myself, being true to myself in a diary lifts me up every time. I can lie to the world, and i certainly do so but how can I ever lie to myself...what empowers this feeling is few words describing the truth.

When you see something else and you get to write the contradiction because of the human made norms-- give words to the truth you know, give words to what you feel, let the words flow in the format of your emotions and let them explain what is most important to you.

I bet, you will score ten on ten in this exam and the word ‘belief’ will enter in to your score card of life!

A billion dreams...but I was heartbroken...

They boarded the train from Khar, I was amused by their behaviour.

While sitting on the board, they were intrigued in their conversation. The eldest was holding one magazine, ‘Cricket Samrat’...

“ye Dhoni hai...or ye pata hai kaun hai?” asked the eldest to two younger ones.

“Gary Kirsten...aur ye Yuvaraj!” said the younger one.

I was amused by these three lost little boys, dressed in wrenched cloths, dirty, stinking and who, I guess didn’t know how to read. But they knew who is Gary Kirsten, and how does he look. They were more interested in looking at Yuvraj’s several pictures clicked during world cup and discussing about him. A billion dreams, this was the title given by the newspaper I work for to its world cup campaign, I have never understood how one game keeps a nation going. To be honest, these boys should have been in school, studying about how this country has sustained its unity in diversity, its national game is Hockey and Mumbai –where they wander in, is this country’s economic capital!

I wonder about these billion dreams...where are they heading.

A world cup victory, Anna Hazare’s fight and India’s youth standing against corruption at one side and on the other dropping number of a female population in the new census, series of scams and how right to education haven’t even reached 20% of kids in the country!

While looking at those boys gazing at photographs of their heroes, I wished at that very moment, I wished from bottom of my heart if they could read what Dhoni said after the victory...if they could read how Kirsten inspired Indian team. How i wish...

Lost in thoughts I left the train and looked back at the boys, they did not care which station came, probably they did not know their destination... but while looking at Harbhajan’s picture, they knew he is bowling a dusara!

All I could do is to smile at them...somehow; this victory which has won billion hearts was making me feel heartbroken...

Interpretations of my dreams...

I have been wondering about this for a long time now...My dream world? How would it be...green or blue? Would it be like a smooth trail paving through thickets reaching the point where I can see nothing but a valley and the endless sky!

Ahhh, actually my dream world sometimes do feel like a dimly lit, painted in white— ballet dancing room in which every movement is slow, graceful and elegant! In which happiness prevails with broad smiles and shiny eyes. It is a world where people rejoice.

Yes, I confess that I spent half the time at night constructing my own dreams with some people i hardly talk to and in the world which I have hardly seen.

Well, there are people who always tell me, “Grow up Neha, you are going to be 21 now, life is not as smooth as a dream.”

Well as far as I am concerned’ Dreams’ have helped me to listen to the lullaby of life. Dreams were my inspiration and day dreaming about anything which may mean nothing to the real world and people has done wonders for me.

Whatever I am today is the result of my series of endless dreams during graduation years and I think my dreams have already started shaping my future.

I dream of becoming a writer one day,

I dream of going to watch fire crackers at London eye.

I dream to roam Ladakh with a backpack and a friend!

Ahh I dream of owning a house on top of the mountain...

I dream of meeting a man, who will understand my conversations within.

I dream...

I had heard from someone that dreaming and making dreams a reality are two very different things.

Life itself feels like a dream...and ‘living’ feels like a dream run when everything is in place...

It’s been four years; I have been staying alone and dreaming.

I have realised that every interesting person that I see then he or she may be a person sitting on a footpath with expressionless face and a lost sight automatically fits into a fictional character of my dream...which leads to a concept and then a fictional piece of writing!

It’s been days i have written a fictitious story...ahh i guess it’s time to dream...

When freedom comes at a terrible cost!

It’s been quite a few days since I have written something without a proper structure, good intro and a word count! And it’s been many nights since I slept without even thinking about my dreams!

In my case I end up forming my own dream rather than experiencing one subconsciously. But today while cleaning my house one thought captured my mind and that was about one person.

A person whom I was a little rude with (I justified it given the amount of irritation caused by the person, but I still feel the guilt.)

She was a lonely lady, always cribbing about being alone! Not loved by anyone anymore, a lady who missed her husband, son and grandchildren every minute of her life. She was one of those people who never considered other people to be good human beings.

And one fine day while performing her daily prayers she said to god, “Dear God, these days i forget anything and everything please don’t let me forget you...!”

I was amazed by her thought, she was smiling at her favourite gods framed and kept on a shelf.

I have heard this lady whine about not giving her a girl child, “girls love their parents, they never let them be alone,” she used to say!

She always told me that with money you can get everything what you won’t get is love.

Ahh...this 85 year old, my land lady of course!, whose past and present and everyday routine which I used to hear every day for at least 10 times fell from her bed due to a paralysis attack. It was the thing she feared the most.

I did what i had to! First time i was covered in someone else’s blood. She was saved!

When i went to meet her at the hospital after couple of days, she was bedridden, paralysed and could hardly speak asked me, “Neha, have you informed the milkman not to deliver the milk till I get back?”

