Journey in my head

As a teenager I had lots and lots of spaces in mind, where I wanted to go, meet people, learn new things and have endless fun experiences. I did go to places while still in college and afterwards. But somehow life took over… Ambitions, job, career, love, family and society… everything became primary. My wanderer soul started taking a backseat, it would come alive once in a while and I would go to some place near by for feeling alive.

I am a writer by profession and a storyteller by passion, so all my stories come from childhood… I kept thinking, why i don’t have stories which are recent. The answer is simple, that when we have responsibilities we tend to let go dreams.
It’s not that I have a mundane life style or a 9 to 5 job… NO!  that way I have worked my way up to have a career of my choice- Writing and making stories, trying to make the world a better place with my stories. Children are my favourite audience and I write for them.
But when I got this email about Bucket list, I thought it is quite a over rated thing… People just go to places because they have to fill their social media with colourful images. Sometime people do travel because they have to- Work!
Honestly, Travelling is really fun in the pictures and stories, the problems one face on the way to destination, from toilet, to shower, carrying heavy luggage, stomach upset, strange people… expensive cities… bad hotels, bumpy bus rides, vomiting on the hilly roads, creepy co passengers… the list is endless…
I have faced all the above in my various journeys- Mostly inside the country. Abroad I felt coldness, in the surrounding and in the people as well…
On top of that I have never been a super healthy person so I could never go crazy over food, bicycling or long walks… because you know…
However, I have met some amazing people in real life and over the internet, who are not from my country, they can’t even speak my language but we understood each other. I loved sharing my stories with them and knowing about theirs.
I have a wish to travel to far of countries if not for anything but for stories- folktales, myths, fairytales… songs, dances and absurd music instruments…
Because hell yeah!!! life is difficult and I have chose to make the world better place with stories.
#TheBlindList #SayYesToTheWorld


Do I get it?

A writer’s journey

It’s been a while since I have worked on various writing projects. Before getting into any project I am quite confident about it but as I move deeper in the subject, I realise the difficulties. There are times when I feel that I am getting nowhere and then there are times when I think that what ever I have written is good but I don’t get same reaction from others. There could be various reasons about it, for example; everyone has their own sense of understanding and people could be completely on different level in understanding same topic.

So, lets talk about the current project I am on, the protagonist of my story is in love with a homosexual friend of his. Now, if I go on thinking like a straight person and try to interpret the situation of my protagonist, I might be able to get it correct but if I have to project or show, what his love interest is going through, I need to know what actually happens. And in our society it’s bad enough to be born as a straight girl (pls do not start a conversation about woman empowerment now! ), I can not imagine what might be going through in the head of a girl who is homosexual. Taboo ka baap!

Since I wanted an authentic voice in my writing, I started looking for the real people, who are of different sexualities. Few of my close friends are gay, so first, I talked to them but they told me that they don’t know what exactly a lesbian might be feeling because being gay is completely different from being lesbian. Now, that was a blow I did not see coming. In my head I had put all homosexuals in one group. But now if I see and recollect the behaviours, likings and other traits of each and every individual, they are completely different from one another.

Another blow that came directly on my face was when I talked to some lesbian beings and I realised that not everyone was open about talking about their story. I do completely respect their opinion but then for me as a writer it again becomes an alienated space, where if I write something on my own, I might be judgemental and stereotype about things but on the other hand I cannot force people to share their stuff with me.

Should I write or not? Is it freedom of expression or not?

V Blog started

Here I started my videos on stories and experiences.
This post is about one of my encounter with a rickshaw driver.


Screen Shot 2016-01-18 at 11.57.17 AM.png

My papa is a policeman and my maa is a Schoolteacher

I am not sure how exciting or uninteresting it might be for the people out there, but I have always respected my papa for being a policeman. I used to think and still do that he is not a great father, as he was hardly there when my siblings and me needed him, but he was always on duty, adorning his khaki uniform. I have no memory of a holiday, spent with my papa, but I remember some days when I used to come back from school and papa would have cooked delicious lunch, this used to happen only when he would be working on the night shifts. He is one of those people who will not talk much when sober, but after few pegs he used to talk about anything and everything under the sun.

I never realized that the police job is so tough until that day. I was away for my higher studies, of-course on loan because I am the daughter of a policeman and I belong to the general category. One fine day I got a late night call from my mother saying that papa is hospitalized and he has lost his memory. For a brief moment, I was did not understand how to react and then I just could not control my tears until the next day, I reached home. I did not cry in front of my mother and my sister. My brother was on his way. It was wintertime and the hospital was colder and quieter. I was preparing myself to meet my papa, and I was not sure what to expect.

