Memoirs

We look back to some rare days in our nostalgia. And today, I am nostalgic enough . The trace in my memory is still fresh and alive as if this was not the day alike most of my days which fade away from the memory as if I never lived them. It was 30^th September 2009. I was a ninth grader back then. Quiet and shy girl. I knew I could express myself well but I always hesitated to speak up. I wondered how much my classmates talked all day long, amid the classes, at the water cooler, on the bus home. I got exhausted watching them. One day life sent a little window of opportunity to this shy girl. It was Hindi elocution competition at school. I participated. I took the risk of speaking up before people.

Picture it: A shy quite girl in her PT uniform, yellow T-shirt and white skirt running out of her bustling class and following(for almost a couple of minutes approx.) an ever smiling teacher who is walking royally in the corridor unknown.

“Sir….she finally manages to say…

“Yes”. He turns around and answers calmly, smile still resting on his lips…

“I want to participate in Hindi elocution competition” she spoke in state of nervousness,

“Okay, you can come to staff room at 4^th period tomorrow; other participants will also be there. We need only two people so only best two will be selected.” He spoke gently and entered inside the staff room...

It was an achievement for me. I managed to speak up before sir and dared to participate. Next day I went there I saw four other participants. Pradeep sir was there with his radiant smile. He gave us a poem “kaidi aur kokila” and asked us to be prepared with it the next day.  He declared he would choose best two among us on the basis of recitation of this poem the next day.

 After completion of my homework that day. I memorized the poem by heart (I still remember the lines).  I tried reciting it in front of the mirror. Next day I found myself standing in front of sir in the same state of nervousness.  One by one others recited the poem. Now it was my turn, I looked at my charismatic mentor, he was seated calmly. I started reciting. “kokil bolo toh….. When I finished reciting, I was confident. I knew I did well.  I could not believe my ears when he appreciated me (that meant a lot, coming from a teacher who was my favorite and who made my geography classes interesting).Happiness visited my heart. I was selected as a participant.

The day of competition arrived. I was ready and determined to win. I heard my name when microphone blared. I paced to stage with my fingernails digging my palm. On my way I saw Pradeep sir gleaming at me with All- the- best look. I needed all the bests as this shy quite girl was facing the stage for the first time in her fourteen year old life. I recited the poem with all confidence I could muster at that point of time. I had hopes. Soon there was declaration of the winner, runner up and I was none. I cannot describe how I felt but it was kind of creepy. I was back to an empty class. It was games class. Everyone was out in the school playground. I sat down on my seat. Yes I was at ease in the empty classroom. I needed solitude. Tears rolled out of my eyes as I started a mental conversation with myself.  Enough.. You wanted to try public speaking Kritika.  You got a chance. .Now you please get back to your normal self. .I wept in solitude and all negative feelings came to my head.  I would have given up but the next day washed all these negative thoughts out of me. I went to school and I was back to my normal quite self even more withdrawn. But I was summoned by Sir and everything just changed. Sir called me and I exactly remember the kind tone in which he said “Kritika, I wanted to say something to you” though sad I was but I tried to be normal and replied “yes sir”

He said “Don’t be sad, nothing is lost if you have not won”. Those words triggered my helplessness and I said “I was confused sir” (I must have told I AM confused sir instead of I WAS) he looked at me with understanding eyes and said calmly “you performed very well, means, if I would have been there you would have been the winner certainly because I know you are the best”.

I stood there in a state of pleasantness. I was changed. It only takes minute and encouraging words to shed apprehensions and embrace a change. Those words worked miracle for me. Those led me to my confidence, promoted my self- respect and made me much better. Soon I became a confident orator and was no longer afraid of speaking up. I also won Best orator award at school in twelfth grade. Some days change your life. It was one of those days.

 I have a story deep in my mind of how great my mentor is. His incredible understanding, his aplomb, and one of his core traits of greatness is his world class language, the language of passion, the language of leadership, language of possibility and hope. I am truly blessed to have a mentor like him. Whenever I get engulfed in negativity, his words come to my mind and a ray of positivity filters it all.