“Yes” said I and left the room. Today she is gone to her relatives, she has got company and she probably recover. But she still lives in each and every corner of this house. Each thing shows her behaviour, her attitude.

When we learned that now we are the only guardians of this house. We couldn’t rejoice. We got freedom, we don’t have listen to any cribbing and bitching as well as there are not restrictions yet we couldn’t breathe free.

And then my roommate suddenly asked, “Isn’t it difficult for a woman to suddenly leave her 60 year old household?”

Not single conversation of ours ends without her memories.

I have friends who envy me for staying alone. But the truth is staying alone with the loneliest lady you possibly know in your little life of 20 years was a challenge! My ultimate realization tells me how much ever you hate a person, how much ever you want to get rid of him or her, that person becomes a part of your life and impacts you the most.

It’s hard to enjoy freedom which is gained at this cost! But I guess ‘such is life!’!

When they hear my name…

“Whats your name?”

“Neha Ghatpande”

“ahh… Brahmin?”

This is a usual conversation I have heard since my childhood. From the peun in my school to my landlady in Mahim get the community I belong to (My family belongs to: I still don’t know about me) be recognized by just hearing my sir name.

I used to think people in Pune have this habit of gathering extra information about each and everybody (even god doesn’t know for what) but my such basic misconceptions are coming to an end when most of the (open Minded) Mumbaikars also react in the same way.

Being in Marathi medium school casteism was part of life. Starting from the teachers asking questions in a study tour like:“How can you eat an egg? Aren’t you a Brahmin? I seriously didn’t know how to answer that question. As my parents never really told me that we are Brahmins! Especially my father and his vast social network, he has got friends in almost every community and so we never really recognized ourselves by the community.

So many times I had seen forms lying on the table at my fathers desk with a heading —‘Membership of Deshastha Rigvedi Brahmin Sangha’, biting dust before being thrown in the dustbin.

“We should be united,” they say!

Then they will start with your cast and then you as a Maharashtrian then your religious identity and then you as an Indian, I forgot race here! Hushhhh…..

I have never really understood this concept of unity! First they will tag themselves with a community name, they will make friends belonging to that community and then they will use the word unity! How ironical they can get!

But when I introspect I am ashamed to admit how much it is in my blood! It’s that part of conscience which pops up suddenly and unknowingly while mingling with the other community or even talking with the same! The feeling of insecurity fills me up when somebody asks my cast! I am left with no other option but to say yes or avoid the question with a smile (which has absolutely no meaning).

It becomes part of your identity socially. I feel glad about leaving that protected cushion blinded by the community bias to go to a temple like Fergussion College and a cosmopolitan city like Mumbai!

In last two and half months I have roamed in and around Dharavi, slums in wadala and Bandra, recently covered the death anniversary of Dr. Ambedkar at Shivaji Park. Everywhere what mattered to me is my Identity as a reporter as they looked at me with respect.

As my father always tells me, “You should be known as a good and capable human being.”

So the ‘Ultimate Realization’ is that I might have to live with my cast identity for life but carving out an identity myself is so much more fun than leading blissfully closed life!

I

It started with something called ‘Not at all’

She was keeping a jar full of laddu’s on the shelf. I came running to her and said, “Aai, ask me whether I want laddu’s or not?”…(In Marathi)..ahh she was surprised but she did ask.. “Tula ladoo have ahet ka?”(Whether you want laddu’s or not?)…and all excited me quickly answered in English,‘No, not at all.’ ‘Ohh..’ she said and hugged me. I was in fifth standard in which I learned first few words of a language called English.

I still wonder why she hugged me? I am pretty sure she must have shared this incident with my father. Neha, spoke in English!

Today I find it easy, as if it was never an issue for me. But it was! I have no idea why I suddenly remembered this incident from my past and here at this very moment I realise how far I have come in life.

I know I am 20 and people might think that calling it a LIFE is a bit too much but whenever I turn the pages of past I do feel I have come far…very far from everything that happened.

Regarding the language, people around me are surprised that I come from the vernacular school, Marathi medium to be precise and it was followed by my best friend confessing that looking at me I seriously don’t look like those from the Marathi medium!

Hah…who are those? And why are they called as those?

I remember I used to whine about not sending me to the English medium!Then my Aai would say, “I always wanted to send you to an English medium school, but you know your Baba!” and then the conversation would follow with how my Baba is ultimately right as she never really opposed him!

So when people ask me how come I picked up this language I always share an anecdote about Ferguson college when my favourite English teacher told us that if she (who studied in a Marathi medium in a village where she didn’t have English till her 10^th as a subject) can stand and teach us today, why can’t we learn?

Till today I used to think Ferguson College and My English Professor were my mentors but then I remember the ‘not at all’ conversation with my beloved mother and I say ahh I guess no, not at all!

It was her…It was her dream…

And I wonder if she is watching me here sitting in an office of a leading English daily, writing this blog in English!

It’s been nine years…I am conversing with my self and not with you!

Aai…I wish I could talk to you in English and see your beautiful eyes lit up with pride…

Well not your every wish comes true…

When she left…I felt something back then I didn’t know what was that something called but today I know the word…It’s void…yes, the word is ‘Void’…