Fantine Is Still Alive

Posted on December 31, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Fantine is alive not just in our memory, but in reality as well. There are many Fantines. Every person has the potential to become a Fantine. What are we doing to ourselves?

Anne Hathaway’s touching performance of “I dreamed a dream” as Fantine in ‘Les Misérables’ will remain burnt into our hearts through time. It was the raw emotion that dripped from her voice, the pain of her trials that echoed in our ears and the portrayal of her life that singed our hearts. But the silence that lay heavy in the air then, continues now. Its essence has permeated; bred through time and broken the shackles made by the blood and sweat of all those who tried to keep the monster at bay. The shackles had always been feeble anyways. And so, that silence that haunted Fantine still hangs like an albatross around the neck of the society.

We see cases of domestic abuse, molestation, rape and so on fill the pages of the newspaper. It chills us to the bones. For a moment we are skeptical of what remains of humanity in this world. We wonder why our society makes monsters of good men. Well, there are a number of different theories.

Some argue that it is conditional behavior. Those men observe that most of the crimes (at the rate of one molestation every 15 minutes; one crime against women every 3 minutes; one dowry death every 77 minutes; one rape every 29 minutes; one murder every 16 minutes; and one sexual harassment case every 53 minutes) go unpunished, and instead, the victim is blamed. They deem it acceptable in their mind.

But here, we wonder whether they have any discretion, any rational thought to counter it. Well, that thought is perhaps trampled by what they are taught to practice; subtle gender inequalities that over time begin to seem commonplace to both genders. It gradually becomes a part of their culture. It transforms their mindsets into that of the oppressed and the oppressor. For instance, in 2004, the NHFS reported that at least 35% of the women being abused thought that they deserved a brutal beating from their husbands if they neglected the household chores or children, while 51% of such husbands also deemed beating their wives acceptable if they disrespected the in-laws. It is no wonder that according to a UN report, 6 out of 10 men in India commit domestic violence.

Here are some more unsurprising statistics about the attitude towards gender equality in India (published jointly by United Nations World Population Fund (UNFPA) and Washington-based International Center for Research on Women):

93.6% men believe that a woman should obey her husband
86.2% men believe that the most important role of a woman is to take care of the home and cook for her family, against 74% women who said the same.
74.6% men and 65.1% women believed that if a woman does not physically fight back, it is not rape.
93% men felt that ‘to be a man, you need to be tough’ compared to 85% women.

Look closely at the 4^th finding mentioned above. It shows how both the oppressed and the oppressor are in fact oppressed and shackled by the parochialism of a society that unknowingly perpetuates the aforementioned inequalities. The quintessential male is limited to a gender role defined by high aggression, independence and an unemotional countenance. This is one of the main factors for a higher rate of suicide among men than among women, since it prevents men from seeking counselling against depression. Gender roles indeed play a major part in the increasing incidence of related crimes.

But not all women or men are the quiet martyrs of yesterday. The Fantines of today are trying to break the silence. One out of every four Fantines in India is speaking out against the atrocities. Can you hear their voices?

I can, and I tried to capture the story of one of them in the following video. And while these modern-day Fantines are slightly different from Hathaway’s Fantine, the similarities in their circumstances are heart-rending, as is the fact that they still exist.

I hope that we begin this new year with the hope to bring about a change and make this world a better place to live in.

– Akanksha Gupta

BEHIND THE SCENES

Posted on December 16, 2014 by akanksha gupta

When it comes to war, each person roots for different sides as though they’re their favorite cricket teams. Some look at the history; the originator, the aggressor. Some look at the bigger picture; the countries or alliances benefited. Some also look at the power struggles and support either the expected winner or the ‘underdog’. And then there are some who look at the religions of the warring factions and decide upon the one with a darker overtone as the unequivocal perpetrator.

But who does the majority of us support?

The majority of us supports neither side, just commiserates their misfortune, passes a remark or two with indifference and gives up thinking about them as a lost cause, all the while thanking our stars that we were not born in the ever-warring conflict zone. The majority of us pities the poor people born into that world, for ‘collateral damage’ is inevitable in war.

