It's Time To #CleanUpCashOut...

Every second day the menace of E-Waste makes its way to the headlines in national dailies. Yet, my cries in agony seem to fall on deaf ears. They say 'Old is Gold' and even though I am a golden ager, by all means, nobody seems to care enough to value me in brass or bronze, leave alone the precious yellow metal.

Gone are the days of yore wherein I was assembled in a top-notch factory adhering to all laid out safety standards, complete with best-in-class specifications, handled with care to be encased in a brand new sturdy packaging - those were the days! :)

Now, its an all new and sad ball game all-together wherein there are a plethora of brands each rolling out a new phone - dare you to say smart! It was my time when we were truly smart, me and my comrades - today's fancy pieces are all with similar specs, just twisted explanations with some technical jargon for spice to lure potential customers, every other day! Are they manufacturing phones or ice-cream - rolling out new flavors every other weekend - for Christ's sake!

As phones, correction - smartphones - we were prized possessions - replacing round-dial landlines and cordless phones - who were our forefathers. As for today's spoiled brats, there is not an ounce of reverence for in them for their senile counterparts like me.

I have a heavy sense of neglect draining through my circuitry at this moment. I feel as if the world will come crashing upon me to finally tear apart my components as I lie helpless with no one to pay heed to my plight. I am only able to recall the golden memories of my youth - how I was first loaded with a brand new OS by my manufacturer, then the journey to my owner who had sent word to me through one of the leading e-commerce websites in the country, and how I had spent a jolly seven years with my owner and her family. I still remember how her kids were first excited on seeing me - our first meeting was a dream come true for me.

I had the good fortune of being an indispensable part of my owner's life - making calls, listening to music, scheduling important meetings, being her BFF on work and leisure outstation trips - Oh My! - how many memorable moments had I captured for my beloved owner and her family! Most of them are her prized possessions - framed for eternity till date.

The kids used to enjoy playing games on me during their half-hour study breaks all the time. However, the same kids are today responsible for my tattered condition. Goofing around with their games, and occupying more than their individual designated break time lead to a tussle between the kids and I was angrily snatched from them by my owner. Such a dramatic scene it was, that I was sent flying to the ceiling, and hit the revolving blades of the fan. All for me to sport a large crack all across my display. It was all an accident, I agree. But, no one else apart from me had to bear the consequences. Thankfully, all my functionality was intact. In spite of that, I could see my seven-year-lifetime gradually coming to an end.

Just like one vice overshadows a hundred good qualities, that one aesthetic flaw sent all my first-class features down the drain. Gradually, my owner gave in to societal pressures of flaunting a phone that had an as-good-as-new screen and I was packed off in a cardboard box and dumped in one corner of the house with all other previous phones owned by the family to lend me a shoulder and share their sob stories of having undergone a similar experience, ending up with a couple of defects that rendered them useless.

Even though my owner used to miss me badly, owing to the fact that her newer phone did not sport as many features and was not able to provide her as much ease of use as I used to, the least she could do for me was to take me to a couple of repair shops to explore if I could be cured of my defect. My seven-year-long sturdiness was an asset once-upon-a-time but had become a liability now! Similar was the plight of most of my box-mates who had been loyal to my owner long enough for their spare parts like screens, keys, and accessories to vanish from the market.

I was back to the cardboard box for as long as it seemed until a good samaritan came visiting. Turns out, that my owner was shifting cities owing to her kids' higher education and my box mates and I had been put up one of the leading resale websites in the country. It was their time to #CleanUpCashOut.

After a week of us being put up, this gentleman made way to my owner's place for paying a fortune to take me with him. It was my moment of truth. This gentleman was willing to pay way beyond what the website said was my estimated resale value! I was surprised, joyous, and sad, all at the same time.

Turns out, I was a Limited Edition piece and that person was a gadget freak who loved to collect vintage smartphones. Just that, it never occurred to my owner that I was an exquisite creation. However, this person would not collect phones like me to be valued as antique memorabilia, but dismantle them, and sell off the components for a bigger fortune! This would be the biggest nightmare. It would mean that I would be strangled to death!

While my owner was happy that she had finally bid adieu to me with my custody being in safe hands, my journey was far from over. It was too late a realization as I had already left my owner's place with this devil of sorts. How I cursed those kids for having played past their break time enough to anger their mother in the first place. But no, that was not how my end was meant to be. For it was bound to happen that this person was robbed at gunpoint at the petrol pump wherein the thieves ran off with his car and all his belongings including me. I was never more thankful enough for the concept of robbery being known to the world than at that point in time.

The robbers planned to sell all that they had stolen to amass a fortune just in time for the festival of Diwali. I was relieved that at least I would reach my next stop in one piece. Little did I know that this next stop would be none other than filthy sewage which would lead me to the garbage dump, thanks to the robbers being chased and frightened by stray dogs just when those people were on their way to sell me for whatever less or more they could get in exchange.

Damn that sewage which accounts for the liquid damage that dampened three-fourths of my circuitry, and caused my keys to fall out too. Now, I have not only the cracked display but these additional defects also to blame for my tattered condition. And, it's not that I lay in any other garbage dump. It is a huge pile of E-Waste that I am a part of now. I believe my abode at this moment must be humongous enough to be seen from space, providing stiff competition to The Great Wall of China.

It has been two weeks that I have been lying in this filthy dump. There are all sorts of antique gadgets in our midst. Sir Graham Bell and Sir Babbage would be proud and heartbroken at the same time! Each day, a couple of cranes come, grasp some of us who are breathing our last, and crush us to bite the dust. While I have been fortunate enough to survive the ordeal since a week or two now, I have no clue on how I'll be able to sustain my instinct to survive. Until I perish, I might as well persist.

So, if you wouldn't want your gadgets to end up as E-Waste in as pitiable a condition as mine, you might as well pay a visit here and utilize the coupon code CLEANCASH to earn a bit more value than being offered elsewhere in exchange for your loyal but inefficient gadgets that have been biting the dust at home for quite some time now. Wouldn't you want to #CleanUpCashOut in an effective manner this festive season? :)

Mirroring Personalities With The Jungle Book!

~~~

जंगल जंगल बात चली है... 

पता चला है... 

~~~ 

Does this prompt you to hum along to a familiar yet timeless childhood melody? 

