A young inspiration.

She is not an activist, nor any rank holder. She is a woman, a daughter, a lover, a human. She might seem a commoner at first sight, Dipti is a crusader, a social visionary and a heart to heart healer.

A lot of people devote their lives to huge causes, and they gain recognition for their devotion to the cause they uphold, but someone so humble doing something so quietly for a humble cause as this seems so perfectly out of simplistic understanding of life, situations, devotion, spirituality, commitment, responsibility and desires borne out of the delicate phases of age that all of us undergo.

A young Dipti, of just 24, is working for the cause of upholding her Preceptor’s vision, and efficiently being the centre point of all the activities and programmes organized by Anam Prem or Love ‘A’ (Anonymous), which is a voluntary social group.

Anam Prem is a self financed group, and believes in no other than humanity and love, which are the ultimate answers to all queries and problems. They work for any and every being, from bus conductors and drivers to the city police and traffic police, from the visually handicap children to the hearing impaired and the mentally challenged, from orphans to old friends from the old age homes, from prostitutes to the hijaras, and from human beings like any of us to animals and birds, fishes and ants, giving every being the respect of its dignity and love that they deserve. A very unique concept, which seems to answer all questions of hatred, anger, frustration, fanatism, Maoism, and all negative energies, and Dipti makes it all possible by co-ordinating these various activities from a small meeting place at Kandivli. Her job description entails from typing of the various literatures required for these activities, to maintaining the place as well as keeping a track of accounts and most significantly co-ordinating with the programme leaders of Anam Prem and the other individuals making sure that all are well informed about the existing programs, and all of this is organized and planned by her under the guidance of her Preceptor whom she lovingly calls Dadaji.

A dream weaver since childhood, the metamorphosis of Dipti’s life has been phenomenal, from the desire of being a professional to a self financed volunteer at Anam Prem, commuting everyday from the secluded areas of Powai to the distant suburbs of Kandivli.

Born in Mumbai to a middle class family of humble parents, her father Mr.Prabhakar Rane, is a senior journalist with Navakal and Pudhari, and Meghana Rane, her mother is a homemaker. As every other brilliant student who has that little bubble of haughtiness Dipti was no exception. She too had conventionally dreamt of becoming a doctor a much more coveted profession back then, than today.

“I always wanted to be a gynecologist or a pediatrician and get close to people, understand women and pregnancy, understand children, experience their innocence, get closer to their pure inner being.” Recalls Dipti who continues to have a fascination about children. But a shocking low score in her tenth grade university exams truncated her bright future career plans. This rude slap did not however did not seem to deter a strongly determined Dipti. She continued with her studies leaving back the sudden failure. But the fate had decided to put to test this young girl, and she failed her twelfth grade and has not cleared it till date. Balked by the hostility of her destiny, she managed to emerge as a stronger person.

Her failure in the regular curriculum of our myopic education system did not stop Dipti from being a good and cultured human being, in fact this turn in her life made way for her to choose the path of service to humanity. She took to pursuing a course in naturopathy, and topped her college. But this was the toughest period of her life.

“My way was lost, and my course did not provide me any recognition as an individual anywhere. I was shattered. My brother didn’t want me to sit at home so he persuaded me to keep myself engaged in different things.” Then she joined a beauty course at Midcon, and what’s more she did not become complacent with the increasing pile of certificates with her name on them but constantly updated herself with knowledge and kept herself busy with excursions of a critical mind. She also took up a course in MS-CIT. Returning back to her core desires of healing, Dipti learnt acupuncture.

“Though I was constantly learning different things, there was a feeling of emptiness, this knowledge wasn’t fetching me anything not even a living. But one day Dadaji called me up and gave me my first patient.”

Then a barely seventeen year old Dipti, bravely took up the challenge of healing her first patient, a middle aged woman suffering from acute back problem who could not even sit on the floor. With her strong will and prayers Dipti put her naturopathy and acupuncture knowledge and experience, to use. And miraculously on the sixth day her patient squatted on floor and on the seventh day she could comfortably sit on the floor, which had become impossible for her in the past six months. This was a part of Dipti’s service as desired by Dadaji, her preceptor. It was this young achievement of her’s that stood like a brave soldier against all the failures that mitigated her life instinct.

As Dipti recalls her teens she says “I was too proud a person, of what, I really can’t figure out now, but back then I only enjoyed the company of people who were ambitious, knowledgeable, and educated and I never placed those who lacked any ambition, I maintained a grandma profile for them, lecturing always on education, its importance. And the irony that surfaced my life was that I myself could never complete my education.”

