Humayun's Tomb

This fabulous tomb is situated south of Purana Qila. It is set in the centre of garden, similar to the charbagh pattern. This tomb is the model on which the famous Taj Mahal in Agra was built. The tomb firmly establish the Indo-Islamic tradition of architecture emerging at that point of time. The building evoken many memories of Humayun. Humayun's tomb is the best example in Delhi of early Mughal style tomb, this 38m high dome does not have the swell of the Taj Mahal and the whole edifice is much simpler.The tomb was declared a UNESCO (united nations educational,scientific and cultural organisation)world heritage site in 1993. 

Best time to visit Humayun's tomb is during monsoon when you can see clear grass and listen to the voice of peacock and if you want to spend some time alone you can sit and feel the breeze,and enjoy beauty around you or contemplate about rich history of the place. The clam surroundings provide for a perfect romantic outing.

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Small world. No?

Recently when in bed I was talking with my sister casually about anything to everything somehow the topic went to our childhood adventures. Maybe it was influence of the night that I opened about a lot of things from the past.

It all started on my way to a NCC fest with my best friend. On the bus I sat beside a humble looking man. He was old. He started the conversation with complimenting my height I said thank you. He asked my name and advance a hand towards me considering it a common gesture I gave in but at the end of that handshake he gave my hand a little squeeze, which seemed quite odd. Ignoring it I went on.

He again complimented my personality, much obliged I thanked him again. He said god bless you, which reminded me of my teacher and instantly put me into ease. He asked me about my educational qualification I told him and to make the situation less awkward I asked him about himself, he earlier worked in finance ministry and was now a successful investor and an amateur singer. He next asked me where I was getting off at and offered to sing two lines for me. With his next question all the built up friendly atmosphere went down to the drain. He asked if I was married or not. Such a ridiculous question to ask to a stranger. I answered him with a no and there was delight on his face. He proposed to sing a gazzal for me. When I was about to get off, my friend stood up with me. This man here asked me who the guy was and I told him that he was with me. And the gentle man cancelled his offer. He said “abb to mai tumhare liye nahi gaaunga”

So this was common day in my life with some random old pervert offering to sing a song in honour to my beauty.

There is a memory so faint that at first whenever it came into my mind I thought it was just product of my imagination. After a few years I finally had nerve to discuss the same thing with my sister and I realised I was not the only victim. There was some unknown man who, whenever saw women all by themselves, used to flash his penis at them. No, actually there were two of them. Fear made a permanent residence in my brain. But as time passed by the memory also got mixed with others of my childhood. But as more time passed it stood distinctly apart from all of my childhood.

This is was the first time somebody tried to harass me and was definitely not the last time.

In this day of #metoo neither harassment nor coming out is a new thing. But when that dark incident took place I could not talk to a soul given the fact my sister was too young to understand a word I said.

I had always been a happy child. Years ago something happened which tarnished my thinking for all men in this world. The consequences proved to be darker than the actual incident.

I talk of the time when I was  just seven or eight and my father was posted in Jammu. We lived in servant quarters of the house appointed to the officer my father was posted with. Although we never were their servants, it was just temporary boarding arrangement in the big unknown city.

Since the people we lived with were officers, there was always some work going on and a lot of people coming and going. He too (let him be black) was a regular visitor being the driver of the house. Black usually volunteered to drop me to tuitions my mother never objected considering him an acquaintance of my father. Sometimes he used to give me a rupee or two for buying candies, which I usually I threw away as soon as I was away from his eyes. This kept on for some time.

Now on this particular day Black asked me to come into our kitchen, since he was perpetually around me I didn’t ask anything. I lead him to the kitchen. First he asked for some water, then when he thought that no one was looking he started unzipping his pants. At that moment I saw him. I was seized by terror. My heart was drumming in my chest. In the moment he was busy unzipping his pants and I ran, I ran with all my might and didn’t stop till reaching to my secret spot, to safety. After that day whenever I saw him I used to hide. He never stopped chasing me, he was a regular visitor at my house as well as my dreams. At times he would stand at our door, make meowing sounds and ask ‘andar kaun hai?’ At those words I would huddle myself deeper among the mass of sheets.

A few days ago when on my way to market I saw the man who flashed penis at women. Some of my past’s fear came back rushing down but I recovered quickly as now I am confident that I can fight and win again men of that kind.