It does, Yes! 

Whose arrival does it proclaim? 

Who else, but the innocent yet playful 'man-cub' Mowgli's! :) 

 ~~~ 

भारत के इन जंगलों के बारे में कई अजीब कहानियां हैं। 

मगर सबसे ज़्यादा अजीब कहानी है मोगली नमक एक छोटे लड़के की। 

यह सब तब शुरू हुआ जब एक अजनबी आवाज़ ने जंगल का सन्नाटा तोड़ दिया। 

 ~~~ 

Thus began, humanity's tryst with fauna that interwove with itself, lifelike emotions. Visualize a three-year-old being introduced to such an interesting avenue of familiarizing herself with the nuances of being one of the elements of the wilderness as opposed to seeing the wild come to life, from the point of view of a 'man-cub'. 

But, of course, it would intrigue any inquisitive child to learn how these two very different worlds came to collide with one another and explore each other's companionship! 

Yours Truly was no different a child, then. Just as mesmerizing as Mowgli's first chuckle which drew Bagheera to him, was Panther Bagheera's narration to the children of the nation. It seemed to draw its audience into the narrative. 

 ~~~ 

What fascinated me the most as a child was the fact that the 'man-cub', in no time, became his foster brothers' favorite. The pack of wolves along with their parents Rama and Raksha, adored Mowgli as his foster-family! 

Mowgli too, considered them as one of his own, not realizing the bitter fact, highlighted by Bagheera as an initial pointer, that Mowgli was not meant for survival in the wilderness. He had to be united with the village-folk, one day or another. 

It, of course, broke many hearts, when the separation had to come soon, in the form of the leader of Wolves, Akela informing the pack of the return of the fierce Shere Khan, thus prompting the decision of Mowgli's exit from the wilderness! 

Bagheera being Mowgli's closest confidante chose to break the news to him, to which a puzzled Mowgli questioned the beast's intention of drawing the life out of him. Mowgli, as a child, wanted to persuade the Tiger instead, that he would not grow up to become 'एक और शिकार का शौक़ीन मानव', but in vain.

While Mowgli's dislike of Bagheera's remark of him not being able to climb a tree to rest on one of its branches for the night, was quite evident, a striking parallel came to mind when he himself admitted thus.

और फ़िर, मेरे पास तो पंजे भी नहीं हैं...  :(

While the night's episode began with Kaa, the Python's deceitful gaze, coupled with the repeated knotting of his tail over the narrative's length and ended with the trumpeting of Colonel Hathi's contingent's orchestrated march at dawn, this Jungle adventure had just begun! 

जंगल की ताल पे हम... 

मतवाले मस्त कदम... 

धरती हमदम... 

चलते हैं हम... 

न रुकेंगे कभी हम! :)

Another fable that came along with the customary patrolling was 'सन अट्ठासी के वीर चक्र की कहानी'. 

Colonel Hathi's strong belief of a 'man-cub' being included in the contingent hinting to rebellion highlighted his principled outlook. 

~~~ 

While Mowgli's idiosyncrasies prompted Bagheera to let him be on his own, Mowgli ended up bumping into Baloo the Bear, and his easygoing डूबी डूबी डूबी डी डू, and we thus spoke of bare necessities which Baloo thought highly of! :)

अपुन इस जंगल में सब देखेला है... 

पर यह चीज़ तो बहुत सही चीज़ है! 

It was as if one had been introduced to a new dialect altogether, all at once! Papa Baloo's छोटे मियाँ had just been learning the ropes of growling like a bear, when Bagheera took no time to describe him as मस्तमौला, भटकू, जंगल-छाप बालू! 

Well, of course, Papa Baloo believed that the village-folk would spoil Mowgli and make him turn into a human, to which he ends up taking Mowgli's responsibility entirely. 

Who can forget their signature steps to मस्ती की गुदगुदी चाहिए, बस मस्ती ही चाहिए? Not me. 

In all this fun, the monkey shenanigans successfully kidnap Mowgli to take him to their ape-king, King Louie, leaving Baloo helplessly approaching Bagheera to rescue him. 

King Louie on the other hand, tricks Mowgli into believing that he could stay back in the jungle, provided he lets King Louie become like him. Baloo and Bagheera reach just in time to learn that Louie is hell bent on learning to make fire, instead, as Shere Khan, the Supreme is scared of only fire! 

Their foot-tapping tune captures Baloo's musically inclined free spirit, to which Bagheera brings him back to his senses by saying, इस वक्त भेजा चाहिए, भंगड़ा नहीं! 

While they manage to barely escape with Mowgli in tow, we heave a sigh of relief too. By the time one realizes, Mowgli's journey has become our own too! :) 

After a fair share of gimmicks overnight, Bagheera succeeds in persuading Baloo to let go of Mowgli, to let him settle with the village-folk, but Baloo's persuasion in turn to Mowgli falls on deaf ears. 

Innocent Mowgli feels betrayed by his Papa Baloo and runs off, deep into the wilderness, only to be recaptured barely by Kaa, and comforted by a venue of vultures, who too, are unwelcome and displeasing to the creatures of the Wild. 

The final showdown with Shere Khan results in a severely injured Baloo rescuing Mowgli from the clutches of death, yet again, coupled with the alertness of those vultures. 

A lightning stricken tree branch provided for fire, which was no match for a helpless Shere Khan, जो अपनी 'दुम जला कर भाग लिया'! 

Just as the narrative is about to end on a sad note, with Baloo's death and Bagheera's declaration of him being a Hero, Baloo springs up to life saying, 'ऐ, बन्द मत कर बग्घू, अरे मस्त बोल रेला है!' 

It was as if life had been summoned back into lifeless being, that even the audience would rejoice at such a good news! 

All's well that ends well, especially if our Mowgli is smitten by a village belle, to be back where he belongs, while Baloo and Bagheera return to where they belong, isn't it? ;)

~~~ 

While as a child, I was intrigued by the mannerisms of each character in this fable (and continue to do so in a corner of my heart and mind, I believe), as an adult and a parent, I have been better able to draw a parallel between each of the character's personalities and the life lessons they impart. 

As engrossing as the narrative was, for a naive three-year-old, it was, is, and will be interesting for me as a grown-up, with its many adaptations too. 

As a parent, I felt a certain newness on re-exploring the fable with my child, appreciating or condemning certain qualities or shortcomings in each character as the narrative proceeded. 