Today she confidently asserts that there’s much more to learn outside the dog-eared books, volumes and volumes of thesis and theories, because the core remains the same and therefore the truth remains the same. At the end of the day Dipti smilingly says, “There are no regrets; and I am still a proud learner, No one can stop me from being that.”

But none can cease me from penciling words
No man can end my web of convictions
The people cannot rupture the waves of wisdom
Masses cannot blind the eyes of imagination…


Another very beautiful memory of her life that she wishes to relive is, those times when she did charity healing at a church in the suburbs of Borivali. She worked in two shifts from 8.30 A.M to 3.00P.M and from 4.00P.M. To 11.30 P.M ; along with a few others at the church treating the local patients, with accupulsar. Again a hectic commute from Borivali to Powai however did not stop her from continuing her charity services. A Sagittarian, who is very good with people and maintaining relationships, had developed an amazing rapport with her patients. In one instance she recalls; “I remember when my patients waited till the end of the day to speak to me and tell me they didn’t want me to leave, I was elated, and it was the beginning of my spiritual feed.”

There were hurdles at all possible roads of her life, educational, professional, financial, personal or even familial. No sooner did her personal life begin to bear bright colors, than they blended subtly into a white, colorless canvas. This colour of the dove became more or less constant and turned from being a white canvas to a laminated white frame. Though the vibrant colors had more or less faded to a white existence they were camouflaged deep down by the superficial white. Meanwhile her financial crisis at home too did not seem to relax but seem to worsen with each passing day and the last nail in the coffin was the loss of her aging father’s job; this was a harrowing time for her when she saw the worst days of her life, and was left with no choice but to come to terms with life. As she painfully remembers “I even wore clothes used by my cousins, most of which were discarded by them.”

It is “maktub-everything is written by Him” says the Alchemist, and the universe conspires to make it fall in place. This came true for our girl too. Dipti started taking her typing lessons, which proved a blessing in disguise for her, she got a chance to be in proximity with Dadaji and simultaneously be the pulley for the Anam Prem chariot. And it is all where her journey began as an active social crusader. She was all the more happy to be in the company of Dadaji and minutely look after the work of Anam Prem. This gave her immense satisfaction, but the practical world around could never identify with her commitments towards her voluntary service, her devotion towards her preceptor and continued snide remarks at her dependent existence. But Dipti tough enough to let these remarks pass through her ears comfortably took it with a smile of ultimate containment.

While working at Anam Prem she got a few work offers too, one of which she took up on desire of Dadaji, was for person also from the social field, who was ready to pay her, but it was Dadaji’s urge that she should not charge them for her work, he said her work would be her worship towards her Lord and which Dipti followed. But the work wasn’t satisfying enough.

“It was a commercial atmosphere, and I spent sleepless nights in thinking about my work. I wasn’t too happy.” On seeking Dadaji’s permission she contentedly got back to her unassuming work at Anam Prem.

Dipti always had a staunch desire to be a part of people’s life and understand their world. And when you are the apple of your preceptor’s eye all your wishes always come true. Dipti got an opportunity to delve into the world of the silent, and she secured admission for learning Indian Sign Language into the national institute for the hearing impaired, The Ali Yavar Jung Institute, while she continued to work at Anam Prem. Her schedules began to get interestingly hectic. Her day began with commuting to kandivli in the mornings, while two hours in the evening were spent in learning the Indian sign Language at Bandra, from where she commuted back to Borivali to devote her late evenings to rehearse for a play of a different genre; ‘social awareness’, which was an outdoor initiative by Anam Prem.

Often she zigzagged schedules, a variety of commitments made her stay for days together at friend’s place in the suburbs which were particularly closer than her own home. Inspite of such day to day difficulties, Dipti managed to top the Level 1 of the Indian Sign Language course, securing 83.6% and still her craving for knowledge is not yet over, she has applied for admissions for Level 2 of the same course. She thoroughly enjoyed the tenure of this course and she can now effectively communicate with the hearing impaired persons.

Dipti jumps with spirit and enthusiastically says, “Like every year, on 2nd October, when Anam Prem organized Anand Mela for the deaf and dumb students, I could interact with these children, understand them and express myself wholeheartedly, for which I waited all these years. I experienced the bliss of entering the world of the silent which was still so full of melodiously loud emotions!”

Dipti is content with her spiritual feed today; she has grown up as a mature individual, who has devoted her life to a cause, a cause of a peanut size, but of the importance of the efforts of the squirrel who contributed her bit to build the bridge for Ram to Ravana’s Lanka. Dipti did not have a formal educational background, but still could weave her dream of becoming a doctor, though not on certificates but by the purpose of the profession, a true heart to heart healer. And its time for the youth to derive inspiration from a simple, middle class girl, who believes in her core values and has not, forgotten her purpose.