In Conversation With Dave Ursillo.

 Mr. Ursillo is brimming with life and intellect. I stumbled across his website just randomly one fateful day. Here's a small conversation that I had with this amazing man who is a writer, creative entrepreneur and a Yogi.



What’s writing to you?


Writing is a divine art form that connects me to my inner Self and enables me to communicate, give and serve the world in many small but meaningful ways. As a quiet child, writing empowered me to learn how use my skill of listening to communicate intelligently and clearly with people as I grew older. Today, I rely upon writing as a personal practice that helps me stay grounded, healthy and living at my highest level of truth. I teach people how to use writing to feel more creative, empowered and free because I believe it will help them live their best lives.


What matters to you most?


What's most important to me is living true to who I am and what I believe. Every day of my life is a dedication to my beliefs.


You gave up your secure career for sake of writing. Share with us this part of your journey and what kept you motivated in those times of risky career shift?


I gave up a secure career because I believed that I was capable of helping and serving people using my word. In my career, it was understood that you had to wait for years until you were allowed to start to try to help people, have responsibilities and be listened to. Instead, I chose to leave my career so that I could build something on my own and start to share words, stories, lessons, messages and philosophy for people right away. What motivated me was my survival.


Tell us about ten things that inspire you to write.


- Traveling.
- Conversations with friends.
- Reading new books.
- Challenging myself to be the best version of myself.
- Struggles and life's hardships.
- The mysteries of the Universe
- Being a yogi
- Waking up in the morning
- Good music and others' arts
- Being in love with life


What is your strongest belief?


My strongest belief has two halves: (1) That I am capable, and (2) that people are good.

Ink, ideas and stories..

                                              

 Ideas are like butterflies, they beautify your garden of mind.  Inspired and motivated to write something, I was on a mission to write a book and like most beginners was on an idea hunt. I had to do pondering, planning, reading and good God what not to start my journey of words to come out with a story. But then it stuck me. Sometimes reading helps a great deal but you know the things that come across and the experience you get have no substitute.

 You happen to go through a charade of things, numerous big and little incidences and off course the people and their reaction to your feelings and emotions makes your story. The story that is close to your heart, the story that anyone can read but very few can feel.  Sometimes you look at the ceiling fan and think why on earth you have to go through this or sometimes your pillow fabric makes you realize that it is the only element on the face of earth that can soak your sorrows.  Life is not always about sunflowers and penguins. Sometimes it’s like hanging around in your loose pajamas and tees whole day long and plan and work. Plan…God knows what? And work oh! That’s fulfilling (provided you aren’t lazy). But somewhere deep down in your heart you know where your life is taking you to and where you need to go. You have kicked some ass and at the same time you know you have screwed at things. Stories generate that way. The loss,the indifference of emotions, the changes, the memories, every drop of tear, the curve of lips, the happiness in heart, the genuine care, dawn and dusk, the pattern of sunlight and the constellation of stars all of them say a story. This story is of the world in your skull and four chambers of your heart..

Options and election 2014. .

Guest post !!!!!!!! 

General election 2014 result is on its brink. Psephologists present on every panel discussion in electronic news rooms and the entire hullabaloo over the social networks has not only given twists and turns to this election but it has become something more than an unpredictable package. 

Some people have rare air views; Atul Anand is one of them. It’s absolutely okay to take a stand. You must! It is highly imperative to stick your neck out and take a position. This friend of mine has his take on the election 2014 scenario.  

Do we really have to choose between BJP and Congress?

When I sat to write this guest post, I paused for a moment, I tried to think of some random topics. But I could think of nothing but politics, especially when we are nearing the results of general election 2014. I want to admit here that I hate those people who say “I hate politics” or “I am not interested in politics”. There is a saying which goes somewhat similar to “You may not be interested in politics but politics is interested in you” or “If you don’t want to change politics, the politics will change you”. So to those people I would like to say that please stop being ignorant and start exploring what is happening around you.