 ~~~ 

Take for instance, the fact that Mowgli's was the most familiar characterization, for he was to be the star of the story, the one around whom the fable's numerous situations revolve! 

As a fictional feral child, he is able to evoke in his audience - children and adults alike - the emotions of amusement, sadness, anger, disappointment, and bewilderment, at various instances in the fable. 

On one hand, Raksha and Rama fit the bill in abiding by the gender stereotypes of the Wild, with the male choosing to hunt while the female rears her cubs. On the other hand however, be it in print or on celluloid, Raksha has always been portrayed as a mother who knows her business. It is this parental instinct which always binds a mother to her child, and Raksha to Mowgli too. 

The jungle is wilderness, and such wild attitude translates to danger for naivety, thus prompting Bagheera to mentor Mowgli to escape from the clutches of the ferocious Shere Khan, by persuading him to leave the jungle and return rightfully, to village-folk. 

Bagheera's art of persuasion is to be applauded, while he talks Baloo into his plan of Mowgli's return and Colonel Hathi to send his contingent to search for him when he runs off, into the jungle after being supposedly betrayed by Baloo. His stern attitude acts like Mowgli's guardian angel at more times than one and he is the perfect mentor to this man-cub! 

Kaa's deceitful gaze mirrors the fact that we as individuals too, could be led astray into unpleasant avenues, and one must exercise a certain degree of self-control in order to prevent probable mishaps. 

Baloo comes across as a generous teacher and friend, whom Mowgli addresses as 'Papa'. His uninhibited and exuberant outlook towards life in the jungle leads to Mowgli learning a trick or two regarding the Law of the Wild, from him. Baloo cares for Mowgli as his छोटे मियाँ and puts up a brave face, twice. Once, to prevent his kidnapping by the trouble-making monkeys, and second, to save Mowgli from the clutches of Shere Khan. 

Baloo prompts Mowgli to learn to fight like a Bear, from him, and when the man-cub lands a powerful punch, he is quick to remark, सही जगह पे फटका दिया, which leads me to believe that no matter how big a problem may seem to be, in its scale and stature, once one knows how to deal with it in the right manner, it is nothing but a mere grain of sand. 

King Louie presents another face of selfish treachery, by luring Mowgli with the rights to stay back in the Wild, provided he lets him in on Man's secret to making Fire. Just as monkeys are close behind Man with respect to evolution, Louie and his apes are the closest equivalent to Mowgli in the fable, thus repeatedly pursuing the man-cub, हम बनेगा जैसा तू! His myopic plan to threat Shere Khan with Fire, thus tilting the Jungle Throne in his favor is foiled by Bagheera and Baloo's wittiness. 

Shere Khan comes across as a ferocious beast, who has his own weaknesses - Man and Fire. He wants to suppress a potential hunter - a harmless man-cub by nipping it in the bud itself. This predator is shown riding high on his immense physicality as opposed to other animals who fear him for their lives. 

Mowgli comes across here, as a confident, fearless individual who emphasizes the fact that he can care for himself in the wilderness, while not being bothered by any Shere Khan. What outwits the Tiger on the other hand is the fact that the man-cub was the first of his kind, who refused the join the league of other apprehensive and terrified creatures in the jungle. 

Towards the end, it is not physical stature, but the presence of mind, that leads Mowgli to outlast the Tiger in the big, wide, and wild Jungle. 

~~~ 

There is not just one favorite character or memorable instance from this classic by Rudyard Kipling but the beauty in its narrative's entirety which leads me to believe that each incident and character in the story complement one another and lead the fable to achieve its rightful beginning and end. 

I believe that there is a Mowgli in each of us, guided towards right or wrong by its alter-egos in the form of such fauna's personality traits as in the Jungle Book. This fact leads me to be of the opinion that my entire experience with The Jungle Book, as a kid and as an adult, forms for a beautiful #MyMowgliMemory. 

Would you like to share your #MyMowgliMemory with me too? :)

 ~~~ 

I’m blogging about #MyMowgliMemory at BlogAdda.

There's No Pride In Being Prejudiced!

The novel of manners is tasteful in its own right, focussing a reader's attention to conversations, customs, coming to face the mannerisms and an intrinsic thought process of another's social standing.

It would be befitting to pen down the novel of manners to make today's woman and man rub shoulders with the presence and prevalence of mirage-like idealisms in the times we inhabit, in order to balance the scales.

An individual's standing in the society, must, after all, not be parameterized by the degrees of success and failure to match up with a mere herd mentality, but by how uniquely distinguished one is, from the same! For, there's no fun in contorting oneself to fit the bill which has been tampered with, countless number of times.

Jane Austen is most noted as a novelist for presenting to her readers, a sense of realism in her writings, commenting and critiquing upon the perceptions of society, often marred by judgements over how an individual chose to represent themselves to the masses. Appreciation by scholars and readers alike has made Jane's works to be admired as classics over the last two centuries.

 I was compelled to think about how the novel of manners would be rephrased in today's times, thanks to a striking advert from Ariel, which spoke about gender bias being the 'talk of the town'. Given that, today's audience, ironically, is all empowered towards issues of the likes of 'women empowerment', I wondered how it would be for them to leave aside their Pride and shun all Prejudice.