‘Perform your obligatory duty,
Because action is indeed better than inaction’

– Bhagvad Gita

The Lihaf and obscenity.

“Indecency, vulgarity, obscenity – these are strictly confined to man; he invented them. Among the higher animals there is no trace of them.”
- Mark Twain

Ideas are perceptions of intellectual capacities of the human mind. When these capacities realize the ability to analyze, they perceive the subject through a sieve of socio-psycho cultural backgrounds. Thus, we coin the term ‘obscenity’ depending on our sieve of perception.

‘Obscenity’ the word that has been made to sounds so charged with a crime, comes from a Latin origin ‘obscenus’ meaning “foul, repulsive, detestable”. In the legal context it is used to describe expressions that offend the prevalent or the existent so called sexual morality of the time. However, it is a subjective term depending on the subjective morals whose understanding varies from age to age or class to mass. It is important to note that the obscenity legislation exists since barely hundred years.

The law covering obscenity is dealt with in the India Penal Code of 1860. Interestingly, these laws are relics of the colonial period and fundamentally at variance with the constitutional guarantees of freedom of expression.

One of the most controversial issues is balancing the need to protect society against the potential harm that may flow from obscene material, and the need to ensure respect for freedom of expression and to preserve a free flow of information and idea.

The Constitution guarantees Freedom of Expression in Article 19(1)(a) Freedom of expression means the freedom to express not only one’s own views but also the views of others and, by any means, including printing. The second clause however also makes clear that the State may impose reasonable restriction in the interest of public decency and morality. The culminative effect of these provisions seems to sustain the legality of any act of the State which lawfully restrains the publication of 'obscene' material in India. The crucial question is, 'what is obscenity?’

‘Obscenity’ has a social, religious, aesthetic, and literatural aspect. In the social aspect, if the universal values governing any said society are offended in any way by means of an expression (art, literature, etc.), it is termed as obscene. This mostly deals with obscenity associated with sex. In the religious context however an act of blasphemy is also considered obscene. Aesthetically speaking obscenity can mean anything that has been created to arouse or corrupt the spectator’s emotions. However, this explanation itself involves multiple factors. No context of the creation will solely have the elements external to the spectator. It is a compound of external elements of the object of art and the perceiver’s sieve of thoughts, beliefs, attitude, values, culture, interest, his mood at the moment and his overall personality. Obscenity arises when these two sets of elements do not belong to the same universe of thoughts and feelings and hence conflict on co-existing.

Lihaf – the story in controversy :

Ismat Chugtai, wrote a brialliantly conceived short story Lihaf meaning ‘Quilt’. A child narrator describes in simple understanding of what she makes out of a relationship she sees between her aunt (Begum Jaan) and her personal maid (Rabbo). Ismat, a notorius child, is left with her aunt while her mother is on a visit to Agra for a few days. Begum Jaan, a beautiful young woman married to a Nawab Sahib, who is much older to her, but is known to be a pious man. ‘No prostitute or street woman had ever been seen in his house. He had gone on the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca himself, and helped many others to perform this holy service.’
The Nawab however left the new bride in the house with the furniture, and did not allow her to visit other people while himself nurturing a unique hobby, he loved to have young fair faced boys (students) around him, with slim waists and he bore all their expenses. Begum Jaan was heartbroken and depressed.

The lonely Begum Jaan’s life came back to colour with Rabbo’s new therapy of massage to cure her permanent itch.

‘The massage of mysterious oils brought back the flush of life to her.’

Ismat for hours used to observe Rabbo massaging Begum Jaan and closely watched the hands that moved on various parts of her body. At times she wondered how could one like to be massaged all through the day and sometimes throughout the night wouldn’t it eventually crush all bones?

‘I used to watch those hands, intent on seeing where they were and what they were doing.’

Rabbo and Begum Jaan shared a bed and Ismat slept in the same room. At night when she woke up at times, to be horrified when she used to see the quilt on Begum Jaan’s bed taking different shapes.

'Begum Jaan’s lihaf was rocking as though an elephant was caught in it.'

But the next morning she had forgotten about it like a night mare.

Once Rabbo had to go to visit her son which dispirited Begum Jaan like never before. She had tried to settle Rabbo’s son, he even worked for the Nawab Sahib for a while but had fled and never come back even to see his mother. No one had known the reason. Rabbo once had to go to see him, and for a few days she did not return. Between this period Begum Jaan lay demoralized, without eating. Ismat who offered to scratch Begum Jaan, later regretted and feared even stepping into Begum Jaan’s room, as she became more demanding.

