Have you heard of the Swat Valley. I hadn’t till I read “I Am Malala” the story of a fifteen year old girl who was shot by the Taliban because she stood up for female education and spoke against Talibanization of the beautiful, verdant valley.
Swat is the fifteenth largest district of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province in Pakistan, centered on the Valley of Swat, surrounded by the Swat river. The valley was a major centre of early Buddhism under the ancient kingdom of Gandhara. After the tenth century, the area became largely Muslim. Until 1969, Swat was part a self-governing princely state that was inherited by Pakistan post independence from British rule. The region was seized by the Tehrik-i-Taliban in late-2007 until Pakistani control was re-established in mid-2009. Swat is a popular tourist destination of Pakistan given its scenic beauty and cooler climate than rest of the country. (Source : Wikipedia)
The name “Swat” is derived from the Swat River. The Swat River referred to as the Suvāstu –in the Rig Veda, which literally means “of fair dwellings” Some have suggested the Sanskrit name may mean “clear blue water.” Another theory derives the word Swat from the Sanskrit word shveta (white), also used to describe the clear water of the Swat River. To the ancient Greeks, the river was known as the Soastus.[1 The Chinese pilgrim Faxian referred to Swat as the Su-ho-to. (Source : Wikipedia)
“I AM Malala”” is the autobiography of Malala Yousafzai of Swat Valley, her childhood home. She was named after Malalai of Maiwand. Malala lived with her father Ziauddin, her mother Toor Pekai and two younger brothers Khushal and Atal. Ziauddin was an advocate of mass education He opened the Khushal School with a partner and struggled hard to maintain it amidst dire financial difficulties. Slowly the school grew and made profit. Ziauddin’s wife, Toor Pekai, would give shelter to many needy children and Ziauddin would give them free admission in his schools.
Malala describes the changing political scenario in Pakistan, the gradual talibanization of the peaceful valley converting a heavenly, picturesque abode into a seat of terror and blood bath and how amidst regressive political turmoil she and her father continued their advocacy of education. How, on one hand, they were praised for their fearless campaign and how, on another hand, death threats loomed large over them from those who thought that the father and daughter duo were trying to westernize the populace and turn them into anti-Muslims.
On 9th October 2012, Malala and two of her friends, coming back from school, was shot by a Taliban. The bullet travelled from her left eye to her shoulder. Her friends were also injured but not fatally. It is hereafter that the book narrates how the wheel of the government functions, the avoidable delays made by the bureaucracy, the attempt to politicize her attempted murder, the trauma her family goes through unable to reach out to their severely wounded child who is taken to the Combined Military Hospital in Peshawar and then airlifted to a military hospital in Rawalpindi and then to Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham, and the various complex medical procedures she undergoes to be blessed with a second life.
She lives in Birmingham with her family, continues her fight for education but also dearly misses her homeland and wishes to go back to the Valley.
In October 2014, Malala, shared the Nobel Peace Prize with Indian children’s rights activist Kailash Satyarthi She was seventeen and the youngest person to become a Nobel Laureat. Her impassioned speech in the United Nations Headquarters won a standing ovation. I have heard her on You Tube. She speaks out of deep conviction and nurtures true vision. She is soft spoken but strong, a reformist to the core, a realist but harbours wealth of optimism. She is married to Asser Malik, Manager of Pakistan Cricket Board.
“I Am Malala” was well received, declared a bestseller and honoured with several accolades. But Wiki says that it is banned in certain parts of Pakistan perhaps because of her straightforward commentary on Pakistan’s political and social issues. The book is straight-from-the-heart-kind. Needless to say, it is also a scoop of life which is despicable to say the least. The writing is simple but lucid in portrayal. It does not take much to understand how peace can be systematically destroyed by fundamentalism, illiteracy, lack of clarity in terms of political goals and dualism.
Malala’s speeches and interviews are available on You Tube. Her Instagram showcases her continued zeal for her cause which now transcends geographical borders. Malala ends her book saying that she does not want to be known as “the girl who was shot by the Taliban” but as “the girl who fought for education”.
Kudos to her indomitable spirit.
Shared with Goodreads
Curse Of Corona Part I can be read here
Curse Of Corona Part II can be read here
Curse Of Corona Part III can be read here
What I missed the most were the shops that closed down all of a sudden, not during the Pandemic but thereafter. One was Kaleva. A short ride from home. Its a well known brand and sell very good sweets and fast food. In India, all fast foods are not junk foods and consist of items which are also made at home for breakfast, tea time as well as celebratory occasions. Many evenings, while returning home from office, I would make a detour to buy some sweets for puja or for after dinner desert. On festival season, the shop would teem with buyers. On weekends, families would get together to have evening snacks. Sometimes, the shop ( a big one) had no place to sit and chattering punctuated with rolls of laughter would fill up the sitting area. The counter boys greeted us happily being regular visitors. The quality of sweets was good and rates were reasonable. But the shop could not sustain the long closure and consequential losses during pandemic. The quality deteriorated. And one fine day the space was sold off and in its place a big Wine And Beer sprouted. Now, a long queue is seen snaking towards its counter. Men carry arm load of bottles. Its no more a family place now. Only a revenue grosser for the Government.
