Sunday, November 27, 2011
Kahi Vedya Vakadya Charolya - 5
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
To a friend...
innocence personified
at times quite unlike one
maturity embodied.
His spirits are bouyant and his acts alive,
reminding me of ol times
spent in bliss,
His talks pacify and his being's placid,
of future I can fantasize,
with dreams in tranquil.
His smile's genuine, his words honest,
his walk's classic and looks convinced,
but
He's naive at heart, clear in goals
as any diamond would be.
Met as a friend,
vanished less than a foe,
his company soothed
his care salved...
for, those times he was present
remain unparallel
to any friend met in ages.
To him I could connect
and lose myself,
in the identity he created,
in the factor of 'us'
that he always protected...
But calm seas are seldom liked,
sounds of waves, often loved,
sudden cyclones disrupt peace,
...its the law of nature
and again silence reaps.
'It's a cycle...' they say
for silence is often followed by waves.
Waves they begin
and slowly take off,
killing the deadly silence,
that almost raked me face-off!
...and now he's gone
can't get back,
for it's Freud's mind they say
gone for once, its not to be seen ever again.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Kahi vedya vakadya charolya - 4
Kahi vedya vakadya charolya - 3
Kahi vedya vakadya charolya - 2
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Kahi vedya vakadya charolya - 1
Thoda Ratricha Vedepan...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
To 'Her'
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
'Genlte'men
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Of a Woman, A MOTHER
Her child is gone
Far away!
Into the space
That can’t send him back
Back to be the same
Same as he was
Her trust is betrayed
Of life and fortune
The destiny that was
Hopeful as she was
To make her happy one day.
To his pictures she can speak
speak her heart to each
each Companion is to her
with Only memories
that he left behind.
“You will come back to me;
My child.”
My child will come back
She said
Said she believed
He will live twice
Twice for her.
Her trust put to test
Of life and fortune
The destiny that is
Hopeful as she is
She will be happy one day
To see him come back one day.
The mother I see
The woman wanting to
Set her free!
Caressing her memories
As it would her own child be;
And hope to create a child back from memories….
Or will it be
Only memories from
a child that he was?
Time shall witness…the victory
Of a woman
A mother.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Advait
Nako mala astitiva swatahche
Mi kon?
Nako mala bandhan ya jivanache
Mi kon?
Kahi samje na mala,
Prashan padla
Uttar sapade na mala
Mi kon?
Banda sharirat sapdleli
Eka pinjaryat adakleli
Ek pankh kapleli pakhru
Mi kon?
Mi mhanje tuch
Tu mhanje mich
Na kothla rahil kadhi pharak
Pinjara todun
Pankh phadphadavit
Uden
Jevha tujhi mi
Majhich mi hoin
Na rahil kothla pharak…
Still
only me,
not time
I am at a standstill
There are times when
Still I am as a stone
When life is out thrown
Of the cage.
I am at a standstill
only me,
not time
I am at a standstill
There are times when
Felt, I should just ‘be’
Not in past nor future
But the present
I am at a standstill
My body, my mind
not thoughts that trod it
I am at a standstill
There are times when
Still as I stand
Images I see pass by
Of the gones.
I am at a standstill
only me,
not time
I am at a standstill
What is it in this
Past and present
That we all cease to be
Just ‘to be’ ?
Why do we deny
The present
To look into the past
And worry the future
Why can’t we just be?
Why can’t we just be?
Why can’t we just be?
For ‘to be or not to be
Is the only question?’
I am caged in a glass bottle
I can see you and u can see me
But I am caged
Don’t try to reach me!
B’coz I am caged in a glass bottle
I am home, but not really home
I am with family but not with them
I speak to mommy
But do not hear her.
I complain to daddy
But do not seek him
I wait to talk to sister
But can never touch her
B’coz I am caged in a glass bottle
I am in class, but not really in class
I am with mates but not with them
I hear my teacher
But I cannot listen her
I raise doubts to her
Of which she can never answer
I enjoy with friends,
But cannot understand them
I wait to learn
But can never, for the barrier
B’coz I am caged in a glass bottle
I am with friends but not really with them
I am with pals but not with them
I laugh at their jokes
But cannot understand them(pals)
I listen to their problems
But cannot help them
I expect from them
But can’t give back
B’coz I am caged in a glass bottle
I am caged in a glass bottle
I can see you and u can see me
But I am caged
You may try to reach me,
I may be just yours!