‘I began to weep inwardly. She hugged and squeezed me like a plaything.The warmth of her body drove me to distraction…she was like one possessed.’

‘And here I was more scared of Begum Jaan, than of all loafers in the world.’

Begum Jaan had begun to shower lot of affection on Ismat, and an unpleased Rabbo remarked, “Unripe mangoes are sour, Begum Jaan.”

The next encounter with the elephant in the lihaf was even more intense.

‘The elephant rose, agitated. It seemed to be sitting on its legs. I heard noises, slop, slop-as if someone were eating something with great relish. Suddenly I understood the whole affair. Begum Jaan hadn’t eaten anything that day and Rabbo had always been a greedy glutton. Surely something delicious was being gulped down under the lihaf.’

The lihaf had begun taking shapes even in the child’s mind, and she began getting restless. As she switched on the light, the elephant under the lihaf turned a violent sommersault and collapsed, but a corner of the lihaf was lifted by a foot and Ismat was shocked to see what was happening below the lihaf.

‘Allah! I dived for my bed.’

The story that made Chugtai famous all over, was culled from her experiences and the people she observed. Lihaf, was charged with obscenity in 1944, under the Indian Penal Code. Lihaf had been published around 1941, and the censors took note of it only after it was reprinted in ‘Chotein’ later.

Lihaf was charged for obscenity, as it spoke about homosexual relationships between Begum Jaan, a Muslim woman married to a high class Nawab family, and her maid. Even liberal-thinkers at the time, who could accept interclass relationships, could not tolerate the theme of same-sex love. Neither could the authorities. Taking these charges with an uncommon spirit of courage and humour, Ismat ventured to Lahore for the trial. The charges had been brought against Shahid Ahmed Dehlavi, the publisher and surprisingly also the calligrapher who had copied the manuscript.

In the court Ismat affirmed that when she had written the story she did not know what words she could use for the things she had witnessed, and thus there were no risqué words and that she had no intentions to be vulgar, “It was merely a child’s description of some which she cannot fully understand. It was based on my own experience as a child. I knew no more at that time than the child knew. My lawyer argued that the story could be understood only by those who already had some knowledge.”

Ismat Chugtai was acquitted as the witness could not prove the obscenity charges in her story. Below is an account of her court trial as described by her.

There was a big crowd in the court. Several people had advised us to offer our apologies to the judge, even offering to pay the fines on our behalf. The proceedings had lost some of their verve, the witnesses who were called in to prove that “Lihaf” was obscene were beginning to lose their never in the face of our lawyer’s cross-examination. No word capable of inviting condemnation could be found.

After a great deal of search a gentleman said, “The sentence - she was collecting ashiqs (lovers) is obscene.”

“Which word is obscene,” the lawyer asked “Collecting,” or “ashiqs”?

“The word ‘ashiqs’” the witness replied somewhat hesitantly.

“My Lord the word ashiqs has been used by greatest poets. This word has been guven a sacred place by the devout.”

“But it’s highly improper for girls to collect ashiqs isn’t it?” the witness proclaimed.

“Why?”

“Because…because…this is improper for respectable girls.”

“But not improper for girls who are not respectable?”

“Uh…uh…no”

“My client has mentioned perhaps girls who are not respectable. And as you say, sir,

non-respectable girls may collect ashiqs.”

“Yes, it’s not obscene to mention them, but for an educated woman from a respectable family to write about these girls merits condemnation!”

The witness thundered.

“So go right ahead and condemn as much as you like but does it merit legal action?”
The case crumbled.

Even though Chughtai won the case, Lihaf remains open to criticism from the religious groups as well as the not-so religious groups. The issue of obscenity in Lihaf is the expression of same-sex love, by an educated Muslim woman coming from a respectable family background. But Chugtai’s does a wonderful job, leaving the reader with marvel.

The strength of Chugtai’s writing is her unbiased descriptive of a much taboo issue in a nations like India and Pakistan, that too not when people dare to make a ‘Fire’ or a ‘Girlfriend’ but nearly half a century ago even when love marriage or even inter caste marriage would qualify excommunication. Ismat’s story is a mere documentation of what was seen, which was a mirror image of what was perceived by the child narrator…no opinions, no fabrications, no hyperbole but just a pure outright report of what takes place. It is like an innocent reflection in the water of the moon.