Gradually, the cityscape is changing – for good or for worse. One such change is the mushrooming of Liquor Malls in affluent localities. These are different from the usual desi thekas or the ordinary over the counter shops. They are glitzy, upmarket departmental stores fashionably stacked with variety of alcoholic beverages a source of joy for regular drinkers. Since I am not one I fail to appreciate their presence.
The other shop that shut business was Nalli in South Extension. I do not know whether their Connaught Place Branch is still open. It was a huge building wherein every floor was demarcated for a particular item – casual wear sarees, wedding sarees, running fabrics, dress materials so on and so forth. It was customary to visit Nalli before the Durga Pujas and other occasions. Where could one find such gorgeous collection of sarees and ethnic fabrics for dresses? During Deepavali (the festival of lights) Nalli would lit up along with all other buildings of the market. We took pride in saying that the saree or salwar kameez that we wore was from Nalli. The materials were a class apart. The designs were exclusive. Even the fragrance of incense and flowers inside the shop was so pleasant! I always used to take a deep breath after entering the premise to soak in the feel of the surrounding. The South Indian counter boys talking to each other in their own language and answering our queries in heavily accented Hindi were all part of an era which sadly would never return.
My concern is more towards the Health Industry. When in 2021 my mother was admitted in the ICU of a well known Hospital (having branches all over the National Capital Region), I was greatly perturbed to see how understaffed it was. The nurses had to perform the duty of attendants, ayahs and care givers. They had long hours of duty and larger number of patients to take care of. This time when my sister was admitted to another such well known hospital (she has been discharged yesterday) we were plagued by the same situation. As I have mentioned in my earlier blogs, the lack of manpower is attributable to the mass exodus during the first spell of COVID. Those left never came back again. However, things are normalizing which raises hopes for a brighter future.
COVID has brought in changes in work culture, business activities and ways of socializing. People rely more on online interactions. During pandemic communal ostracization was more killing than the disease itself. People suffered from loneliness, isolation and depression. I suffered an ugly bout of depression when my mother contacted Corona. Fighting an invisible enemy all alone was frightening.
When my next door neighbour (we share a common wall) contacted the disease, one another neighbour specifically came to warn me. Funny, this other neighbour had not talked straight to me ever before COVID. We were practically daggers drawn with each other. However, fear became a common concern. I saw it in his eyes!!
Terrible was for those who lost their near and dear ones during pandemic. Grief cumulated as they performed the last rites all by themselves. Nobody attended the funerals to give them moral and emotional support. Sometimes we did not even come to know of our neighbours passing away. Those few who visited the crematoriums did with fearful hearts. Most of the times we were asked not to. Even the bereaved did not expect friends and relatives to join them in their mourning. Unfortunately, this trend continues.
More than physiological complications COVID has succeeded in accelerating the process of alienation in society. Whether it is Work From Home, restrained outings, joblessness, psychosomatic fall outs, what we are now going through is a process of cooping up in our own cocoons. That cocoon is no more our comfort zone as frictions within are rifting relations apart. The rising graph of domestic violence all over the world is a burning example. While workable alternatives to every issue is being sought by the Administration , Care and Community Groups, changes for the better seem perceptibly slow.
Perhaps we, as individuals, have to realize and become conscious of the fact that we are converting into self-centered islands which is detrimental to our inner peace, health and happiness. Only then can we battle against the ”death eater” traps of Corona.
Corona will stay with us but we do not have to embrace a self-lock-up lifestyle to combat its ill effects. We have to be brave hearts to accept its presence amidst us and defeat its demonic attacks persistently not only to sustain civilization but also to preserve our true being as a gregarious species which bonds, survives and grows together.
All pics from Google
Besan Ke laddu , one of my favourite sweets, which is quite ubiquitous in all Indian ceremonies and celebrations. Its essentially a North Indian desert – an offering made to Lord Ganesha during the Ganesh Festival or otherwise because this is also supposed to be His favourite mithai (sweet) along with the various kinds of modaks. Made out of chickpeas floor, powdered sugar, grated or whole dry fruits and lots of ghee, this tastes absolutely yummilicious. You cannot be satisfied with one and bound to salivate for more. There is an impish saying which goes like “Dilli ka laddu jo khaaye woh bhi pachhtaaye, jo naa khaaye woh bhi pachhtaaye” implying Dilli’s (or Delhi’s) laddus are so delicious that those who have eaten once repent and those who have not eaten even once also repent. It is not sure why those who have eaten should repent. Perhaps because it is heavy on the stomach and may lead to indigestion. The besan and ghee combination is deadly! Interestingly, this is also a saying which is usually applied to the experience of marital life – the one who has undergone the experience of marriage repents and the one who has not also repents. I do not know who made this up. But this is a traditional adage!!! Relatives take a mischievous pleasure in reminding the would-be bride and groom about the state of their future life with this saying.