The media coverage of the general election 2014 was unprecedented. But let’s recall what the issues for this election were? Was it development or corruption? Or was it about unemployment? If Congress is corrupt then BJP or AAP is a sacred political party? The corruption by corporations would not count as corruption? Has Modi nothing to do with corporate loot in Gujarat? Well, these questions were not asked by media. The discussions around the election were largely about Modi vs Rahul Gandhi, Modi vs Sonia Gandhi, Modi vs Nitish Kumar or Modi vs Arvind Kejriwal. The media coverage was swarmed by the personal comments made by these politicians and Modi certainly had an upper hand there.  Modi has been projected as the suitable Prime Minister for this country for over last one year. He is definitely a much better orator than Rahul Gandhi. But what does he talk about? Recently he has been notorious for historical inconsistency in his speeches. I found hardly any substance in his speeches. He loves to talk in rhetoric; the rhetoric of Gujarat development model, the rhetoric of nationalism, etc. But does he discuss the details of Gujarat development experience in his speeches? Because the details of Gujarat development experience are ghastly. If this was not the case, the farmers in Gujarat would not have been protesting against land grabbing, Gujarat would not have Human Development Index lower than ten other states of India, Gujarat would not have one of the worst gender ratio in the country, Gujarat would not have one of the worst record in children with malnutrition cases. The ‘youth of India’ (which I think largely comprises of upper class/middle class Indians) see hope in Modi. But do they really know the Gujarat model of development? The claims of Gujarat development model are sham. Modi has been given out lands, natural resources and many other illegitimate favors to corporations such as Tata, Reliance, Adani, etc. Be it cheap land and loans at as low rate as 0.1% for Tata or gas deals with Reliance and Adani which cost huge losses to state exchequer.  Development doesn’t mean the development of only corporations. Gujarat has very poor record when it comes to development for all sections of society, the inclusive development. The poor of Gujarat haven’t benefited from the so-called development of Gujarat.

It would not be justified if we talk about Modi and we don’t mention communalism. It is a miracle that a CM who has been questioned about his shoddy role in Gujarat 2002 riots, becomes prime ministerial candidate of his party despite of oppositions from senior leaders.  This miracle happened with much needed support from corporations. Business knows no religion or caste. It has no morality. Modi knew it very well. Gujarat became heaven for corporations such as Tata, Reliance, Ambani and in return they gave Modi all kind of gifts, from favorable media coverage (yeah, our media is owned by these corporations) to chartered plane rides. The Muslims in Gujarat are still discriminated. Just outside the shining city of Ahmadabad you can find Muslims forced to live in ghettos. Hate-politics has been the favorite of BJP and RSS; they have mastered the skill of polarizing votes by branding the religious minorities as threat for ‘nation’. This is how Modi became ‘Hindu Hriday Samrat’. This is how a man who had no political ground in Gujarat, succeeded in replacing the senior leaders first at state level and then at national level. This is how another man, who was unknown to Pilibhit constituency, wins elections after he delivers hate-speech.

Modi calls Rahul Gandhi a Shehzada (Prince) but why doesn’t he talk about the princes in his own party. BJP has also got kinship. Whether it is Vasundhra Raje or Varun Gandhi or many other sons & daughters of political elites, they all got tickets either because of kinship or hate-politics or both. BJP is no different from Congress in almost every aspect. Both of them have got corporate backing. Both of them have got no problem with corruption. Leaders from both of the parties have presided over communal riots.

After this massive PR exercise and media advertising, if still Modi fails to become PM, I would like him to become an actor. He is great at acting. He can make fake claims about Gujarat development model. He can express fake concerns for the Dalits and the Muslims. He can even organize fake encounters.

I know for sure that this election has not been a battle between Congress and BJP, the two so-called national parties, rather it has been a battle among Congress, BJP and other political parties. It’s likely that BJP would not be able to get popular majority. In that situation, we can’t deny the possibility of a third front. After all BJP and Congress are not just the options we have got. 