How would it be for Austen's classic 'Pride and Prejudice' to be rewritten in tune to prevalent ideologies? Picture this rephrase by Yours Truly, for instance.

 ~~~ 

With its protagonist,  Elizabeth Bennet, the second of the five daughters of a gentlemanly Mr Bennet, Pride and Prejudice would proceed thus. Elizabeth's father, Mr Bennet, is a humble man who is mindful of his responsibilities towards his family. Elizabeth's mother, Mrs Bennet, on the other hand, is occupied with finding suitable husbands for her five daughters, who intend not to inherit much from their father. The eldest daughter, Jane Bennet's richness of character is attributed to her kindness and beauty; Elizabeth Bennet has in common with her father, the gift of witty, yet sarcastic perspective; Mary is identified as studious and devout while Catherine and Lydia are flirtatious and naive. The Bennet family puts up in Longbourn.

Elizabeth in particular, shares close ties with her father, closer than any of her sisters, not only because she's similar to him in most aspects but also owing to the fact that she has always been appreciative of his willingness to lend a shoulder to her mother over matters of the estate. As a matter of fact, she had, as a young girl, seen her father caring more about homely matters than her mother!

A certain Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy's arrival in the neighbourhood captures the attention of the Bennet family, who are on the lookout for prompt suitors! They had heard someone say that a wealthy, charismatic and sociable young bachelor, was moving into Netherfield Park in the neighbourhood. While Mr Bingley is well received, his friend Mr Darcy makes a less favourable impression as he appears proud and condescending at the first instance.

While Jane tends to like Mr Bingley's outspoken nature, she does not let the cat out of the bag yet. On the other hand, Mr Darcy disregards Elizabeth, who returns the gesture too.

On the first visit to Mr Bingley's house, Elizabeth and Jane are surprised by and appreciate the fact that the gentlemen have cared for the upkeep of their humble abode, all by themselves. One would not be able to say that there was not one lady in the house, for it to be so spick-and-span! Perhaps, both the men possessed the quality of not shying away from housework, apart from the appreciative characteristics to their personality too.

Elizabeth and Jane, thus end up admiring the men for being like their father in this respect, among themselves.

Mr Collins, a clergyman and heir to the Bennet estate, comes to visit the family. Mr Bennet and Elizabeth are much amused by his inadvertent fawning towards his employer, the noble Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as well as by his self-important and doctrinaire nature. Apparently, he arrives in Longbourn to choose a wife from among the Bennet sisters, and Jane is singled out, but because of Jane's budding romance with Mr Bingley, Mrs Bennet directs him toward Elizabeth.

After refusing his advances, much to her mother's disbelief and dread, Elizabeth instead familiarises with Mr Wickham, a militia officer who accuses Mr Darcy of severe mistreatment despite having been Darcy's father's favourite. The accusation and her attraction to Mr Wickham both increase Elizabeth's dislike of Mr Darcy.

The following morning, Mr Collins proposes to Elizabeth, who puts down the proposal. Mr Collins recovers and promptly becomes engaged to Elizabeth's close friend Charlotte Lucas, who is a homely woman. Collins thus puts forward the notion of most men aiming for a good, devout wife, who immerses herself in household chores of the likes of cooking, cleaning, washing and not one productive task beyond that! Perhaps, he had held high, his impression as a young lad, of his mother single-handedly organising the household. Mr Bingley abruptly returns to London, which devastates Jane, and Elizabeth becomes convinced that Mr Darcy and Bingley's sister Caroline have conspired to separate her sister from him.

After a few months, Elizabeth visits Charlotte and Mr Collins. Darcy visits them at the same time too. Thus, Elizabeth is no mood to accept when Darcy arrives and, quite unexpectedly, confesses love for her and begs her hand in marriage. His proposal is flattering, to say the least, but it is delivered in an inappropriate manner.

Elizabeth rebukes him, and a heated discussion follows; she confronts him about her sister and Bingley, with treating Mr Wickham disgracefully and with having conducted himself towards her in an arrogant manner. Mr Darcy, shocked, ultimately responds with a letter giving a good account of his actions. Elizabeth, who had previously condemned his behaviour, is forced to admit the truth of Mr Darcy's observations and begins to see that she has misjudged him. She, quite rightly, attributes her impressionistic opinion to his coldness towards herself at the beginning of their acquaintance.

That the misunderstanding had given way to a prospective match was a matter of joy, as both Darcy and Elizabeth had harboured soft corners for each other on their insides, knowingly or not.

~~~ 

Hence, being appreciative of Mr Bennet's, Bingley's and Darcy's inherent initiation towards a participative outlook in housework, and thoroughly condemning Mr Collin's attitude towards Charlotte is the key to household equality. That's because matrimony is not just about walking hand in hand with those ceremonial vows in tow. Matrimony is also about pacing shoulder to shoulder with familial responsibilities in tow. It's best to #ShareTheLoad in all aspects - be it psychologically, physically, emotionally or even economically! :) 

As a matter of fact, it is high time that we, as a society, shun the patriarchal dominance, gender bias, and the burden of social obligation to realise for the best, that:

There is no... 

Parity Not Prejudice Is Called For... 

Rhetoric Mindsets To Be Gone, Now!

Instilling Self Belief As Was Before...

Discovering Oneself Anew, And How! 

Expressing An Equilibrium, Sans Furore

in being... 

Perspectives Change, So Does Time...

Respecting #ShareTheLoad At Home

Etching Out Division Of Tasks, Prime

Juggle Work & Home Or Build Rome?

Undecided Which One's A Tough Climb

Dads, Moms - It's One Taxing Genome!

Idling Around's Definitely, The Crime...

Come On, Lend A Hand, Y Chromosome!

Effectively, Not A Role Model In Time...

Damned If Gen X Doesn't #ShareTheLoad

~~~ 

I am joining the Ariel #ShareTheLoad campaign at BlogAdda and blogging about the prejudice related to household chores being passed on to the next generation. 

P.S.: The plot summary of Austen's novel has been taken from Wikipedia and has been given a spin-off in line with the said campaign. 

گردبادی از هویت

She was there.

She stood on the edge of the vast valley, which reached out to her to convince her to jump to oblivion.

The sight was not new to her. She had thought of it infinitive times in the past, but then, she had also mustered the courage to take the final step, that day.

In the abyss of thoughts which were overwhelming her mind, and memoirs which brimmed over her heart, she had forced herself upon this consequence.

From the pinnacle of the Tower she was standing on, all she saw was the wake of vultures circumscribing her Grandfather's deceased body.

On the other hand, was the inexhaustible horizon to jump to.

~~~ 

The Tower Of Silence had become a second home to her, now. 

Why, she had lost her entire family to such an unexplicable calamity.

In a span of three weeks, her entire world had come crashing down upon her.

The first to leave her side was her father, followed by her grief-stricken mother. Now that her grandfather had left her too, she was orphaned.

Grandma was the most oblivious to it all as she had abandoned all sense of space and time. 

