Broken Hearts

"Our hearts were broken in the same places"
John Green

I know you can feel my pain,
because it is just the same.
Our hearts are broken,
in the exact same places,
with the fallen traces,
that can not be undone,
as we cling to the bygone,
But to have a partner in pain,
is the most precious gain. 

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Goes on

The wind will keep blowing,
The sun will keep shining,
Life will go on,
You come or go, I will exist,
Winter will come, spring would go by,
The birds would fly away,
The dust will linger in the air,
And life will go on and on ...

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It goes on

"In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: it goes on"

Robert Frost

People come into our life, stay and then move on, things happen, things change, things that existed no longer do and amidst all this, life just goes on. I have always revered my grandfather and he was a great inspiration. However he never liked gifts so when I got my first salary in 2007 I could not quite reckon what to gift him. Not that I had to gift him but I wanted to. Then I thought of his library where he has collection of books starting from encyclopedias,  to books on science and mathematics, also novels because being a Professor of Physics he also liked literature. So, I gifted him the third book of Stephen Hawkins, 'Black Hole and Baby Universes' because he had the first two. However for a long time I was not quite sure if he read it, until his death in 2013 when his desk and bookshelf was being cleaned. I found he had read till the last page of the book because he had underlined some sentences till the end, that he probably thought was important. I then moved to the first page where years back I had written, 

'Dear Aja (Grandpa), 

I owe you a lot, 

Yours lovingly,
 Miki'

It doesn't feel like he will never be around again and it was difficult to accept his sudden death, I spent my entire childhood in my grandparents' house after all. But his death taught me how to face death and how to go on with life, just like Robert Frost says, 'it goes on'. 

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Alone

"Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone."

Maya Angelou

Can anybody be all alone and survive alone? I think what Maya Angelou wanted to say was that everybody needs the human touch. It may not be a spouse but your parents, may not be children to take care of you but may be a friend to lend a shoulder, or may be your cousins or siblings who were your partner in crime. Life is so difficult to be lived without having some one to talk to, they may not even be physically present but even an internet chat would be enough. I have one such school buddy and we keep exchanging the quotes that we read over whatsapp. A healthy discussion follows afterwards, it feels really good to have someone of the same mental wavelength or the way she says we are soul sisters. Strange that our souls connect even if we are miles apart. She lives in Singapore by the way, but our conversation is more real than anything else. Then there is another friend whom I meet mostly in the weekends or week days if we find time to sneak out of office and pouring out my heart to her feels oh so relaxing! Office colleagues with whom I go for lunch are a true inspiration for my work. When we discuss our bosses, a meeting that over shoot its duration or a presentation that didn't go too well it feels so easy to relate to each other's life and half of the grief is resolved. I think no matter how difficult it is life will go on. A little human touch will make it easier though, that's why Maya Angelou says, "nobody can make it out here alone". 

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Write

When a memory wants to speak to you, write
When a dream wants to be unveiled, write
When your childhood wants to be relived, write
When adulthood takes its toll, find sometime to write
When the fear in you wants to explode, write
When the anger suppressed refuses to dwindle, write
When the love inside you mumbles, write
When hatred spreads its venom, write
When everything with in and around you finds words, write, just write ...

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When I Hid My Caste

When I Hid My Caste is more than a book, it is a saga of dreadful and disgraceful experiences of the Dalits. It revolves around the Maharashtra of 1950s and covers the life of Mahars, one of the many Dalit castes in India. It is a collection of ten stories which depicts the distress and humiliation of the Mahar characters.

The first story Prisoner of Darkness is about a Mahar woman Bano who and her only son are ruthlessly attacked by a mob after her husband’s death. While she is mournful the village holds her responsible for her own husband’s death. They see her as a witch who is manipulative and harmful. Their rage fails them to understand that she is nothing but a helpless and innocent woman.

Bohada is the only story with a happy ending. Mahars in those days weren’t allowed to play lead roles in the Bohada where the dancers painted themselves as characters from the Ramayana and Mahabharata. But in that Bohada a Mahar tries to steal away one such important role with his revolt and cunningness.

Streetwalker is the story of a sex worker who goes to any extent to meet her dying child. Even if she tries to work hard all her hope dissipates after she is robbed and finds out that her son is already dead.

Dassehra Sacrifice as the name suggests is about how a Patil proudly sacrifices a buffalo for Dassehra, while mercilessly attacking it. Mahars of the village fight with all their strength to keep the beast in control. The story depicts the fake courage of a Patil hiding his timidness while the four well-built Mahars heroically fight with the buffalo even risking their lives. It also shows the superstition of callous killing of an innocent beast for the Goddess.

Few lines in the last story When I Hid My Caste got me thoroughly shaken. Here it is ‘in this luck-forsaken country, human beings should not be born as Dalits. If and when they are they must bear such sorrow and such disrespect as would make death seem an easier option, making a cup of poison a Dalit’s best friend.’ It is strange how people’s conduct change when they discover you are of a low caste even if they were kind to you before. In this story the protagonist is beaten up by the same man who once considered him his Guru when the former had hidden his caste.

In this book Baburao Bagul has surfaced the sufferings of the Dalits comprehensibly and made us question the age-old beliefs. The way even educated Dalits were treated was pitiful. I don’t think much has changed even now, do you? People still ask your surname, people still want to know your caste.

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