The question is what if we were born into that world?

The question is, how many of you stop for a moment to consider the “collateral damage” – the civilian life, livelihoods, peace and stability? How many for a moment, step out of this humongous cloud of hatred and rejection that is bound together by a history of foolish pride, stubborn politics of retaliation and wrong decisions? How many of you ever think about the ‘Humans of Israel-Palestine‘?

Oh no, this is not really about the Israel Palestine issue. It is about how, by supporting neither sides, we are still supporting the war. This is not an attempt to criticize or propose a solution. It’s a cold hard recipe of bitter ugly truths. It is a mirror to our actions; a harsh reminder of what we may be doing. And all the while, it’s reverberating the voice of the people spouting those truths, splaying their misery unto the world and crying for a reprieve. Indeed, it’s about those people suffering behind the scenes.

Broken orbs, ruby red, as fresh as the midnight air,

Splatter onto me today, I shrug them off and stare afar

A little jarred, with eyes scared, a little cold, a little hard,

My bones benumbed, cling on, chilled to the core,

The anger should have melted them by now,

Burnt them to a blackened barbequed crisp, but

I guess my heart has frozen like lead; strangled

My neck like an albatross, and I fear

If a little more sorrow is pelted on it, it’ll break

Apart, like the crystal glass that showed me once,

A little girl, a life away from grenades and gunpowder,

But shows me now the lifeless face of my mother;

I shudder, and open my eyes to the moon-white, as

The crystal ball shatters into a million orbs, ruby red,

As fresh as the midnight air, and I?

With a grim smile, I shrug them off…

– By Akanksha Gupta

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

Posted on December 12, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Once, I dreamed a dream like none other

Even if the dream would seem like any other

In my heart I knew it was quite well and true

And yet not too true that it be a lost wonder

–

I’d known it to be a world of many vices

Of slippery tongues, of bruising avarices

I too was tainted, but not entrenched or entangled

Perhaps just too naïve to see through the disguises

–

My dream, while true, knew it was tainted too

Its innocence couldn’t stand in a world of you

You who came and ripped it apart so brazenly

You who felt no shame, while I felt abused

–

My dream lay forgotten, as I remained comatose

A dream of your horrors began as the sun rose

My nights, sleepless and red rimmed, ghosted by

I gave up the ghost; reckoned you’d never feel remorse

–

I used to pray before God died as a folly of my past

Perhaps a part of me lamented but I was already too aghast

Now I could only see a world filled with the likes of you

You disabused my rosy view and gave me a cynical start

–

Yet every night I eluded sleep, for such were my dreams

A hardened soldier could weep hearing the silent screams

Of incredulity, of helplessness and agony, of vain pleading

As the sadistic pleasure in your eye would mockingly gleam

–

The others tried every other cure; law has always been invalid

And psychiatric help at the very best can be futile and insipid

It wasn’t until I met someone who’d met someone like you

That I felt I was being quite self-absorbed and painfully stupidz

–

I realized by wasting away life I was making a huge blunder

A victim I may be but you would win if I would surrender

My dream may have borne spite, but it was born incorruptible

It would withstand your terror, it would not be torn asunder

–

My glasses never were rosy, but selectively typhlotic

Before you came I was apathetic, when you left I was pathetic

It wasn’t until I met someone who’d met someone like you

That I realized I wanted to be that someone; someone empathetic

–

In a world filled with the likes of you, lone victim I cannot be

Yes, I’m a victim due to you, the law, the society, but never due me

I’m an atheist, I’m a believer, I’m a man, I’m a woman, I’m a survivor

You’re none; you’re a soulless monstrosity; and that’s all you’ll ever be

–

– Akanksha Gupta

PITTER-PATTER WENT THE BANTER

Posted on October 20, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Rain is music