She had lost all hope in the beauty of life and saw it now as a dull, lifeless panel which had been ostracized by all.

~~~ 

Just as she was about to let her feet lose touch of the ominous ground, she felt someone's hand tucking at her saree.

She saw her Grandfather!

With a note and a archaic collection of five pages in tow, he led her down from that edge to the entrance of the Tower Of Silence.

Once she was outside the Tower, all she could see were a soiled letter and a handful of pages on the road.

In the immensely morose sky above, she saw a raven perched on a tree branch, overlooking the sullen moon.

A signboard outside made her realize that she was part of an exclusive community. A community that had made her what she was.

That which had given her an identity, 

As an antiquarian legacy. 

It then occured to her to pick up those pages and the letter, lest they be blown away by the meandering wind. 

The letter, to her utter dismay, was blank, though it had گردبادی از هویت written on it. 

گردبادی از هویت in Persian, meant 'The Whirlwind Of Identity'.

And, the pages? 

She could sense that they held the unknown answers to the many unexplored questions which had exhausted her completely. 

They were hoowever, a pointer to some bigger secrets that they would reveal. These incoherent, random pages would somehow weave together, the fabric to a deterministic ancestry. 

~~~ 

Her Grandfather's voice clearly echoed saying: "Go back home, Dear. We are waiting for you."

She rushed back home to find a sight which overwhelmed her beyond all bounds.

There, she saw her beloved Grandfather in spirit and her aged Grandmother whiling away on their most favorite hammock in the house.

As soon as she tried to approach her, Grandma got up and proceeded to the inside of the house, with Grandpa's spirit following her particularly to Grandma's Prayer Room.

There, she saw light.

It suddenly occured to her, of the Fire Invis, a game which she used to play with her Grandma. It was like the Secret Spy. A coded message on paper would be discovered and see the light of the day when subjected to fire.

The soiled letter, then was no different. It led her to explore a secret chamber in her grandparents' room which had been concelead by a door with a symbolic inscription on it, all these years.

The central lock of three concentric rings had been overlooked by her as a child, even though it sparked her curiosity as a mature individual. 

Grandma knew and chanted the prayers which would unlock a better understanding of the abyss. 

The opening of the lock made her even more receptive to the intricacies of the existence of her dwindling community. 

~~~ 

For it revealed to her, a book dating to the 10th Century, tracing the journey that her ancestors had taken to carve an identity for themselves and members of their sect, battling the dominance of Arab Muslims in Iran, establishing a name for themselves as professionals, partnering with Englishmen, and partaking in the Industrial Revolution for India's development as a country. 

Now, with her grandparents having left her all on her own, it had dawned upon her to not let go of life as a  precious possession, which had to be preserved in all its purity. 

The embellishment of a Fravashi on the outside of the book ushered into her, a sense of determination and perseverance to hold on to herself and steer clear of all suicidal tendencies which had clouded her essence to liveliness and hope. 

The wings symbolised the Spiritual World and made her draw inspiration from the spirits of her now deceased family. 

The body symbolized the Physical World and reminded her of the sense of control to her materialistic possessions that were not to overpower her, at any said point in time. 

The head symbolized the sense of Conciousness of a greater purpose to her sect and her community, than her own, and that made her reminisce the teachings of Prophet Zarathustra, in their entirety. 

~~~ 

Out of those five pages which she had obtained outside the Tower, four belonged to members of her family, and one was to call her own. 

The Whirlwind Of Identity had thus been simplified, with her embarking on a journey to self-realization with her Grandma by her side. 

As they were about to leave, they saw her Grandpa in spirit, on the same hammock, keeping to himself, the memoir of his cherished abode.

~~~ 

In a matter of hours, she had known what it meant to embrace Zoroastrianism and embark on... 

The Path Of Zarathustra 

~~~ 

I am participating in this creative activity organised by makers of The Path of Zarathustra in association with BlogAdda.

P.S.: All images have been attributed to Google Search. 

#Airtel4G Enlivens My New Business!

Remember when I had taken the #Airtel4GSpeedTest?

4G is the demand of time. Everyone needs speed. Everyone wants to do more in lesser time. Everyone is hungry for efficiency and accuracy - that too on the move. Gone are the times when you used to sit in the office on a seat every day, seven days a week. Businesses demand results – be it reaching a new location to meet a client, or be it an approval on a workflow on the business app on the device. Most the time, so far, we were facing speed crunch for all such activities. But now, our wait is over and an ultimate solution has arrived.

Most of the businesses have now understood the power of social media and that is why the social media platforms are no more merely for fun-related activities. There are tremendous business-related activities, being taken seriously, which are happening across the globe on the social media platforms over the internet.

These are not possible if you are working on any number before ‘G’ less than 4. #Airtel4G from Airtel is there to serve you (and of course, me too!) for the new start-up business venture that I have launched recently. I am all for it – the 4G service. I am very clearly and distinctly convinced that the throughput of 4G connection is definitely higher, but then I am smart enough to calculate my business results. That is where I know that the results that I can achieve with 4G were not possible earlier.

My outreach is extended now - even to the areas where I was not able to penetrate my online portal. The mobility of my business is now live in a real win-win situation where my employees will be able to drive results on the move or wherever they are.

My business focuses on becoming the leading online portal for the newest trends in technology, business, fashion, lifestyle, family, parenting, travel, food and more. My backend team needs to finish a lot of video uploads in real-time or offline. Earlier it was painful, but now it is happening at lightning fast speed. On the other hand, I am also aware that the performance of my portal will be able to achieve its optimum best at the customer/consumer/user-end only when they are also on 4G.

My portal's subscriptions have increased substantially since the day I employed 4G for all my official devices. Each employee is carrying a portable device on 4G. The news items on my portal have reached a new height. We are now quicker to launch fresh stories, faster than our competitors. We also promote 4G for our subscribers so that they also taste the fresh wave in the transmission era. My employees’ productivity has seen an upward trend and has shown tremendous potential, and so has the performance of my business. Thanks to 4G for providing the speed we were striving for.

A #MaxFreshMove For Surprises...

It was a regular day.
An utterly boring one at that too.

Or so he had thought.
He had outgrown the monotonicity of his routine, so much so that he believed himself to be a mechanized specimen now.

It was the same get-up-at-six-in-the-morn, get ready, dash to office, back-to-bed-at-eleven-at-night, that had made him lose all interest.
He had failed to keep track of important events like anniversaries and birthdays in the recent past and today was no different.