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Boys will be boys

A few days back I was in a college fest with my best friend (and he is a guy like most of my other friends) it was noisy all around us with hundreds of exited college students, most of them girls, waiting for their favourite star to come.

This guy I was with spotted a girl in crowd, she was wearing a short dress and said “wow” with lascivious hunger.

Hearing a sudden wow I asked what’s so amazing.

“Look over there that in that short dress she is amazing” he said, eyes rolling back in mesmerisation.

“Why?” I asked now angered.

“Because she is wearing a short dress and she is looking super hawwwwwwt” he answered honestly.

“I think she forgot to wear pants.” I joked.

Suddenly irritated he countered back “you are an idiot. You behave like a man and really don’t have any fashion sense.”

“Oh really?” this guy had audacity to say these words and behave like it was fine, “look at the girls, over there” I pointed towards a few girls wearing kurta, “what do you think of them?”

“Nah they’re boring, you know aunty types”

“Whaaaaaat? Why?” I was glaring daggers on him.

“Because girls wear short dresses only attract men towards them”, he answered, a bit scared now.

First I slapped him hard on back of his and then asked “what if your wife or girlfriend wore such kind of clothes and somebody commented on her like you did, then, what you will do?

“I won’t let her wear such kind of clothes and go out” he answered flatly.

Flabbergasted. I came back and replayed that conversation again and again and again. What are we doing? If this was the condition of our boys then what could expected in future?

We teach our girls to remain virgin till the time of marriage. We tell our boys to marry a pure girl. We tell our boys to be the man of the house, but always forget to tell how. We never teach a man that she should keep himself pure. False belief of men being superior to women has ruined innumerable lives. Boys nowadays want a sexually experienced girlfriend, but when it comes to wife, they’re scared to disappoint their ancestors. If this is the case then I suggest they should lock themselves in a room and not even try to look at girls, till the time they get married. Only the girls should not be bound to follow customs.

The society is changing, gradually but still changing (or I believe this). There are a few headstrong men and women playing their role to make society better, now it’s time that we should too.

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Flood of feelings

I am 19 and looking back the experience was bitter sweet. There were a lot of difficulties to overcome, and there will be a number of them in future but now, I believe, I would be able to deal with them.

My father is in paramilitary force. My story starts from the time when he was posted in Jammu, it actually is from the time from where I can remember. When he was posted in Jammu he came home after 5 months, and those 5 months seemed endless. After a few more months he was transferred to Delhi, I was elated. I was in 3^rd standard at that time and my younger sister was in 1^st, both of us had long hair.

 Mummy used to fight on daily basis with papa on petty issues regarding me. And one day, all of sudden, she stopped making my braids. I was just 7 and in order to avoid any kind conflict my father got my hair cut to shoulders at first I was very sad but adjusted in no time. In evening I went to market with him to buy hairbands, happily because of thoughts of going school with a new haircut. Probably my mother was not happy, so she hid my hairband under the mattress she slept on. We searched it everywhere and ended up empty handed. I was terrified to go to school without a hairband, out of fear I started crying then only she took out the hairbands and handed them over.

Hate is a very strong word and should not be used until it is from depth of heart. I hate my mother, and I mean it.

First month into 8^th standard I got my period and asked my mother to help me. Instead of helping me she pushed me away saying I was impure now. I had school in next half an hour, wondering what to do now I sat on the floor. After a few minutes papa came and asked what happened, I told him that I got period. He then asked then why are you sitting on the floor. I pointed to sanitary napkins, too shy to even name it. He gave me sanitary napkin and my mother a death glare, and the woman she is she reflected it back.

What was my fault? Just because I was her first child? Because her second child who was a boy died?

By the end of same year I got to know that mummy was pregnant, again. Maybe the hope to have a man in family never dies. She got my younger sister’s gender checked but papa refuse to get her aborted. This time also gender of baby was checked, and thankfully it was a boy, otherwise I am damn sure she would have demanded sixth pregnancy. I was angry, not because they got baby’s gender checked, but because they were having fourth child. My papa is a constable and has a very decent salary. I was furious that they were having one more baby even after having three daughter. I felt as if we didn’t matter. I felt betrayed. I felt lost. I didn’t knew where to go, whom to talk with. I thought of suicide and tried to do the same, but then faces of my sisters came into view and did something else. I went back and planned how we were going to kill the coming baby. But regardless of what we planned, we love our brother a lot.