Section 292., Indian Penal Code states,
2*[(1) For the purposes of sub-section (2), a book, pamphlet, paper, writing, drawing, painting representation, figure or any other object, shall be deemed to be obscene if it is lascivious or appeals to the prurient interest or if its effect, or (where it comprises two or more distinct items) the effect of any one of its items, is, if taken as a whole, such as to tend to deprave and corrupt persons who are likely, having regard to all relevant circumstances, to read, see or hear the matter contained or embodied in it.

3*[(2)] Whoever-

(a) sells, lets to hire, distributes, publicly exhibits or in any manner puts into circulation, or for purposes of sale, hire, distribution, public exhibition or circulation, makes, reduces or has in his possession any obscene book, pamphlet, paper, drawing, painting, representation or figure or any other obscene object whatsoever, or

(b) imports, exports or conveys any obscene object for any of the purposes aforesaid, or knowing or having reason to believe that such object will be sold, let to hire, distributed or publicly exhibited or in any manner put into circulation, or

(c) takes part in or receives profits from any business in the course of which he knows or has reason to believe that any such obscene objects are, for any of the purposes aforesaid, made, produced, purchased, kept, imported, exported, conveyed,

As the IPC says that content is to be regarded as obscene if it tends to deprave or corrupt persons however Ismat’s narrative as an objective reader would perceive is not in any form provocative, catering to any crass entertainment, or insulting, exploiting, objectifying the female form.

The argument again boils down to the reader’s perception of the text, and the connect of the elements of the story, the storyteller and the reader. This definitely brings out the difference between how the child perceived the events and how a reader interpreted it.

Another important thing in the story is that neither Begum Jaan nor Rabbo seem to be homosexuals. Their relationship begins because of the absence of a healthy sexual relationships with their husbands. Chughtai has also mentioned about the basic human instinct of sex and how necessary is its fulfillment to mortals especially after they have entered the thrall of sex. It is almost a fatal whirlpool.

She describes Begum Jaan’s advances towards her in the absence of Rabbo. However we can use the word ‘advances’ as we can sum up the event, unlike the little Ismat who simply describes them as physical actions and nothing else.

‘She hugged and squeezed me like a plaything. The warmth of her body drove me to distraction…she was like one possessed.’

Ismat’s writing is beautiful blend of observation, perception and an objective narration.
“It was merely a child’s description of some which she cannot fully understand.” Ismat.
The witness in Chugtai’s trial has condemned her for writing about not-so respectable girls in the society; the account of the trial we get to read is suggestive of the witness’ perception of women, status and same sex relationships.

A very important aspect of the story which is remains neglected throughout most literature available on Chughtai’s Lihaf, is the Nawab Sahib’s subtly touched sexual orientation. He didn’t seem to enjoy company of women not even his beautiful and attractive wife, but kept himself surrounded by young, fair faced men.

‘she felt she was rolling on a bed of live coals as she saw the boys in their translucent kurtas, their well-formed legs in tight fitting churidars, their willowy wiast…’

The fact that no questions about these acts of Nawab Sahib came up in the trial, nor any words such as ‘condemnation’ were used for describing the Nawab’s hobby of enjoying the company of young and handsome men, explains the societal expectations from men and women.

Homosexuality is an offence in India as well as Pakistan. Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, says, ‘whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with any man, woman or animal, shall be punished with imprisonment for life, or with imprisonment of either description for a term (which shall not be less than two years nor more than 10 years), and shall also be liable to a fine.’ Sadly, this law that was adopted from the British constitution has already been repelled from it, but we still retain it.

And this in a way has enforced the conceptualization of even the mention of homosexuality to be obscene.

Another interesting observation in the story that leaves scope to delve more into intricacies of what Ismat really wishes to speak is, the mention of Rabbo’s son who worked with Nawab Sahib ‘and received many gifts of clothes from him’ fled and never came back even to meet his mother, ‘and no one knew why…’ Linking this to earlier mentions of Nawab Sahib’s hobbies, it leads the reader to faintly infer the reason for his fleeing. It could either be his disapproval of the Nawab’s mysterious ways to pleasure or chances of him discovering about his mother’s closeness with Begum Jaan or none of these two.

Coming back to the trial, Chughtai’s lawyer had argued the case on the point that only people who had the knowledge of homosexuality, could only understand it. This seemed a witty point of escape to win the case, but the core issue of whether her work was obscene remained untouched. The society did not witness a perspective change to homosexuality, desires of women, expression in literature, and these remained stagnant. However in today’s times we have become more liberal about the term ‘obscene’.

Lihaf to be a subtle conveyer of the social system, the sham and duplicity of the high society and the urban class. It speaks about the innocence of the child narrator, and the trial brings out how adults add judgments, prejudices and opinions.