It was not a regular day, after all.
It was their tenth anniversary after all.

It was only when his colleagues handed him cards and bouquets, that he realized his folly.
It was already ten in the morn by the clock.

He decided to take half-day leave and rush back home.
It was by one in the noon, that he was able to reach home, to face her wrath and disappointment.

No amount of persuasion, excuses, or even apologies could set things right.
After all, he had made the mistake of forgetting a milestone.
Of not paying attention to the hints she had been giving before he left home.
Of not taking note of his favorite dessert, which had been packed by her, as a part of his tiffin that day.

He decided that he would propose a surprise in exchange for this surprise from her.
Later, that evening, he called her from an unknown number, feigned a serious injury in a road accident and made her rush.

As much as it worried her, she reached the accident spot as informed by the caller.
Instead of how gruesome she had expected the scene to be, she was greeted by some onlookers singing along as a chorus, with her husband on the road!

He had made a resolution to surprise her like that!
She was completely taken aback as what her eyes were witnessing was completely unexpected.

Apologizing to your lady-love, complete with background artists, on the road, with passers-by looking on?
Like they show in the movies?

Well, you must be kidding.
She thought to herself.

This was not a dream, however.
And, it was not as if they were part of a movie's cast,

It was not all, though.
The evening ended on a high note, with some glitz and glam, being added to the occasion.

It was when he proposed to her, an open-air dinner date, in their favorite restaurant, did her face beam.
And, a subtle hint - we have some special company.

She had not realized that this special company would be none other than that of celebrities, Anushka Manchanda and Allu Arjun, who would make them lose all their apprehensions and acquaint them to the dance floor, that would be their stage for the evening.

Their confidence exuded energy, which lent the required #MaxFreshMove to their special day!

After all, who could refuse a courteous attempt by such vivacious personalities?
They danced to their favorite tunes and to their hearts' content! :)

 ~~~ 

I am blogging for #MaxFreshMove activity at BlogAdda.com. Are you?

Tagore And Some Letters, Unsent...

~~~

Letter Writing.

An activity, which resonates with lending expression to emotion.

An activity, which reminds us of the times of joy.

An activity, which reminds us of moments of sorrow.

An activity, which provides a sense of relief and contentment.

~~~

Yet, there are some letters which long to be penned.

Yet, there remain some letters which never live to see the blots of ink on paper.

~~~

It is these #UnsentLetters, which are closest to the heart.

It is these #UnsentLetters, which state the matters of fact, whilst in silence.

~~~

Such a story was penned by the great luminary, Rabindranath Tagore.

Such a tale gave voice to the inexistent letter, in the first place.

Such a heart-rending narration lent a vivid manifestation, to an emotion unexpressed.

~~~

Whenever the thought of #UnsentLetters crosses the mind, I am reminded of this gem of a fable from a respected Indian Nobel Laureate.