Atul Anand

Brave Girls Do Not Cry.

I believe stories written are more than alphabets arranged in words and punctuation marks. They tell themselves and take you with them. Here's a short story, straight out of my heart's world

                                          Brave Girls Do Not Cry! 

She hugged the trunk of the oak tree as if it can soak all her feelings at that moment, tiny drops had started trickling out of her eyes. Her long hair strands were dangling with air like gusty waves in the sea. She was overwhelmed. Sometimes in life, you need to hold on to something stable, and in order to get out of uncertainties which sorrows start amassing. Oak brought that stability.  Life had changed; it had taken a freaking spin. The rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds were the dominant sounds but she could clearly hear her heartbeats. Those birds had chirped and the leaves had rustled every day for years whenever she had come to this garden. Her mind was there with that little girl and her tears belonged to her. The oak took her down the memory lane. Those were memories now, the memories which were delicately preserved in her heartbeats, the memories of lost love, the memories of ragas and songs in the most familiar voice, the memories of this garden where she stood to hug the oak, the memories in which even when you are a 6 whole-year-old girl and you can’t do without your grandmother. Miera had been shy and withdrawn back then in contrast to what she was in life today. Back then she had a lovely lady in her life. She called her grandma.
                                      
 
                         

“Grandma…grandma…please come…come please…..” she had sobbed stamping her little foot which wore red and white coloured shoes. Those shoes she still has them… those little shoes. Grandma had brought them for her. Her hiccups were heard and those chubby 6-year-old cheeks were stained with her tears. Grandma was out to the market doing her favorite chore of bringing vegetables. Little Miera had gone hysterical not seeing her grandma when she woke up in the evening after her siesta. Those tearful scuttling eyes had gleefully sparkled when she saw her grandma approaching with a bag full of leafy green stuff. She paced towards her grandma and had wrapped her subtle arms around her grandma’s legs. She could only reach up to her grandma’s knees. Her grandma had kept the leafy bag aside and cupped her tiny face in her elderly fingers. “Brave girls do not cry” She had told Miera. Miera had flashed a fairy smile now. That was fifteen long years ago. A long time. Today she felt like growing into that little girl with those red and white shoes again. She could trade her worldwide fame for that. Her canorous voice was known to the world today. Lean and lovely, Miera Nair was a terrific singer today. Her voice not only topped the music charts but it made its way straight into the hearts of people. A few hours ago today she had held the award in her hands. The award was the national award for the best singer. She had received the award in an astonishing state of pleasantness. The camera’s flashes were on her. The golden in her golden black silk sari was radiant in the lights. The award she held in her hands was only visible to her in clarity, the rest of her sight got blurred at that significant moment. She remembered that morning when grandma had introduced her to a big instrument to her.

“Grandma”

“Hmmm…”                                                                                                                                                 

“What’s this?”
" It is Harmonium beta"

Grandma had started playing that instrument which six years old Miera thought resembled a big box. Soon Miera’s little fingers got accustomed to that box like an instrument and her voice had started matching its sound. Early mornings before School, her grandma awakened her for the music practice in the garden under that giant oak. Her grandma was her music trainer and her best friend. She was a great Carnatic musician herself who transferred this art to her little granddaughter. “Music is divine Miera. It connects you to the Divine. Your notes must come out from within” grandma explained to her whenever the pitch in the ragas was not correct and Miera would nod and re start singing that note again with all her heart. “I promise grandma I will give this art my best” Miera promised looking into the eyes of her grandma. In those eyes, she had seen this dream of becoming a great singer. She understood her grandma’s eyes.

