Wednesday, November 24, 2010

A shocking video

One of my friends had shared this video on facebook. I'd rather let you guys watch this video without saying a word more. 

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

It is not just about PMS

Disclaimer: All that you read here is merely based on a thought. I wouldn't say that it is fictitious. I am sure that it would have happened to a lot of people. Only, nothing of this sort happened to me or anyone I know, in the recent past. It is my own thought which originated from a healthy discussion in the office. 

A thought struck me today. I found it to be somewhat weird. It made me confused and I became a little biased towards things which I strongly feel about. I am sure it happens to you too. Well, actually I know that it happens to almost everybody but I am on the quest to find out 'WHY' it happens.

Today, our gang of girls in the office were discussing about premenstrual stress and it's effects on women. This is not my topic of discussion and I have absolutely no queries regarding this. But, it is the behaviour of women and their reactions towards other women, which is unclear to me. Let me explain with an example. A woman is suffering from premenstrual stress. She tells other women about it, who become sympathetic towards her. They understand her pain and help her in every possible way to make her feel comfortable and lessen the burden from her shoulders. More so, if this woman has a lady boss above her, she too would do something about it even if it is a small gesture of showing concern. Infact, if you ask my view point, I too would help any woman even if I do not share good terms with her.

But if the same woman is suffering from a chronic disease like Bronchitis or maybe even Cervical pain, there will be very few people, even women who wouldn't get up to show a bit of concern. In this case, nobody will lessen the burden even if she is feeling breathless because of an asthma attack. They would just sit back as if it were a routine proceeding. They would rather expect her to use an inhaler and get back to her senses within seconds. If I have to compare premenstrual stress with Asthma, I would rate Asthma to be a disease which is more uncomfortable and intolerable than PMS.

I mean, seriously. Okay, let me not revolve my discussions around women. Let me talk about human beings, in general. Men also suffer from diseases like Asthma. Okay, let me get back and talk about myself. I suffer from severe migraine. I know how it feels when people tell me to stop enacting a headache and get beck to work. The intensity of pain that I get during a migraine is much more than any pain that I have experienced till date. It is not amusing when people make fun of my headache by saying that I get it when I am overburdened. Come on, people. Migraine is so uncomfortable that a person cannot even nod his/her head. Similarly, during an asthma attack, the person feels breatheless, How do you expect them to work when they are not even able to breathe properly.

The simplest of reason which I understand is that people relate to things and situations which they have either seen or strongly feel about. People with asthma would easily relate with those who suffer from it. I would better understand the situation of a person suffering from migraine rather than a person who is suffering from Asthma. However, every woman understand the premenstrual stress irrelevant of the fact that she gets it or not. Infact, even men understand the pain that it causes and give every woman a benefit of doubt in this regard.

What I do not understand is that where does the sympathy go when we suffer from every other disease except PMS. I do not understand why does the boss force his/her employees to work overtime even in the case of breathlessness or a chronic headache. I really wish to find an answer to these question. What drives the behaviour of people in such cases? I don't know if such cases happen with men too. I mean, men understanding the problems that only men face. Tell me what you guys think. Or if you have a similar situation to share, then let me know. Or if you know the answers to my questions.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Its time to get back to work

Festival season always makes me oh-so-bubbly-and-cheerful. It is all about meeting family and friends, exchanging gifts(did I say that I love this part), eating all the fatty stuff and not being bothered about gaining weight, cleaning all those almirahs that you haven't touched in a while, and ofcourse spending more time on the roads rather than lazing around at home. If you are from Delhi and you were out on the streets driving bumper to bumper through the Diwali traffic, then you know exactly what I mean.

And now when the festive season is over, I can only wait for it to return next year. I wonder why does the time fly by so soon. It seems that it was just yesterday that I had started my preparations for Diwali. But the reality is that it is time to get back to the office. Time has come for my creative and artistic skills to hibernate. Wake them up when October ends next year. Till den, *yawn*...!!!

But I have to tell you what I did this season. Yeah, Yeah.. I know, I am boasting but there were not many people around to appreciate the hard work that I had put in. So, automatically, the focus shifts on you guys. Okay, I painted the diyas. And I made the rangoli too. I must show them to you.

I know I made the dull and simple diyas look colourful and bright. *blush blush*

 A more closer look at them. Did you like them?

Rangoli, a colourful pattern. 

Rangoli - Ganeshji

It took me four long hours to make the above Rangolis. The entire time, I was sitting on my knees making the rangoli.You know what, if there aren't many people appreciating the hard work that you have put in, the enthusiasm really goes down. I wouldn't have bothered much about the cramps in my back and my legs if the people had appreciated me. Forget about appreciating, some people did not even have the courtesy to mind their feet while I was making the rangoli. They simply stepped on the rangoli. If you look more closely at the rangoli above, you'll see some lumps forming in the corner. That is exctly the place where I had to redo the work because a man, yeah, "a 40 year old man" stepped on it, not once but twice. Gosh, and then they expect me to control my anger. Yeah, right..!!