The Postmaster is narrated thus. 

~~~

The postmaster first took charge in the village of Ulapur. It was a dwarf village, with an indigo factory nearby, and the proprietor got a post office established.

The postmaster was a native of Calcutta. He felt like a fish out of water in this remote village. His office and living room were housed in a gloomy thatched shed, near to a green, slimy pond, surrounded on all sides by dense vegetation.

The labourers in the indigo factory had no leisure time on their hands; moreover, they were hardly desirable companions for decent folk. A Calcutta boy is not adept in the art of associating with others. Among strangers, he appears either proud or ill at ease. Irrespective, the postmaster had but little company; nor had he much to do.

At times, he tried his hand at writing a verse or two. The movement of the leaves and the clouds of the sky were enough to fill life with joy. Such were the emotions to which he sought expression. But, God knows that the poor fellow would have felt as if he had received the gift of a new life, if some genie of the Arabian Nights had swept away the trees, leaves and all in one night, and replaced them with a macadamized road, hiding the clouds from view with rows of tall houses.

The postmaster's salary was meagre. He had to cook his own meals, which he used to share with Ratan, an orphan girl of the village, who did odd jobs for him.

When in the evening, the smoke began to curl up from the village cowsheds, and the sparrows chirped in every bush; when the mendicants of the Baül sect sang their shrill songs in their daily meeting place, when any poet, who had attempted to observe the movement of the leaves in the dense bamboo thickets, would have felt a ghostly shiver run down his back, the postmaster would light his modest lamp, and call out to Ratan.

Ratan would sit outside waiting for this call, and, instead of coming in at once, would reply, "Did you call me, Sir?"

"What are you doing?" the postmaster would ask.

"I must be going to light the kitchen fire" would be the answer.

And the postmaster would say, "Oh, let the kitchen fire be for awhile; light me my pipe first."

At last Ratan would enter, with puffed cheeks, vigorously blowing into a flame a live coal to light the tobacco. This would give the postmaster an opportunity to converse. "Well, Ratan," perhaps he would begin, "do you remember anything about your mother?" That was a fertile subject. Ratan partly remembered, and partly didn't. Her father had been fonder of her than her mother; him she recollected more vividly. He used to come home in the evening after his work, and one or two evenings stood out more clearly than others, like frames in her memory.

Ratan would sit on the floor near the postmaster's feet, as memories crowded in upon her. She recalled a little brother that she had, and how on some bygone cloudy day she had played at fishing with him on the edge of the pond, with a twig for a make-believe fishing-rod. Such little incidents would drive out more crucial events from her mind. Thus, as they talked, it would often get very late, and the postmaster would feel too lazy to do any cooking at all. Ratan would then hastily light the fire, and toast some unleavened bread, which, with the cold remnants of the morning meal, would be enough for their supper.

On some evenings, seated at his desk in one corner of the big empty shed, the postmaster too would recall memories of his own home, of his mother and his sister, of those for whom in his exile his heart was sad, memories which were always haunting him, but of which he could not talk about with the men of the factory, though he found himself naturally recalling them aloud in the presence of the simple little girl. And so it came about that the girl would allude to his people as a mother, brother, and sister as if she had known them all her life. In fact, she had a complete picture of each one of them painted in her little heart.

One noon, there was a cool soft breeze blowing; the smell of the damp grass and leaves in the hot sun felt like the warm breathing of the tired earth on one's body. A persistent bird went on all the afternoon repeating the burden of its one complaint in Nature's chamber.

The postmaster had nothing to do. The shimmer of the freshly washed leaves, and the banked-up remnants of the retreating rain-clouds were sights to see; and the postmaster was watching them and thinking to himself: "Oh, if only some kindred soul were near - just one loving human being whom I could hold near my heart!" This was exactly, he went on to think, what that bird was trying to say, and it was the same feeling which the murmuring leaves were striving to express. But no one knows or would believe, that such an idea might also take possession of an ill-paid village postmaster in the deep, silent mid-day interval of his work.

The postmaster sighed, and called out to Ratan. Ratan was, at that time, sprawling beneath the guava tree, busily engaged in eating unripe guavas. At the voice of her master, she ran up breathlessly, saying, "Were you calling me, Dada?" "I was thinking," said the postmaster, "of teaching you to read." And then for the rest of the afternoon he taught her the alphabet.

Thus, in a very short time, Ratan had got as far as the double consonants.

It seemed as though the showers of the season would never end. Canals, ditches, and hollows were all overflowing with water. Day and night the patter of rain were to be heard, accompanied by the croaking of frogs. The village roads became impassable.

One heavily clouded morning, the postmaster's little pupil had been long waiting outside the door for her call, but, not hearing it as usual, she took up her dog - eared book, and slowly entered the room. She found her master stretched out on his bed, and, thinking that he was resting, she was about to retire on tip-toe, when she suddenly heard her name. "Ratan!" She turned at once and asked: "Were you sleeping, Dada?" The postmaster in a plaintive voice said: "I am not well. Feel my head; is it very hot?"

In the loneliness of his exile, and in the gloom of the rains, his ailing body needed a little tender nursing. He longed to remember the touch on the forehead of soft hands with tinkling bracelets, to imagine the presence of loving womanhood, the nearness of mother and sister. And the exile was not disappointed. Ratan ceased to be a little girl. She at once stepped into the skin of mother, called in the village doctor, gave the patient his pills at the proper intervals, sat up all night by his pillow, cooked his meal for him, and every now and then asked: "Are you feeling a little better, Dada?"

It was some time before the postmaster, with a weakened body, was able to leave his bed. "No more of this," said he with determination. "I must get a transfer." He at once wrote off to Calcutta an application for a transfer, on the ground of the unhealthiness of the place.

Relieved from her duties as nurse, Ratan again took up her old place outside the door. But she no longer heard the same old call. She would sometimes peep inside furtively to find the postmaster sitting on his chair, or stretched on his bed, and staring absent-mindedly into the air. While Ratan was awaiting her call, the postmaster was awaiting a reply to his application. The girl read her old lessons over and over again, her great fear was lest, when the call came, she might be found wanting in the double consonants. At last, after a week, the call did come one evening. With an overflowing heart Ratan rushed into the room with her "Were you calling me, Dada?"

The postmaster said: "I am going away tomorrow, Ratan."

"Where are you going, Dada?"

"I am going home."

"When will you come back?"

"I am not coming back."

Ratan asked no other question. The postmaster, of his own accord, went on to tell her that his application for a transfer had been rejected, so he had resigned his post and was going home.

For a long time neither of them spoke another word. The lamp went on dimly burning, and from a leak in one corner of the thatch water dripped steadily into an earthen vessel on the floor beneath it.

After a while Ratan rose, and went off to the kitchen to prepare the meal; but she was not so quick about it as on other days. Many new things to think of had entered her little brain. When the postmaster had finished his supper, the girl suddenly asked him: "Dada, will you take me home?"

The postmaster laughed. "What an idea!" said he; but he did not think it necessary to explain to the girl wherein lay the absurdity.

That whole night, in her waking and in her dreams, the postmaster's laughing reply haunted her - "What an idea!"

On getting up in the morning, the postmaster found his bath ready. He had stuck to his habit of bathing in water drawn and kept in pitchers, instead of taking a plunge in the river as was the custom of the village. For some reason or other, the girl could not ask him, the time of his departure, so she had fetched the water from the river long before sunrise, that it should be ready as early as he might want it. After the bath came a call for Ratan. She entered noiselessly and looked silently at her master's face for orders. Her master said, "You need not be anxious about me going away, Ratan; I shall tell my successor to look after you." These words were kindly meant, no doubt: but inscrutable are the ways of a woman's heart!

Ratan had borne many a scolding from her master without complaint, but these kind words she could not bear. She burst out weeping, and said: "No, no, you need not tell anybody anything at all about me; I don't want to stay here."

The postmaster was dumbfounded. He had never seen Ratan like this before.

The new incumbent duly arrived, and the postmaster, having given over charge, prepared to depart. Just before starting he called Ratan and said: "Here is something for you; I hope it will keep you for some little time." He brought out from his pocket the whole of his month's salary, retaining only a trifle for his travelling expenses. Then Ratan fell at his feet and cried: "Oh, Dada, I pray, don't give me anything, don't in any way bear trouble about me," and then she ran away, out of sight.

The postmaster heaved a sigh, took up his carpet bag, put his umbrella over his shoulder, and, accompanied by a man carrying his tin trunk, he slowly made for the boat.

When he got in and the boat was under way, and the rain-swollen river, like a stream of tears welling up from the earth, swirled and sobbed at her bows, then he felt a pain at heart; the grief-stricken face of a village girl seemed to represent for him the great unspoken pervading grief of Mother Earth herself. At one time, he had an impulse to go back, and bring away along with him that lonesome waif, forsaken of the world. But the wind had just filled the sails, the boat had got well into the middle of the turbulent current, the village was left behind, and its outlying burning-ground came in sight.

So the traveller, borne on the breast of the swift-flowing river, consoled himself with philosophical reflections on the numberless meetings and partings going on in the world—on death, the great parting, from which none returns.

But Ratan had no philosophy. She was wandering about the post office in a flood of tears. It may be that she had still a lurking hope in some corner of her heart that her Dada would return, and that is why she could not tear herself away. Alas for our foolish human nature! Its fond mistakes are persistent. The dictates of reason take a long time to assert their own sway. The surest proofs meanwhile are disbelieved. False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

~~~

This post has been written as a part of the IndiSpire initiative launched by IndiBlogger.

The IndiSpiring thought was #UnsentLetters...