Then one day there was this long slender instrument known as Tanpura that grandma presented before her. “It would improve your high pitches.” She had declared. Meira was intrigued by the beauty of this new instrument and she felt the goosebumps on her hands when she had held this slender instrument for the first time. Goosebumps…oh those goosebumps…She experienced them while holding this slender award in her hands. She stood there holding it, cherishing it, and made her way to the podium for her acknowledgment speech when the anchor’s microphone echoed her name. She was there in front of a cheery crowd, amidst millions of her fans in the audience but her eyes were in search. In search of someone that she had lost, in search of someone who had weaved the fabric of her voice, in search of her grandma in the audience. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen” she began in her charismatic confident voice. “My Grandma who made me what I am today could not live to see this day. She told me “Music is divine. It connects you to the divine” She repeated her grandma’s line with a smile and a tear that had escaped the private backwater which she had stored in her eyes. “This feels divine!” I dedicate this to you grandma” “Thank you all” She was close to tears. The applause filled the air. The enthralled audience was in all praises to this talented 21-year-old damsel whose heavenly songs reached into their hearts. Her parents were proud of her. She had got down the stage to the maddening media crowd who were eager for her clicks and bytes but Miera, all she needed now was her solitude and Grandma. She made her way out of the hall. She reached her car, started it, and drove in frenzy. Maybe she was delirious, maybe she wanted solitude desperately, maybe she never knew what it would feel like living this dream which her grandma saw for her or maybe she was lost. The wheels of her car stopped there in front of her old house. Though the walls were old now they felt the same to Miera as when she was 6 years old. She lumbered to that garden filling her eyes with every detail of the home. That chair on which her grandma sat reading newspaper had lived out of a touch of time. The living room was still living where she had run escaping her grandma who wanted to oil her little girl’s hair. The kitchen cupboard was still the same where her grandma used to keep Gooday cookies which made Miera’s good days. Recollecting all those memories she had reached that garden which was her first music school. That garden made her feel closer to her grandma who left the earth and Miera a couple of years ago.  Only one thing had made Miera survive this loss and it was music. So there she was hugging the old oak, remembering the promise that she made to her grandma of becoming a great singer one day. She had kept her promise. She had the award but no grandma. Nothing in this world can be felt as deeply as a loss. Like songs that beautify your soul, like memories that connect you to your existence, like a mirror which shows you the exact, like roads which ask you to move forward, her grandma now lived in the four chambers of her heart, Singing to her the most beautiful songs. The values, music, and grandma's love were carved in Miera's being.

It was a dry summer day, as deciduous trees do, oak was shedding its leaves like once grandma had shed life. There had fallen a splendid tear on dried oak's leaf which lied at its foot. She wiped her tear as she knew grandma won't come today with a bag full of leafy vegetables to wipe them off her cheeks. 'Brave girls do not cry', she was grandma's brave girl. She managed a smile and hugged the oak more tightly and contented.

It’s on fire. . .

dusty lanes

Fire… yeah, they have not discovered it on Mars but our earth has a lot of it and this is what has made me write. Living on the Chota Nagpur plateau of Jharkhand, I have paid many visits to nearby towns. And when I visited Jharia, I was unable to differentiate it from the other small towns of Jharkhand. It had a similar jostling crowd, dusty packed streets lining ancient houses and huts. But the one thing that was different was the soil underneath the feet. It was black and mixed in coal dust completely.

smokey paths

 This place is famous for coal and its mine. The area has remained the major source of supply for coal resources. It was not unusual to see the small coal Chulha placed in front of the houses emitting smoke. What amazed me the most that the population of as of 2007 more than 400,000 people who reside in Jharia are living on the edge of disaster. The entire area is on the coal mines which are burning inside. Heavy fumes emitted from these coalfield fires are also a health hazard for the people. Breathing and lung disorders are caused by the smoke.

The government has a lackadaisical attitude towards the safety of people of Jharia.

The life is normal there at least it appears to but the entire place is under threat and on the brink of disaster. The area is on the fire that can take over this small peaceful town any moment. The local government along with the residents and coal mine owners must prepare appropriate measures before the situation gets out of control and takes the form of God-awful disaster. Only warnings and not to mention the frivolous ignorance won’t help. This visit left me with a sense of helplessness. The Poor and their small livelihood all under threat which no one knows when the fire will gulp down if things operate at the same pace. Anyone Worried???

