Skip to main content

Nonu's Fourth Birthday, In a Country with Infanticide and Honour Killings

A rare, Sunday, with forced ignorance to the attempt by the spouse to paint the feeble struggle to sneak some rest after constant running around in the time of organizational churn and race to targets, as a major sloth, and even worse, calling that sloth as key portion of character profile, I watch my lovely, recently turned four, rolling on the bed, making bubbles in the air and drinking some water from the bottle.




My life just as that of mankind can be divided into before and after my daughter.



As I rushed through the meetings on her birthday on 16th of May,sneaking in and out of the charged day, my mind invariably keeps going back to the fateful day four year back when at 8:18 in the morning, I got the word from the Doctor, Bithika Bhattacharya, that the earth has suddenly been blessed with a million new colors. I had read some website about first tings to do, and one of them being counting the fingers of the baby, and I remember, as I walked into the Nursery of Max Hospital that morning, I forgot every thing. I looked around lost at all the ten odd babies happily sleeping, quite unaware of the 'Big, bad world' they were entering into and as if drawn by some unknown force of attraction walked straight to stand in front of the baby who was throwing tiny, little arms in air and saw written on the anklet the pink ankle "B/o (Baby of) Seema Suryesh", with eyes closed as if in meditation, given away only by a naughty smile at the corner of her lips, or was I imagining. I wanted to shout, fall on my knees, a heart did beat a shade faster, just as once it did, when I went to bid farewell to her would be mother, in Raipur as she stood in the doorway of the train compartment, as the train sped away, and then when I saw her again in Indore, on a misty winter morning, when the love breathed new again as I took admission in MBA there. I did no such thing, ran my fingers on her tiny forearm, so small she was. I came out, the attendents looked at me expectedly, money came out from purse and I knew I will be hearing a great deal on it from wifey once she know, but I was too happy to be worried. I was a mountaineer reaching the top of the mountain. It was not an accidental child, it was not an accidental love, it was not an accidental marriage. All these things meant more than what they represented, each event underscored a principle, a meaning which went beyond the being. She, my daughter is the summation of all that I can be as a human being, in her echoes the sweetest melodies of human possibilities. It is not because she is exceptional, she is as exceptional as every child is to her parents. You do not need to watch a Television Show to appreciate how life blesses you in the shape of a child that she offers you, you just need to close your eyes and watch your child once again, as you watched her when you found her the first time, every time you find him or her, challanging you and standing up to you in defiance. Saw Ishqzaade yesterday, a lousy, poorly scripted movie on honour killings. The movie miserably fails in doing anything worthwhile to your thoughts or sensibilities, to me it did brought in a question. Can one actually go to the extent of killing an offspring or even feign the ones to killed in more respectable strata of society, simply to punish defiance, if for a moment one remembers that first moment when a father looks at the powerless figure in a nursery cot and imagine that the power which that tiny figure holds of changing your life, thereon? It is really hard to imagine a country like ours where marriage is primarily a way to babies, would face stigma like infanticide and child labor.

5 comments

Popular posts from this blog

कांग्रेस संत समागम - Congress Sant Samagam

आज रात्रि जब प्रात:काल डिम्पल बाबा जागे, उनका हृदय नई ऊर्जा से प्रकाशमान था। कल ही काँग्रेस कार्यकारिणी ने उनकी तुलना किसी अचार से की थी और ध्वनिमत से सनातन धर्म का रक्षक बताया था। डिम्पल बाबा के बताया गया था कि अचार बनने के बाद हिंदू धर्म ध्वजा की रक्षा का दायित्व उन पर बैठता है। बाबा को खुद को पिकल कहा जाना पसंद तो नहीं आया था और वह जानना चाहते को अति उत्सुक थे कि ये हिंदू पिकल का इतना सम्मान क्यों करते हैं। हालाँकि डिम्पल बाबा के उत्साह का सबसे बड़ा कारण यह था कि ब्रह्मऋषि डिम्पल घोषित होने का बाद वह सामाजिक मर्यादाओं से इतर हो गए थे, और बक़ौल बाल ऋषि पूनावाला उन्हें भाँग गाँजा की निर्बाध व्यवस्था का अधिकार था। बालऋषि के अनुसार- राहुल जी इज जस्ट लाईक दैट डूड फ्राम माऊँटेन- शिव। सोच कर ही महर्षि डिम्पल के शरीर मे फुरेरियाँ उठी। नानी ने जब पवित्र वेटिकन के जल से ब्लेसित किया था तब उन्हें कहाँ भान होगा कि एक दिन उनका पौत्र हिंदू धर्म की दिशा तय करेगा। 
बहरहाल नव-नियुक्त ब्रह्मऋषि डिम्पल बाबा ने, घड़ी को देखा। बारह बज गए थे और प्रात: सूर्य वंदना का समय था। रोलेक्स राजर्षि को भी अब पहुँच…

लँगड का एमाराई

(Hindi Satire, inspired by immortal writing of late  Shri Shrilal Shukl and his legendary Novel- Rag Darbari)


लंगडवा एम आर आई करवाने का सोच रहा था। फिर सोचा पता नहीं मशीन कहाँ कहाँ से जुड़ी होगी।

खन्ना मास्टर लंगडवा के उहापोह को बड़े ध्यान से देख रहे थे। ग़रीब का कष्ट अमीर को सदा ही ध्यानाकर्षक लगता है। उसी में उसकी आत्मा का उद्धार और राजनीति का चमत्कार छुपा होता है। खन्ना मास्टर जवान और जोशीले थे। चमकीली वास्केट पहनते थे, और गंजहा की जगह ख़ुद को गंजावाला कहलाना पसंद करते थे।

गंजावाला अपना चश्मा लहराते बालों में धकेल कर, मनुहार के लहजे में बोले - “जाओ हो, काहे घबराते हो? कब तक वैद जी के पीछे घूमते रहेगे? क़स्बा क्लीनिक जा कर एमाराई करा लो।”

“हमको थोड़ा डर लग रहा है।”

लंगडवा गंजावाला के उत्साह से भयभीत हो गया। अमीर आदमी ग़रीब के सुख में अचानक रुचि लेने लगे तो अक्सर ग़रीब के लिए भय और भ्रम का कारण होता है। एक राजकुमार पहले उत्साहित हुए थे तो जवाँ मर्द कंबल और ट्राजिस्टर प्राप्त कर के लौटे थे। उसके बाद उनके घर कभी किलकारियाँ नही सुनाई पड़ी , बस मुफ़्त के रेडियो में बिनाका गीत माला सुनाई पड़ती…

Know the Naxals- A brief look at the History

There have been many debates of late on the television, in the wake of the arrests of those who are now increasingly mentioned as the Urban Naxals. I am both shocked and amused at the same time to look at the audacity of the sympathizers of Naxal terrorism, in all their starched Saris and handloom Kurtas, when they hide behind the same constitution, that the want to overthrow. They are shrill, sophisticated, eloquent and deriding. They hate the common folks, and their disdain for those who work, create and make a living, peeps through their elitist smiles. They are mostly ideologues (yes, that is some work for sustenance in the modern scheme of things), academics and well, ostensibly, writers and poets. The fact remains that when communism is the scheme of things, Naxal notices mentioning Jan Adaalats in the villages of Chattisgarh too become work of art, and corpses hanging from the electricity poles, become equivalent of art work on the roof of Sistine chapel.
The other day, Ms. Arun…