‘ Suddenly I understood the whole affair. Begum Jaan hadn’t eaten anything that day and Rabbo had always been a greedy glutton.’

Ismat had a passion for freedom which comes through her writing and leaves no means to term her work obscene.

“Purdah had already been imposed on me, but my tongue was an unsheathed sword. No one could restrain it,” - Ismat Chughtai

Journeys of life!

“The train arriving on platform no.2 is a fast local for Churchgate, this local will not halt at any station between Borivali to Andheri, Andheri … Mumbai central”, I am late again. I missed my 7.14 F, Churchgate and this one is 7.28F.Another late mark and my day’s salary cut. All my day’s work in vain. Useless! System and Life! I hate it. 95 minutes of a single journey, Virar-Churchgate, a battle of life and death! So in one day double the time for a return journey, that makes it 190 minutes a day. For a month, 30 minus the 4 Sundays, that is 26 right?

190 x 26 = 4940minutes, and 4940/60 = 82approx. hrs. In this second class local train??? Atrocities of a love marriage? Hmm ... may be the price of all the hurt I caused them and left them to be with him. He’s changed so much after marriage, he doesn’t even give time to Riya, she is so small, she needs him… “Platform no.2 par aayi hui local…” I have to get ready, in position, I want a seat. I am too tired, emotionally.

Dhud, dhud…dhap dhap..dhud…dhap…Hush! Finally I managed to get a window seat. Of course after all the efforts I at least deserve clean air to breathe or rather some space to breathe, space in life!

When I sometimes think about the spirit of Mumbai that the media so often boasts of, I wonder if it is really the spirit of Mumbai that keeps it going or the fact that Mumbaikars are left with no choice to win their bread.

“Ha…even you late today?”

“Yes, slept late yesterday”, I answered.

That was Mrs. Katkade; she works at the Mantralay, my regular train friend. I lied to her. Actually we had a fight in the morning, me and shankar, its become kind of regular now. I donot know what‘s on with him these days? He’s occupied with something….forget it I think it’s my fault .I will surprise him today evening, a romantic evening …or is it someone else? He …and …? I am not beautiful anymore but he always said “U LOOK GORGEOUS “

“Hello, yes Sir,the meeting? I’ll arrange for it.”, my boss, he called up. Nice person, he cares more ! He always asks, why don’t I shift to a convenient place in Borivali?
'Virar trains are a nightmare’, He’ll say and I just laugh it off. I wish Shankar was concerned. He is not … I love Riya and I love him too.

“Ok bye Mrs. Katkade see u I the evening.”

As I walk across the lanes in Churchgate to reach my office ,where I work as a P.A, and I earn 8000 /- a month, after the difficult ‘Virar nightmare’ pretty good for me Shankar’s business is nowhere and he …..? Huh….Got a very busy day today and his surprise too!

“Good morning Sir”.

“Good Morning, Shweta you look tired these days, I told you Virar Trains…”

“…a nightmare? Forget that sir, it’s not gonna change. And the meeting at the 10 a.m is fixed; I think we should move immediately.”

I sit into his car ,‘a big car’, I call it , as he waits for me to get into the front seat, he patiently shuts the door and very calmly sits in the drivers seat. He must be in his mid thirties. He’s dressed in a nice formal Peter England, navy blue shirt, I just loved it and those shiny black trousers, he looks really decent and hats off to him for the distance he maintains between us…that shows he respects me …I just love it. Well he’s not married...but he’s just my boss. I love Shankar….but, we are friends, good and close. Shankar doesn’t know, he’ll kill me. I have to report everything. When, where and how I breathed air, which toilet paper I used. I hate it.

“What are you saying Sir, so I can go home early? Thanks a lot; I was planning for a surprise evening with Shankar today. You made it easier. Thanks.”

“Bye, dear, take care, go safe, Virar trains….”

“I know ….” We laughed heartily.”

“Bye. Thanks again.”

I am so happy, I am going home early today, I am so relaxed, its just 2 p.m the trains wont be crowded, I get to sit, window seat again and that gives me a lot of time to plan my candle- lit evening. Shankar will be home by 8.He had said he had to attend some important client. And Riya, I will pick her up from creche and her drop her to mummyji and daddyji’s place. I can pick her up in the morning tomorrow. Daddyji wanted Riya to be with them for a day, I’ll tell them. So my evening bonding session is fixed.