So enjoy!!
PS : My wordless posts are generally verbose 🙂
This is Balu The Vagga.
Vagga is short form for Vagabond.
Please don’t go by his looks. He is not that innocent. He eats away every other stray’s food and snarls at Rinky, my pet, when irritated. He has learnt all the wrong things growing up. To paw me as soon as I am out of my car, block my way home, overtake me when I am on an urgent mission, nudge me off when I am carrying a carry bag and knock on my B-I-L’s door punctually if the morning tea is late. All these bad habits have been inculcated by my B-I-L who staunchly refuses all allegations. He feeds him and his platoon Pedigree, egg yolk, chicken bones and such tasty stuff to the extent that now the strays have refused the bread and milk the other neighbours distribute for them. I am sure, one day, Balu is going to lead a Canine Party and contend the Block election. I see in him the growing brilliance of trailblazing leadership when he quickly defects to the other side as soon as he sees fierce opposition.
That is too many words for a Wordless Wednesday.
Cute, isn’t he?
Hee Hoo
My sister went rushing Saturday evening to see Bhool Bhullaiyyaa 2 (The Labyrinth). I laughed to myself thinking ” There goes she …to the PVR…paying handsomely to get scared“. Yes, that was it as the movie was supposed to be a horror comedy. The next morning I laughed a little more when I saw the same movie premiering on Netflix and I saw it in the afternoon without paying a dime and without getting terrified too as it was boringly predictable, and like all repeats, hugely short of the charisma of the original – Bhool Bhullaiyyaa 1 which got released in 2007 and made history!!! Of course, at that point of time no one knew there would be a Part 2 after fifteen long years. Interestingly, the Part 2 has been made with a budget of Rs. 65 Crore – Rs. 80 Crore and till date earned Rs. 259.06 Crore (and still going strong) whereas the Part 1 was made with a budge of Rs. 25.00 Crore – Rs. 32.00 Crore and earned Rs. 202.80 Crore at the box office (Source – Wikipedia).
There are many reasons why Part 2 failed to hit the mark for me in comparison with Part 1.
Director of Part 1 was Priyadarshan, the ace filmmaker, that too of the comedy genre. Director of Part 2 is Anees Bazmee, who is also well known in his craft, but somehow could not match Priyadarshan’s skill of making people laugh and at the same time get stricken with fear.
Part 1, under the veneer of horror comedy, underscored that even the most hair raising, incredible and extra-ordinary experience could have a hard core scientific explanation. Part 2 heavily relied on mindless spooks and slapstick nonsensical comedy. The only relief was the ace duo Rajpal Yadav and Sanjay Mishra who could make me laugh without efforting to do so.
Part 1 had mind blowing performances by Vidya Balan (Avni/Manjulika) and Akshay Kumar (Dr. Aditya Shrivastav). I was equally impressed by Vineeth (aka Shashidhar) though. He danced with such grace and masculinity!!! Part 2 mis-utilized Tabu in double role. Rather I wonder why she agreed to do this film! Kartik Aryan (as Ruhaan), (though the social networking sites and reviewers are going gaga over him), could not come up even an inch close to the eccentric and idiosyncratic Akshay Kumar!
Part 1 had ground breaking music, especially, the soul stirring signature song, “aami je tomaar…….shudhu je tomaar” (I am yours…only yours) by one and only Shreya Ghoshal and N.G Sreekumar and the groovy title song by Neeraj Shreedhar. Music Director was our own Pritamda!! Both the songs have been re-utilized in Part 2, however, while the raga of the former has been changed and sung by Arijit Singh ( I like the classical version sung by him more which has not been filmed but available on You Tube) the latter has been re-mixed. Needless to say, the changed versions fail to create the aura which the originals still hold.
Last but not the least, who could forget the penultimate scenes of Part 1 – the raving mad Manjulika dancing to her heart’s glory with her imaginary partner Shashidhar while Vikram Gokhale, the master ghostbuster, incanting mantras while performing the spirit-enticing yagnya before the holy fire!! Kartik Aryan, may be good in hip hopping, but when it comes to enacting the taandav in classical style, fail miserably to re-create the goose bump inducing Manjulika effect!!! Not to mention the sudden switchover to heavily accented Bangla which, sorry to say, crossed all limits of credulity … was in fact to the point of being laughable.