Coalfield Fumes 

Well, there is another fire in a rage too. Election fire is on this season and every newspaper and news channels are too obsessed with election saga. The leaders stand for better education, an improvement in health, development, lowering of prices, peace, and harmony. Well, who doesn't??The debates are held on news channels on the so-called BIG issues, the derogatory remarks which our politicians throw at each other. But no debates on what these leaders and their parties will do for people of small towns like Jharia and their condition. Why bother??  Election 2014 was a good opportunity to bring into light such problems of people and discuss such issues on panel discussions with people’s representatives and the methods they would adapt to tackle such issues. But nothing much happened as usual. These people are just uninformed voters. Our leaders and their parties have kept them uninformed.

Jharia is on fire…no matter how many elections come and elections go. Anyone cares????

 

Introspection via pen. .

 It’s like always when I sit with pen and paper, thoughts are many but only few take shape of words. Sometimes writing about feelings helps when life has taken turns and changed dimensions. It emphasizes the obvious that time extricates events of your life and what you respond to them makes you the ultimate you.

To give explanations to certain things that happened in my life has always remained bit difficult for me. I just know events took their course and they just happened.The demise of my beloved granny and hard times in family are some of those events that occurred in my life recently (I have survived that and things are a lot better now). And you know it’s always your battle. You are all alone sorting it out for yourself. It is you who goes through a particular turn of events and people can only ‘try to’understand you. They never experience what you go through so how do you expect them to ‘understand’. Cribbing and looking crest fallen is worsening enough. You need to figure what to and who you are at that particular measure of time.

Turn of events and pages
. . 

To aid myself out of such situations I started jotting what I felt like. It was when I was fifteen I started writing dairy entries and my feelings about situations. And trust me; every time I do it I meet a new girl inside me. Those girls inside me are are hysterical,insane, immature, not particularly buoyant when it comes to sea of emotions, funny and at times insightful. The habit continues but it’s been long since I have vented any form of sentiment through my pen. The way it used to be done earlier. Anyways when I return back to that it’s always an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

The time has changed me or I have changed myself with time it’s tough to say about this dilemma especially when I am hunting self amid all the circumstances. But I do find a lot about myself.

Penning down your ideas, dreams and thoughts is like having an exchange of pleasantries with your innermost self. It’s always fulfilling and enriching. It’s one of the things that connect me to sheer happiness. I love to see my journal’s pages inked with words of my heart. I love going through them sometimes in leisure, it always provides me with the sense of self-discovery. I get a fresh view towards life.

Hopes, spontaneity and my journal. .

Introspection via pen always brings out simultaneous thoughts on paper and spontaneous me!!!!!! What do you do when you feel like you need to vent?? I would love to know. Share with me in comments.

My road rave outs. .

My clock tells me its 1:55 am now and I am typing this because I feel strongly about Roads. Nah! I am not drunk. Trust me; I am talking all sober, stifling cute little yawns.

Of all things on earth, Roads connect the world. These roads, paved or unpaved, busy or secluded and in more philosophical sense right or wrong are of different characteristics and patterns.

 Thoughts.....sur la route!!

Not dispelling the magic that roads do in our lives I feel roads say much. Yeah, roads speak of inspiration, hopes, and new-found freedom to reach the destination. Roads always take you somewhere. They encourage you to move . . . move ahead always.

I have a belief that roads can act as one of the best catalysts in the decision making process. The roads take you out of your cocoon, your comfort zones and the horizon of your thoughts expand giving you an apt mindset to decide your life’s best decisions. Taking a closer look, decisions, and choice of roads is analogous to life. And how else can it be?? You discover this weird thing called life and you need roads. Don’t you??

There are outer physical roads and journey and there are inner roads and journey as well. The former takes you to places and the later makes you reach the life you lead.

And this man Imtiaz Ali, I love him for making movies live Highway, Rock star and Jab we met where roads and journey play a vital role. He understands my road love.

 In love with roads forever…Winding up, I would thank heavens that we have ROADS . . . After all, there is a way to everything!!!!!