Music is rain

Imbued with soul

Its every grain

Which to my eyes

Is a maze

And my heart

Is solace

But to my ears

A mellow dulcet voice

That murmurs softly

A hundred lies

Even for the tongue

Lingers long the tone

Longer than the gulp

From an ice-cream cone

– Akanksha Gupta

THE VOICE OF HUNGER

This post is a part of the blog-a-thon by World Vision India on Youth Ki Awaaz

Do you know what hunger feels like? Do you know what it is like to work without food and sleep on an empty belly? Do you know how those millions of people who struggle for every single morsel every single day of their lives feel? Through the story of a young girl, travel through the bitter palpable taste that shocks your senses into numbness:

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT (FOR POETRY)

Behind the curtain of brackish brown hair

Caked with the breath of a dying hope

Meshed like the wires of a broken basket

That I sometimes see that lady carry

Across the street, filled with apples

And apricots and cherries and all things good,

My mouth salivates,

But then,

I wonder how I must look in the mirror;

No, that lady didn’t bring that basket for me

Why would she?

I chant it like a broken tape recorder

She doesn’t know me and if she ever looks at me,

All she must see is one of those nameless faces

In the crowd, whose eyes peek out

In longing, like the fruits from her basket,

And she sneers; does she think we are thieves?

Well, she’s not wrong, we might as well be, if –

If we could get away with it, and as such

There’s been a thought or two in my head

That consumes my entire being

Whenever that eternal gnawing in my belly

Whenever that dull ache, whenever that stubborn throb,

Once in a while, becomes a mute struggle

Of not keeling over with pain,

I persevere, I persevere, I persevere

Nothing can be done;

I want to cry, but you can’t hear,

My voice doesn’t touch an apathetic ear

The tears have dried; my heart is hollow,

And I’m still standing hunched over a puddle of blood

Clutching my big bloated belly with bony hands

That are still bleeding from last week’s labor,

And now my mouth is also shining red,

I wonder how I must look in the mirror;

I am burning up,

My breaths are shallow, my head is dizzy

But I – I’m still working

So that I can at least fill my belly

With a stale bread at night

You see, I’ve stopped stealing half-eaten dinners

From the bins across the street

Last time my friend did it she slept

And in her sleep

She tossed, she frothed and she bled

And she never woke up again

Sometimes I wish I had been in her stead

Because I can’t bear this hopelessness alone

I can’t return from this godforsaken shantytown

Languishing in the heart of a merciless city

To my home in the village with my parents

Who a few years ago had sold me, the seventh daughter

To some company, for a few thousand dollars

And I – I forgave them, you would too if you saw their

Skeletal ghostly frames, hungry stomachs and lifeless eyes

Hanging onto this earth by a stroke of misfortune,

You see, we the poor, we the hungry, we the malnourished

We the society’s dregs who are kicked daily by the mercenaries

By the law, by the war, by our poverty, by your apathy,

We, who barely survive by the day at the precipice

And barely get sleep with this empty belly at night,

We either live like the roaches or die like the moths

We are as desensitized to life as we are to death

Perhaps that’s why I can admit that today –

Today, I’m feeling a little too drained

And dizzy and drowsy

I’m still burning up like the sun

And I think I might just pick up something from the bin

For I think this is my last breath, yes tonight,

I won’t wake up again, and I – I’d like it

Of my own volition, of my own choice, of my own desire

I’d like to be able to choose to die

As I couldn’t choose to live

-Akanksha Gupta

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

Posted on September 6, 2014 by akanksha gupta

I’m two days late in posting on Teacher’s day. These two days were spent in shock. Well, usually, it would not be unusual to expect something of this nature from petty politics that imitates the utterly useless theatrics of Indian Soaps more than Indian families do. Yet, I was quite surprised that our nation can politicize even a day that honors, as Dr. Radhakrishnan said, “some of the best minds of the country.”

To be nameless or be named
Shameless will never be ashamed
As their grapevine’s political noose
Tightens around important news

It is difficult to be proud of a nation, that, on a day where it should be celebrating the unsung heroes of the nation, is busy arguing on the nuances of a name change. All God have various names, each symbol has a multiple connotations, every religion has different interpretations and a child often has shortened derivatives of his name. And you are rebelling against a simple name change?