Tu mhanje phakta prem
Tu mhanje phakta prem
Premahun adhik mala samajat nahi
Majye dyanan ithun sampat nahi
Tu mhanje phakta prem
Tu mhanje phakta prem
Tu mhanje premachi pahili payari
Tu na tyachi shavat payari
Karan mulat premala
Na kothla shevat, phakta survat
Tu mhanje jivan, tu mhanje prem
Tu nuste prem, changle prem
Tu mhanje phakta prem
Tu mhanje phakta prem
Tu prem phakta prem
Tujhi bahkti mhanje premache sagar
Kshitije disto,
Prem sagar sampela ala asa vatato
Pan tu mhanje anant prem
Kshitija palikade anant prem
Tu suryachi kiran, tyatil jivanshakti prem
Tu panachya bindu tyatil jivanshakti prem
Tu anancha kan tyatil jivanshakti prem
Tu jagnache karan, karan tu phakta prem
Tuje jagach he vegle… ya duniyehun nirale
Tujya manashi jagun
Mala ya banavati duniyechi bhul pade
Tuje jagach he vegle… ya duniyehun nirale
Tuje jagach he vegle
Tujya tatvana samjun
Mala manashachi sacchi olakh pate
Tuje jagach he vegle… ya duniyehun nirale
Tuje jagach he vegle
Tujya premala palakhun
Mala phakt satyach thet abhase
Tuje jagach he vegle… ya duniyehun nirale
Tuje jagach he vegle
Tujhi maya pahun
Mala tujyat phakta aai dise
Tuje jagach he vegle… ya duniyehun nirale
Tuje jagach he vegle
Tujhi aartata majyasathi
Janu phakta advaita sidh kare
Karan phakta tujhech jag he itake vegle
Tuje jagach he vegle… ya duniyehun nirale
Na pahu mi tula krishnat, na brahmat
Na pahu mi tula vishnut na shivat
Na samaju mi tula kothlya pujet kothlya sthanat
Na samju mi tula kothlya dishet kuthlya gajarat
Na olakhu mi tula brahmanachya dyanat na warkaryachay bhajanat
Na olakhu mi tula ambechya navasat na santoshichaya upwasat
Na tolu mi tula geetetil krushanishi na biblelatil aesushi
Na tolu mi tula guru nanak ka shi na kuthlay maula shi
Mi phatka tula pahu
Dinachya hridayashi
Manachya kopryashi
Adanyachya satyashi
Adnyanachya antashi
Mi phakta pahu tula
Pratyek phulachya sugandhashi
Indradhanushayachya rangashi
Aakashachya nilyahsi
Pramaniktechya kanthashi
Mi phakta pahu tula
Aaichi mayeshi
Aichya karuneshi
Aichya kashtashi
Aichya lakhlakhtya
Dolyatil tejashi
Mi phakta pahu tula
Majya balachya hasyashi
Tyachya radnayshi
Tyachya khidalnyashi
Tyachya swashashi
Tyachya sampurna jivashi
Mi phakat pahu tula
Aajobanchya barik dolyashi
Tyachya jagnyachya atmavishwasashi
Tyanchya premashi
Tyanchya kaljishi
Tyanchya manashi
Tyanchya tarunpanashi
Mi na pahu tula, ya duniya ne banvanarya tatavashi
Mi phakta pahu tula
Satyachya bhavananhsi
Phakta premashi phakta premashi
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I don't know what is 'it'
it is full!
you may see it hollow
but it is full.
it is full with emptiness
it is full!
it is empty,
but still it is full,
it is hollow, b
ut still it is full
b'coz it is full fo emptiness
it is full!
is it nothingness?
is it zero gravity?
why is it so empty?
how is it so full?
it does not regret
any moment,
for it has nothing to lose
because it is so empty...
being so full.
it is filled with emptiness
it is full!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
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 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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
‘Perform your obligatory duty,
Because action is indeed better than inaction’
The Lihaf and obscenity.

- 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,
“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!
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.