I never was as smart as my sisters but tried my best to impress my parents. Now I don’t do that because it’s my life not theirs to decide or like. So my mother always tried to humiliate every chance she got. She introduced me like ‘this is my elder daughter and she is an idiot, it’s only my second daughter who’s got all the smartness in the world’.

I’ve been suffering for a long time and will for a long time till the time I leave my current house. I don’t know why she did all she did with me, but when I think deeply I guess deep down I know what she must think. She always thought, and verbalised this thought many times, that I was ill-fated. She always thought it because of me that brother of mine died.

I cannot go back in time but I can just hope that in some point in future things will be better between us.

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Sindur

The idea of perfect life differs from person to person. My ideal life consists of me completing my studies, getting my dream job of traveling world tasting food, building house on some hill station, getting married to an army man, adopting children and live a satisfied life.

My mother one day met a women who seemingly was lost. In sudden burst of kindness mother went over to her and asked if she could help her. This women could not talk in Hindi properly, she was new in the city and was in search of CGHS (Central Government Heath Scheme)  clinic. On talking to her for a few more minutes mummy got to know that her husband was also in BSF(Border Secutiry Force) and she lived in the same area. Both women went inside the clinic, got checked up by the same doctor and left the clinic. The other women asked mummy to keep in touch and showed her house. My mother told us all this that evening and was very happy to help somebody deal with the situation she herself was in around twenty years ago. She was happy also because of the reason that she got to live near somebody from BSF, like happy old days.

Mr Umesh Pandey and Mrs Champa Pandey visited us after a couple of days. As we never actually lived in a camp (or I don’t have any recollection of it, I don’t know), we were happy to receive somebody from same background. The evening went by easily, we all sat and talked like we knew each other from a long time. We got minor details of their lives. They were married for more than thirty years, they had four children together, they lived in Bihar and shifted here recently, they were allotted three bedroom apartment and rented first room and, the most important piece of information, she referred to her husband as sahib.

Time went on and visits continued. It was only after a year, that bits of upsetting information was coming into focus. These things somehow made me feel hollow, from my perspective her life seemed miserable and lifeless. She must have been very happy with her life as I didn’t see her trying to change things for better. Her fathomless innocence could be seen in her eyes. She had no idea that she had been exploited by hands of her husband for whole of her married life.

My father always said when you see an angry bull take ten steps backwards, but when you see a deceptive change your way. So our dear Mr Umesh Pandey, who seemed very nice, actually not nice. He was a two faced man whose actual nature was only known to his wife and his children, I just got a hint of it and tried to maintain a safe distance. He started opening up with my father and told a lot about himself. He had three daughter, two of them married. He used hush money to pay for his daughters, sixteen lakh rupees each. Why? What was the need?

This man used to beat his wife and son when angry. He said a lot of things to her and I happened to catch those lines quite many times. He once was laughing at his wife’s illiteracy and was boasting about how dumb she was and clearly wanted to humiliate her. This man here I am talking about used to order his wife around. In her last days in Delhi he warned her that he would push her off the train if she didn’t work according to him. This man avoided sleeping beside his wife because she had some medical problem and murmured all night. Not that I am saying that one should sacrifice everything just because of some problem with partner, all I am asking is a bit of patience. Authoritative I understand, but dictator in a relationship is beyond my thinking power. He told her to call him as sahib, maybe he liked the word and his ego stroked.

Whatever the reason may be, I never saw Mr Champa Pandey raise her voice to answer him back all she did was smile back. Not one day I saw her smile deter.

At first I thought she couldn’t understand what he used to say, but with time I noticed something changing in her eyes whenever he tried to humiliate her. Maybe it was her respect for sindur she never said countered back. Maybe it was her upbringing which refrained her from slapping him to remind him that he was not almighty. Maybe she took the phrase “pati parmeshwar” too seriously. Maybe the fear of being a divorcee was scarier than her actual situation.

Whatever the reason may be her Sindur was the cause of her pain and sufferings. In recent years I got to know one champa pandey but beyond four walls of my house there exists many Champa pandey suffering every day because of their sindur. If anything I will never be a Champa Pandey in my life.

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