My mom is so fond of my rangoli that she keeps it for two-three days. But this year somebody spoilt it when we woke up the next morning. And I could see that it was done deliberately. I wish I had taken a picture of the spoilt rangoli. If I had known who did that, I would have kicked that person in the face. I really wanted to cry. I think, it is always better to make long lasting rangolis, just like the ones that I made last Diwali.

But there isn't any point in crying nor in letting the anger take control of me. So,  let me just get over it. nd look I have taken out my frustration out here. And I am already feeling so much better. I just hope that the cramps go away and the pain subsides soon. 

I am so sleep deprived. I have no idea how will I get myself out of the bed tomorrow morning. Aaahh..!! Monday morning blues have returned.

Monday, November 1, 2010

The Epitome Of Anger

Fuming with rage, She took that white piece of paper in her hand and sprung out of the bed. She stamping her feet angrily on the stairs as she climbed up and promised herself that she would never talk to him again. Not after what he did. Her mother had always taught her that forgiveness comes from an open heart, with no conditions attached. All these years, Amira had followed the path of forgiveness, a disrupted road it was yet it brought a sense of inner peace to her. It always did. She had forgiven him even on occasions she wasn't expected to be liberal. But today it was different. She gave a dirty look to the closed door behind which he was probably taking the last drag of his Marlboro. She imagined him sitting lazily on his rust-coloured bean bag wearing nothing but his favourite jockey boxers. And that aggravated her more. He had to learn to let go of his bachelorhood soon. Very soon. His habits always blew her up but she had always taken control of her anger. And today, his habits bothered her more than they ever did.

Sometimes, forgiveness doesn't work. You need to be vocal about your partner's faults, sit back and discuss them one at a time. Ignoring them may work for a few months, or a few years if both of you share a compromising nature. But it doesn't work that way in the long run. Amira was a little different. Not once in these 11 years that they had spent together, had she uttered a word against him. Whenever she found herself out of control, she would simply lock herself in her room and weep. But not a word against him or even his habits. 11 years, she had lived with him, not in the same house, but she had been totally committed to him.And since the past 1 year they had been sharing the same house. And it wasn't just Amira who showered her love onto Daksh. He too loved her. With all his might. Yes, a man loves a woman with his might. His physical strength, his vigour and his passion, together they make him strong enough to stand up to her demands. It is with his might that he becomes capable of looking after her. And so was Daksh, who loved Amira with all his might.

But there has to be a limit. A saturation point. Everybody reaches a saturation point at some time or the other, beyond which they refuse to take no more. Amira's life resembled a Pepsi bottle. All through her life she had ignored every issue that had bothered her. It got bottled up inside her. It isn't that she did not get a chance to speak up, she did get it. But she chose to stay mum. But when you open a Pepsi bottle after shaking it left, right and centre, all that's inside rushes out with all its might. A woman's might. An infuriated might. Shaken by Daksh's carelesslenss, Amira could no longer control her anger. She wanted to barge inside. There was no looking back. She had decided to call off the wedding. And that thought made her clench her fist, almost crushing the white paper, the receipt in her hand. She raised her arm and brought it close to her eyes. Twenty two lakh rupees, it screamed at her. Though the description wasn't readable but she could make out that it was a diamond necklace. She knew that Daksh couldn't afford that necklace. She also knew that his mother wouldn't have paid for that necklace or Amira would have known. But she had neither seen such a necklace nor had heard anybody talking about buying one. The date on the receipt said that it was bought 7 months ago. Living in the same house, sharing the same almirahs, the same lockers in the bank, she had not seen any necklace which was this expensive. If she didn't know about that piece of jewellery, it simply meant that Daksh had gifted it to some other woman just like he had gifted that ring to Swati, his friend from college. She had not questioned him then. She didn't know where did he get that money from. She didn't know how good a friend she was to him. She didn't know if he was fooling around with her. She simply trusted him. She knew that he loved her. She had just remained silent.

Unable to resist, she turned the knob unsure of what words would come out from her. She entered. It all looked different. Daksh wasn't sitting lazily on his bean bag. There was no cigarette smell in the air. He wasn't in his boxer shorts. His usually unkempt bed was carefully made. Clothes which were always strewn all over the place, were perhaps resting neatly in his almirah. Shoes, carefully lined up under the bed. And right in the middle there was Daksh, sitting on his bed. He was busy scribbling something. He didn't see Amira enter the room. Confused, Amira walked towards him. He looked up. Surprised to see her inside, he quickly grasped the red box lying on the bed and before he could realise what he was doing he hid it behind himself. But before Amira could say anything, he brought the box in front, looked straight in her eye and said, "Amira, look here." He took a deep breathe and said "This box contains all the money that I had saved in these years. This box is an account of all the hardwork that I have put in. Kept in this box are all those days which I had spent away from you, working late in the office. All those gifts that I had always wanted to buy for you but I didn't that time, they are all in this box. Before we get married, I want to return all that was meant for you." Saying this, he handed her the box and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Amira did not utter a word. All through her life she had followed the path of forgiveness. Just once, she wished to deviate from that path. Thankfully, she didn't or else her life would have ended up in a mess. Amira loosened her grip and let the receipt fall down. Numb from shock, she just managed to hug him.