This Ariel Disagrees...

 ~~~

My First Win At BlogAdda.

Overwhelming. :)

 ~~~



~~~

Ariel 'n' Ariel Productions, in association with Disney Motion Pictures...

Proudly present...

'This Ariel  Disagrees...'

~~~

A feature film, bound to break a prevalent stereotype in the mindset of the present generation's quintessential Indian.

The classic from Disneyland is now coming to a theater near you, with an Indian time-stamp!

How?

~~~

That's the Little Mermaid, for you, with her comrades, Flounder and Sebastian.

We've moved on a little...

To this...

~~~

His Majesty, King Eric...

Her Majesty, Queen Ariel...

And, the prettiest...

Princess Melody...

~~~

We begin our story, from this point itself.

Our Little Mermaid Ariel, has now taken up the human form and embraced parenthood.

Moreover, she and Eric had now taken up the responsibility of a Kingdom.

They were now Queen and King! :)

~~~

As is a ritual in His Majesty's rule, both the King and Queen step among the common - folk for a day, once a month.

But, their common - folk are not the ones under the King's rule.

Their common - folk are the  Queen's marine citizens.

~~~

For that one day, the royalty trade their limbs for fins, in order to dive into the serene waters of Atlantica, to pay a visit to King Triton, who is the Sea King, and Queen Ariel's father.

Eagerly waiting for their arrival, are Flounder and Sebastian, too.

Every month, it is a routine, in Atlantica too, when all the subjects gather to celebrate that one day with their dear Ariel.

On the other hand, Princess Melody spends her day, in royal play.

~~~

The present day, for a change, was bound to be different!

King Triton rose up to land to see his daughter and son-in-law this time!

He traded his two finned feet for human limbs, instead, for a day...

However, Melody is unknown to her grandfather, till date, to protect her from evil eye.

~~~

~~~

He had a reason, a very important reason, to facilitate his visit.

Incidentally, King Eric's people were inhabiting the land, bordering the waters of the Sea City of Atlantica.

Since these waters bordered His Majesty's kingdom, they were the people's lifeline.

And more often than not, a lifeline has to bear the brunt of life's ill-mannered ways.

~~~

For, King Triton had to intervene and inform the royalty of what crime was being unknowingly committed, by the womenfolk of their kingdom.

The waters of the Underwater Kingdom, of the Sea King, were being polluted by their activities. These women preferred to do their laundry at the sea-shore!

Hence, sending down all the dirt from their dirty laundry to the clean, serene waters of Atlantica!

Sebastian had been vocal enough in informing King Triton, who had further been irked to inform Eric and Ariel.

Flounder too, had seen his 'school-mates' navigate through falling pieces of dirt.

Of course, pieces, as it seemed huge to Flounder and all his mates, when heading out as a school of fish.

Other marine creatures too, had complained of other rock - like obstructions in their paths.

King Triton, thus urged the royalty to probe into the episode...

~~~

Queen Ariel took the lead and planned ahead, to proceed to their town, disguised as common-folk.

Both King Eric and Queen Ariel behaved as if they were a new fisher-folk couple in town, the next day.

And, fisher-folk settle near the seashore, don't they?

Ariel went around familiarizing herself with the women, and Eric interacted with the men.

To their surprise, the men were busy with their nets and navigation, while women were busy with the washing and cleaning of laundry!

~~~

When Ariel interacted with the ladies, they were all frustrated of their male counterparts.

They felt the scales were unbalanced...

With their side weighing heavy on them...

~~~

Clearly the men of King Eric's kingdom felt that...

Laundry Was A Woman's Job!

~~~

The women of the kingdom had to take on the responsibility of selling the fish from their nets, at the market each day and retiring to look after their house by the night.

Thus they were juggling the finances and the well-being of the house too, doubling their effort!

And doing laundry was an important household chore, besides cleaning and cooking.

The men on the other hand, went to the waters to fish, the entire day, thus retiring tired and taking the excuse of relaxation by the night.

Even on days when the waters were rough, the men didn't volunteer to extend any helping hand!

They either slept through the day, or idled around, wasting themselves.

When Eric tried to inquire with the men, they dismissed it by putting it all on to their wives' shoulders.

Washing and cleaning is a woman's job after all, ain't it?

They have to do it, not us!

~~~

More than two - thirds  of Indian women feel there exists inequality at home, between men and women.

76% of Indian men feel laundry is a woman's job.

85% of working Indian working women feel they have two jobs - one at work and another at home.

77% of Indian men depend on women for doing the laundry.

~~~

Queen Ariel felt disgusted by her subjects' mindsets.

She heralded change by bringing in a new dictation.

First, a new system of effective laundry-waste disposal was set to be implemented over the coming months.

Queen Ariel sent for her engineers to devise such a system to be laid out across the town, in order to save Atlantica's waters from pollution, too.

A greater hazard was the rotting ideology of their people though.

It must not be the division of labor according to femininity or masculinity, but division of labor by ability, both King and Queen opined.

Volunteering towards tasks of feminine domain do not make men less masculine, or even vice-versa.

Both Ariel and Eric had never known of the pitiable state of inequality in this aspect, in their kingdom.

~~~

To rule out the concept of labels, division and prerogatives, Ariel laid down a new concept.

A concept Eric too, was in favor of. 

She as queen, rolled out a dictum stating 'Occupational Swap'...

For a good two weeks, the women would go fishing, while the men would go to the market and care for the laundry and other chores.

This would acquaint both the sides of the scale to their equality and a balance which needed to be kept, and not an unbalanced work-load.

~~~

Apparently, their kingdom modeled a nation named India...

And, Ariel and Eric aimed to break a stereotype.

~~~

Queen Ariel,  King Eric and 'Ariel 'n' Ariel Productions'...

In collaboration with Disney India! :D

~~~

Because, she disagreed...

#IsLaundryOnlyAWomansJob?

This...

Abiding around for those seven days, for two weeks...

Reasoning with that varied ability, swapping around...

Imitating what the spouse does, in alternation, seeks...

Echoing to us that nuances of the other's work, bound...

Looking to both sides of a fair coin, which surely speaks...

~~~

I am writing for #IsLaundryOnlyAWomansJob Activity at BlogAdda.com in association with Ariel.