It is difficult to be proud of a nation, that, on a day where it should be working on reviving the honor in being a teacher, is busy perpetuating hypocrisy. When Independence day can be called Swantantra Divas and Republic day Gantantra Divas, why is it a problem when Teacher’s Day is dubbed Guru Utsav? Why do we not see any hard-core, political, territorial linguist argue whether or not the government is imposing Sanskrit on all States or that Sanskrit influenced all Indian languages? In fact, what is wrong in translating a name to a language that belongs to our country and has a long, rich and proud heritage from one that was ‘imposed’ by those who colonized us?

It is difficult to be proud of a nation, that, on a day where it should focus on improving the quality and accessibility of education, is busy creating a controversy regarding something as trivial as a ‘name change’. Yes, India has increased its focus on education in the past years. It is trying to spread the awareness among masses regarding the long-term individual and national importance of education. But, when we look at the bigger picture, we see our failings too – the lack of access in many rural areas, the deplorable quality of infrastructure, the persisting child labor and the degradation of respect in the teaching career. In fact, while the schools strive to make teachers feel unburdened and special on this day, what does the government do to? It looks at the littlest picture and decides to politicize it by changing the name; though it would have been harmless had it not become an instrument for the opposition to protest and capitalize on.

But then, I’ve decided to be the bigger person and let go of this mockery, and do the best I can; pay an honest heartfelt tribute to all my teachers throughout my school, and now my university, life:

There is a hunger in our bellies and a thirst in our throats
Every time that you fill ‘em up, a burning emptiness bloats
And you, like those hardened warriors, stand tall and proud;
Custodians of knowledge; you shine like a beacon in the crowd
Heartily we salute your struggle to mold the future generation
Educating the youth comes not without its trials and tribulations
Ruing every deadline we are wont to curse and cry, but later
Savoring every moment with you we wonder how time flies by

Dear mentors, dear siblings, dear friends – you are all in one,
Articulating your desire that with wide eyes we’d run; run, run and run,
Yes, through a world where we’d make your pride burn bright like the sun

FATAL FLAW: DIVERSE JUDGMENTS OF A JUDGMENTAL DIVERSITY

Posted on August 25, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Water from the icy heart of a river

May taste sweeter than bottled Bisleri’s,

The mountain air caressing the Himalayas

May feel softer than a tepid Savannah breeze,

Red-ribbed strawberries from different regions

May ripen and taste each quite distinctively,

But you still drink, you still breathe, you still eat.

A camel strutting across Saharan sands

May vary with the one from Kalahari,

The sun over the desert soil may beat down

Brighter than over a tropical canopy,

A monastery in Taxila may not

Resemble one that is Chinese,

That’s why tourists flock them all, equally, enthusiastically.

For without the differences that make them unique

The world won’t have anything of much worth to see;

The world won’t have what makes it worthwhile to be

Even us; for you see, it is laid bare in our identities –

That which separates all of me’s from we –

That what makes you so different from me.

And so I lie in an ageless wait and long for the day

When the world would have time to stand and spare

To look at me, at what I am and yet not care

A world where it doesn’t matter who I am

As long as you know that I am me and I can be.

– Akanksha Gupta

THE SECRETS OF AGEING

Posted on August 22, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Whenever I look at your sweet sagacious face

Schooled artfully into childlike innocence

In your eyes I see that spark of accomplishment

And of mischievous omniscience that is telling,

And a sliver of guilt, so palpable and so moving

That I almost raise my eyebrows to my hair

But before I can fall into that old trap I resist

The urge to sigh and pardon any folly, any crime

For the fear of spoiling, I see the guilt is not as much

A subtle apology weighing down the conscience

As it is self-reproach for having been caught

And so, my lips twitch of their volition, before

I resume that stern face from practice and imitation

Of a memory when I used to be as old as you

And now I realize what I didn’t realize then

And what you don’t realize now, but one day –

One day, when you are as old as I am now

You will know it too; it was your naïve, wide, eyes;