I had left, a 5 feet 11 inch tall, strong and good-looking man hiding his tears behind photo chromatic glasses, when I had left home for further studies. What I saw in the ICU room was a frail, thin man with half paralyzed body and no senses at all. I did not know who he was, all I knew that the job of a policeman had eaten him up.

Now let me tell you about my mother. Like many other middle class women of our country, my mother is my hero. She is a born warrior, because she has been fighting with circumstances since she was a kid. She fought with her parents for her right to be educated. She fought with her husband for the right to be on job (she is a school teacher), and right now she is fighting with the Education Department for her right to be transferred in her home district so that she can take care of her ailing husband.

Being a daughter of a policeman and a schoolteacher, I realized that both my parents are from the most hated and at the same time respected categories of the Indian Government Service. In a way they belong to the lower cadre of government jobs. I have seen my mother going door to door for pulse polio mission and sitting for entire day for voting duties. I mean, any kind of new policy that has to be launched by the government, can only be succeeded because primary school teachers are there to work on holidays and vacations.

And if it’s non-government work, then policemen have to be there. Any social occasion like festivals, or visits of some political leader or Sabha of some religious leader or road accident, murder, theft or even Bollywood celebrities visiting to temples, the policeman has to be alert.

Having said that I was happy for both my hardworking parents. They gave and still are giving their 100% to the government but I feel sad and sorry for them because when government has to pay back to their employees, it’s just bureaucracy and paper works and politics and bribery and god knows what all! So when a policeman who is trying to fight for his life, because he got paralyzed on duty, due to odd hours of work and immense pressure from everywhere, a government schoolteacher is fighting for her right to teach as well as take care of her ailing husband. And I as a daughter of these two government servants feel utterly helpless to be able to do anything for my maa and papa!

Crows by the window

The crows came on my window…They come everyday… I used to give them food but they are so messy that they will litter it all over my window and also my neighbours window, so I had to stop feeding these crows before anyone starts complaining.
So, it’s not my fault that these crows are not getting food from me, its their own behaviour… right!!!

But they keep visiting me everyday, making noise, talking to each-other about how I have changed… And today it was ridiculous as I tried to scar them away but they would not budge a bit. Now for some reason, these crows made me feel like exactly how I feel at various times, with people (real human beings). They are annoyed if you do certain things and they are annoyed even if you don’t do certain things. So their job is basically to make your life uncomfortable by keep complaining.
We live in a My-Crow-Society.

Zindagi gulzar hai

Recently I started writing for tv. Now wait!!! before making any assumption about me, let me make one thing clear, I do not watch tv serial, but yes there are one or two, which are my all time favourite. And all of us have a stomach to fill.

Soon I realised that writing for tv is not bad at all. It’s the after process and effect which made these nice story so dramatic.
I wanted to watch something more realistic kind of tv and by chance I stumbled upon “Zindagi Gulzar hai” a very famous Pakistani tv show.  I belong to post independent generation of India, so my view about pakistan were as good as people told me and media in-forced.

When I started watching this tv serial, I loved its simple setup, daily costumes, realistic make-up and easy camera angles. And the language, wow!!! I felt so refreshed to hear Urdu like a daily use language. I love Urdu for its poetic nature, so for me it was like a Urdu class, when I started watching this show.

There are few things which gave me that “I did not know this” moment. In the serial, no one was wearing Burkha, all the women were dressed up in nice coloured Kurta-Salwar and Jeans-Top. That was the first myth, which was broken. Second working women were wearing Saari, exactly like my mother or any one else. They love chai as much as we do. And the punjabi they talk is so much more soothing than what I hear around me.

The serial was very crisp, no added drama and for my surprise it ended within 26 episodes. In indian tv industry a show is successful when it crossed 470 or so episodes. So writers have to juice out everything to make a serial work. But that’s a different thing altogether.

It is really funny that how we make assumption about others only by listening to popular believes, even films does not portray the true-picture as most of the times films are showing us the dreams and not the reality. Whereas in tv shows we have opportunity to touch the real self. Having said that, I will not recommend any other country people to make assumption about Indian society by watching our tv shows. Most of our tv shows are a medium on entertainment, but it show, the aspiration of our society as well.
So it’s not that they are 100% fiction but the drama is much more compared to a real life situation.
I don’t know if the same thing apply to “Zindagi Gulzar Hai”, is it the true portrayal or their society or not. I hope it is.

After the serial got over, I felt really sad, and I wanted to watch something else, so my next one is “Aunn-Zara”