I am into a 2:36 Fast Virar local. The frequency of a fast is low during these hours, but I am the lucky one or is it Maktub-everything is planned by Him, as the alchemist quotes? Great !for once things are going to be better between us. He will be so happy. I will wear my black evening gown with a deep neckline and he will love me again. He will say ‘YOU LOOK GORGEOUS.’ Soft music, a close dance, I am just waiting to be with him. Yes but for now I should get back to my daily work. I need to clean to these vegetables before I reach home. Yes all of us prepare for our daily chores while we are back home in the train, irrespective of whether we are tired or dead, you have your husband, kids and in-laws to be fed at home, ON TIME .It’s disturbing for their health, you see, if they have it a little late. No wonder marriage comes in a package.

I have reached, dropped Riya to mummyji’s place, we recently shifted so…just waiting to reach home to get started for Shankar’s surprise. My first date? Don’t ask .He was sooo cute then…I loved him for all that he was. I still love him…but he’s changed …our first time? Censored!

I checked my purse for my keys, and quickly opened the door. Shankar’s shoes ? He’s home? That‘s impossible. And I moved to my bedroom, the door was not locked, in fact slightly open.

“I love you….”

“I love you too. I love your eyes, your hair, your face, I love you darling.”

“Shut up, I know you to tell this to Shweta too?”

“Shweta ?She is going to be late today, she has a lot of work today, why would I call you otherwise? Believe me you are just beautiful.

It was my bed, my husband and it wasn’t me. The clothes lie on the floor, the two closer than ever, the thick bedsheet cover them, not fully though.

All of these, kept looking at me, laughing at my love ,my life ,my marriage, my struggle to make my marriage happy….

“‘YOU LOOK GORGEOUS’, like this.” He dug deeper into her.

I whispered, ”Shankar” and slowly walked back.

Living with a different thought - there are no differences!

‘Cultivate friendship which will conquer all hearts.
Look upon others as thyself.
Renounce war; forswear competition.
Give up aggression on others which is wrong.
Wide mother Earth, our Mother is here ready to give us all our desires.
We have the Lord, our Father, compassionate to all.
Ye peoples of the World! Restrain yourselves, Give, Be kind.
May all people be happy and prosperous’

Yes, on the UN Day in October 1966, the United Nations rose to the voice of M.Subbulakshmi, and these words of Parmacharya of Kanchi. This Sanskrit benediction (translated above) received a standing ovation by the people of the world, that seemed to go on and on, it reflected the Indian spirit of culture and the message of oneness of God, a prayer for peace…but the violence continues in words, in feelings and in actions.

Every day I get to read about violence and religious wars, be it Hyderabad blasts, the Godhara riots, the naxalites and the Maoists. The Middleast is struggling with Sectarian identities and here back home ‘the Northeast’ is contending with ethnicity. In our very backyards our ‘elected few’ debate the issue of existence of Ram and some debate the chronology of the Babri Masjid. We, the otherwise callous middleclass, take an off from work to enjoy the India – Pakistan one-day match, as if it was a war for existence; indeed history made it one when the blow of partition befell the unwavering religious loyalties.

Why does all this happen? Why does hatred smudge deep and far? I question myself. In school I wrote pages on how ‘India is a Secular, but will our children be able to write theories on mere idealism?

In the part of land that chose to embrace religious pluralism and teaches secularism, sixty years after independence, we hear of death of some Rizawan ur-Rehman in Kolkatta, who married Priyanka Todi hailing from a rich Hindu conservative family. We observe the differences of ‘with beard’ ‘without beard’ and categorize our very own friends, , during and post riots we would never let our bearded friends escape the security check posts, or even get them get off a plane on mere suspicion and get applauded for our very act. We are barred from entering a place of religious worship that carries a board at the gate ‘Entry only for P*****’. Is this what we call secularism?

This may not come in way of our political definition of secularism- ‘Government and religion separate’ but are these things justifiable in a religiously pluralistic country or even in the larger sense of the modern world?

Secularism goes beyond mere religion, it is acceptance and tolerance argue some, but the question I wish put forth is why acceptance and tolerance? Do I need to accept the siblings born to the same mother, mother India or the mother Earth? Do I need to be told to love them as I love and respect myself? Why do we speak of tolerance and hatred, and preach how our religions defend pluralism and acceptance? Is this religious prejudice or political neglect?

Today I have a truth to share, about myself. To all those who judge me by my name, I am a viashya-wani, hailing from Devgad, a Maharashtrian and more importantly, a Hindu. But the secret I would whisper in your ears is ‘I am a Non-practitioner’ and I want to shout at the top of my voice is that I believe only in one faith and a singular religion in this pluralist country- the religion I know – Humanity, the language I speak – Love, The Lord of All Lords has shown me the worth of being human. Now will you hang me to death or slaughter me? Well, for all those who are fighting religious wars, let me tell you this religion I chose does not even have recognition!