Open windows, untainted, that spoke with abandon,

With those that could see right through your lies

– Akanksha Gupta

RAKSHABANDHAN SPECIAL (FROM A BROTHER TO A SISTER)

Posted on August 17, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Whenever I look at your face lit

With annoyingly contagious smiles perched upon it

I smile because you are my dear sister

And laugh because I can do nothing about it

And I look on with reluctant resignation, when,

You fight, you mimic, and you pamper me,

And secretly amused by your company I grumble

When your moods change like waves on a sea

Now, though I’m known for my rustic humor

And my poetically tasteless articulation

Know that while my words be crude

My eyes shine with unspoken adoration

Since you managed to keep calm and get married

I crave for your now-dramatically-diminished company

I miss you so much from the bottom of my heart

That I’ll let you harass me with teeka and raakhi

– By Akanksha Gupta

FOR SOME ARE BORN TO ENDLESS NIGHT

Posted on July 18, 2014 by akanksha gupta

It’s those some times

When in the quintessential hush

You whisper

From a broken raspy throat

Crackling through the silence

As though parched and raked over

Burning coals, over

Scorching summer sands

And into those silences of the desert

Your agonizing cracked voice

That has been silenced

By fate perchance

For so long

It has so much to say

It longs to, but nay

The silence of the desert

Offers no solace, no oasis

Yet you whisper

It speaks of strength

That you’re so hardened

That only you know, it’s an illusion;

Where they see courage

I see the desperation

I see you’re broken

Because I’ve been there too

The ageless quietude

Of whispering

Of wetting the throat with emotions

Buried somewhere far but not forgotten

Of wetting chapped lips with blood

That you wished was not a figment

Of your imagination

You bleed within and wonder

Why it all never bleeds out

But like a rot on the inside

It gnaws at you, it clings on, it clots

And you scrape it out

With harsh rasping sounds

And guttural cries and howls

Your throat is hoarse

Because you have so much to say

But no one to tell

So you tell the silent air

The forbidden secrets you hope

It will share

You hope that one day

You’ll get there

I won’t lie and say it’ll be fine

But it will get better with time

Your lies, your self-deception

Your ability to hide the pain

To hide yourself

From not just the world

But from yourself

– Akanksha Gupta

BLAME ME NOT; THE DOG ATE THE WORK

Posted on May 28, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Life is full of ironies

And paradoxes

And contradictions

But you can never be wrong

You always have

Justifications and excuses

Especially if

You’re an Indian citizen

And believe me

I’m not alone

In being severe upon my nation

And cynical when I say

That perhaps we are

Born this way

Didn’t you know?

The Great Indian Government

Is a pro

At this blame game

Why, the other day

Mamata Didi did say

“When men and women

More freely interact

Increase in rape

Is an inescapable fact”

And for those unaware

She is the democratically-elected CM

Of an Indian state

That claims zero-tolerance for rape

No wonder regarding crimes against women

It features as the hottest destination

But wait!

There has to be an opposition

That must say something to dilute

The incumbent party’s explanation

Enter the conservative right wingers

And enlightened Acharyajees

“Oh no, Mamata didi,

It is not that the two genders

Never mingled earlier

It is the influence

Of the Haram Western culture!”

And that apparently says it all

After all,

Wherever else shall the blame fall?

Heaven and Earth,

The shades of the Desi culture

Have never thus been polluted before!

Oh do ask these enlightened ascetic souls –

From where did the sculpted erotica,

Of Khajuraho and Elephanta

Emerge in the bygone era’s

Temple Architecture?!

Hah, without a doubt

The infallibly virtuous Indian culture

Which has always upheld the façade

Of such ‘family values and honor’

That crimes hid behind the veils

Of silently suffering females

Need I say more?

Oh yes, the NCR,

Whose police says with nonchalance,

“‘Immodest’ wardrobe and inebriation

Bar-tending and late-night shifts

Are all equivalent to prostitution”

You see, this is the insignia

Of an efficient administration

That has redefined feminism

To such an extent and context

That despite being under-reported

And despite victims oft being indicted

The NCR stands in unabashed glory

Of being the highest scorer

In the Indian Rape Story

– Akanksha Gupta

DYING TO BE ME

Posted on March 29, 2014 by akanksha gupta

I’m going to a place

You’ve never been

You never can be

It’s only for me

I’m not being presumptuous

And not at all selfish

Its a place where I wake up

Without the morning rush

And I ain’t on a vacation

Nor am I high on cocaine

But the occasion

Is such

That its hard to suppress

The sun-kissed smile

That adorns unbidden

Every shadow, every crevice

And I ain’t at the beach

But it sure feels like one

Where the sun and the ocean

Meet at the horizon

And are overlooked by –

By the mountains

That are ribboned with –

With a river full of fish

And that river flows through me

And I – I flow through it

There is no real difference

That feeling of oneness

When I fall into the ocean

And look up to see

A rainbow greets me

And I feel a sense of

Lucidity, and serenity

That as a consequence

I forget the reality

That awaits me

When I open my eyes

And close them again

A few more moments

Of slumber

To before tranquil was torn

Asunder

To moments of exclusivity

Back to the freedom of being

In a dream

Without anybody

Where I can be me

A nobody and everybody

– Akanksha Gupta

Why I Click

Posted on March 4, 2014 by akanksha gupta

After much thought

I can say

That ‘Every Day’

Makes memories

Unique, profound

And though I may

Freeze time and

Capture the essence

Of each emotion

And every action

Positive or negative

I can never quite ensnare

The worth of every moment

The beauty of every instance

In the timeless memory

Because what makes it special then

May not exist now

Yet a memento, a souvenir

Every day in future

Reminds me why I live

And keep going

Day in and day out

– Akanksha Gupta

Chennai – An Enigma

Posted on March 1, 2014 by akanksha gupta

Chennai Through The Eyes Of a Vacationing Delhiite

Vennakam yepaddi irukka?
Hustle bustle
Blow a whistle
The crowd is noisily pouring
Onto the streets
That carry
A million heartbeats
The sun glaring
Digging holes
Into my bruised eyes
The vendors are shouting
Into my ears
Unimaginably loud
The rickshaw is pulling
Me across
The traffic beleaguered
Streets
With the cars
Honking
Like there is no tomorrow
The beggars at red-light
Cling on to me
With the air
Of inexplicable sorrow
As if the very city
Has raped
Their souls
Of any happiness
Here, I digress
But I must confess
The city
Has an air of mystery
Of ambiguity
That pulls me in
Not because
Of its warm winter weather
Its varied culture
Or homey nature
But because you can
Lose yourself
It’s the anonymity
That is alluring
Especially
In a metro
Where a fast-paced life
Leaves no time
To stand and stare
But a Wordsworth-like world
Where you can
– A stranger –
Stand and observe
How life simply surrounds you
And runs around you
And that gives a sense
Of satisfaction and fulfillment
Better than escape reality
But that maybe
Because I can be me
With no responsibility
And that’s when I say
Nalla Irukken

– Akanksha Gupta

Life Is Tough

Posted on February 27, 2014 by akanksha gupta

When you fall
When you rise
I can see it
In your eyes
Through the ups
Through the downs
In your smiles
And your frowns
Your eyes can’t hide
An anguish, a pain,
A soul so old
And tear-stained
That I’m forced
To look into them
And yet I –
I can’t divine
What goes on
Behind
Closed doors
Of your life
Yet I say
That you may
Believe that
Life is tough
Life is rough
And you can’t
Take in any more
It is enough
The truth is if life
Was all
Sunshine and happiness
You’d never know
Joy from sadness
You’d never treasure
The moments
Of sheer pleasure
For that’s when you know
That though
Life is tough
Life is rough
The inherent beauty of life
Can never be
Ever enough