And we keep fighting which is the better and who should convert? Why does a respectably losing Pakistani Cricket captain have to thank only Muslims of the world?

We are fighting wars on religions but religions are fighting war betweens Gods and sects…the Roman Catholics and the Protestants, and the Shias and the Sunnis. It is all and just about ‘ego’ but the Almighty says when there is ego, ‘I’ go, and we are left fighting for everything but our faith.

The solution to all our questions is already with us and within us. The answer is ‘Love’. It is an absolute answer and as simple that we attribute no value to it. We have really looked down on the definitions of love, which happens to be the most complex emotion, though, the simplest solution.

A turning point of my life was my acquaintance and now an everlasting relationship with a voluntary, self-financed social group Anam Prem. The work here is based on the Fundamental Duties listed in Article 51(A), Part IV, of The Constitution of India, which by law stands non-enforceable.

In Diwali last year, Anam Prem organized ‘Vande Bhrartaram – Diwali & Eid’ at Maratha Mandir, a play was staged, the scene: there’s a blast, and people are rushing to help each other irrespective of their religions. At the end of the play, I saw an old man with a little child in his hand, (I do not want to disclose his religious identity here.) with tears in his eyes, he tried to walk away. I enquired what had happened. He just said, “A lot of times we have been wrong, and I apologize, today even my child could be in the victim’s shoes.” He was inconsolable, he left.

Our constitutional duties say, Article 51(A) e)…to renounce practices derogatory to the dignity of women.

f) to value and preserve the rich heritage of our composite culture.

And accordingly, Anam Prem celebrates Navratri, a festival when we all worship the Mother Goddess, but have forgotten to acknowledge the goddess of Service- Nurse. We visited almost all government hospitals in Mumbai during the nine days and met the nurses. They held us first when we were born and will serve us on our deathbed without discriminating us on any grounds.


‘Ya Devi sarvabhuteshu Sevarupen sansthita
Namastasye Namastasye Namastasye Namonamah.’

‘The goddess who has descended on earth for serving mankind, I bow down to her.’

These lines are recited in the prayers to the Mother Goddess during Navratri, however, we seldom do that in reality, and the worse is most of the times women are objectified! Is this the way we interpret religious texts?


It has become increasingly difficult to penetrate this thought of Love into people’s mind, barriers of faith have to interfere, and I understand why.

Just a year ago, we were searching for a Jain Mandir hall to celebrate Mahavir Jayanti and Mohammed Paigamber Jayanti. (these happened to fall on the same day for two consecutive years) These saint-men preached humanity, and we the followers of the respective religions have never accommodated the Hijara friends in our lives, who are as human as we. I approached nearly ten Jain temples to be turned down every time I said, it is for the hijaras, and there would be an inter-faith prayer meet for them.

‘No Muslims and no hijaras’ was the common answer. But I take pride in saying that for two years the programme took place at a Jain Upashray at Vile Parle, and just the last year, we even celebrated it at Eksar Durga, Borivali.

During the first two days of Diwali, we visit the 80 police stations in Mumbai, and the Traffic Chowkis share our Sweets with the policemen, on August Kranti Din we visit all the Bus Depots and speak with the drivers and conductors, these activities have received a loving response form people, it is reaching persons, beyond their faith.

Anam Prem has started its journey on this path of love, for us it is no more living with differences but living with a different thought – ‘there are no differences.’

But I wish to question every heart; do we not realize we are victimizing people in the name of religion? Ask all practitioners have all of them even read their holy books? There are religious experts boasting of great knowledge that leads to Advait and Moksha when they remain insensitive to their neighbour’s plight.

I would like to quote Kabir here, ‘Pothi Padha Padha Jagmoha
Pandit Bhaya Na Koi

Do Akshar Prem Ka,
Padhe So Pandit Hoi.’

And again, the memories of the UN day celebration in October 1966, which I did not witness in person but in imagination, come back to me, M.Subbulakshmi singing -

‘…To give up hate and fear…
The God in everyman
is an atom too
of measureless potential.
Let us learn to find it
And explode it into lasting peace
Here under this Uniting Roof.’

Without title!

Hmm this is my first post, yes I am far behind in this world of communication... I think I didn't need one. But now I need a medium, to express, explore and exploit! Hmm all of you do it. I will do it as well. It is really funny, we are ready to share and express with people we don't know, and remain absolutely insensitive to someone closest to us.