Having said all that, I think it would be unjust not to give a comparative glimpse of the narrative of both Part 1 and Part 2.
Both have the same premise – a large extended royal family leaves their palatial ancestral property to stay away because of the hauntings of a destructive spirit named Manjulika. Before leaving, the family, with the help of the family priest, manages to imprison the spirit in one of the rooms locking the door with mantra injected special bars so that she remains captured inside. The instruction to all and sundry being not to open the door at any cost if life needs be saved. But with the turn of events, the door gets unlocked and Manjulika sashays out to wreak havoc!!
Part 1 – The educated and enlightened next gen refuses to believe in witches and hauntings and coaxes the family to return to their ancestral home which holds nostalgic reminiscences of childhood days. But events take horrific turn when once again the family starts experiencing weird phenomena which prove to be completely unintelligible by all means to common human comprehension. In comes the learned but cranky Psychiatrist to help his friend, the scion of the family, solve the mystery.
Part 2 – Girl (Kiara Advani as Reet) meets boy in a bus en-route home. The boy influences the girl to detract from her homeward journey and come with him to attend a music festival. On their return, they learn that the bus they took earlier has met with an accident and all the passengers have died. Girl’s family is heartbroken to hear this news because they think the girl is dead. The girl continues to pretend to be dead because she learns by chance that the boy she was to marry is in love with her cousin. Girl compels the boy to help her hide in their deserted spooky mansion until her cousin is safely married to her erstwhile fiancé. In the course of event, the family comes back to stay in the mansion not knowing that the room where the spirit was kept imprisoned has re-opened and she is now literally free-spirited to cause unprecedented damage to the family.
In the entire narrative of Part 2, the boy’s antecedents are not made known to the viewer. There is only a casual mention of his obituary in the papers! That’s all. But he is also the heir to a business empire. So convenient!! The girl, who is supposed to be an MBBS student, does not have any other plan in life but to marry off her cousin to a man she does not love (good riddance!!). Also, which sensible girl on earth goes off romping with a total stranger who appears to know every detail about her and her whereabouts?
Cut two – The boy [is as comfy in the spooked village (Bhawanigarh in Rajasthan which automatically reminds of the infamous Bhangarh also in Rajasthan) as if it were his home town] goes around playing a bag full of tricks on all the villagers, (as though they have deposited their brains in bank lockers), and nobody suspects him except the village priests duo whose income is cut short as the boy has now graduated into some kind of a God man who can directly communicate with dead people. The royalty, to whom the girl belongs, appears equally brainless gullible and gulp down his theories hook, line and sinker.
Perhaps being Part 2, it has not one, but two ill meaning twin spirits, Manjulika and Anjulika and in the long run both get entwined in an evil fight inside the room where the former was locked indicating there will be a Part 3 in near future with not two but three witchy twitchy ghost-esses to keep up the pride and parampara of franchises in films.
For Part 1, I can only say, it was a classic, in every sense of the term, which reinforced the sanctity of scientific temper conjugated with the ancient wisdom of alternate therapies in so far as combating the satanic forces, if they do exist in this world, in the form of dark spirits, is concerned. I do not doubt they don’t but at the same time I would like to keep an open approach with a questioning mind – do they?
Jai ho!!
She ran…
Like she had never run before….bare feet.
She couldn’t remember where she had left her shoes.
Was it a pair of shoes? Or sandals?
Uff…This was not the right time to think about such trivial things.
She only knew she had to get away and get away fast before somebody else could….
She didn’t let herself think further…there was no time for even that.
Her feet felt cold…. and sticky.
Looking down she found a slim streak of blood coursing down her leg….left leg.
The road felt rough and rugged underneath.
In the dark…..pitch dark….it was impossible to make out why the terrain felt so uneven.
Was it unpaved? Wasn’t it a proper road? She had no way of finding out.
When she had left, the house was in absolute darkness. Most probably the lights had gone out.
Or they must have switched off the lights before leaving.
She was not sure.
The road leading to the house was unlit. She remembered that distinctly.
Never mind that. Once she was out somehow she would be able to make out the direction.
She had that instinct fully developed from years of driving.
She knew the road ahead bent leftward.
And then straight down….was her destination.
But everything was so foggy.
The roads….the trees lining the roads….the night sky…..the stars twinkling high above….the crescent moon staring down with a crooked smile…she could figure these out but through a film of mist. No…it wasn’t the mist…it was the tears that rolled down her cheeks incessantly…..she realised she was crying. Crying out of pain…out of sheer fatigue…out of a kind of pukish feeling which was knotted at the bottom of her stomach desperately trying to well out again and again.
She bit her lips hard…her tongue tasted salt…
The wind blew ferociously. It was moist and prickly. The rains had stopped just a while ago. But the dampness continued. It was not a much-wanted-rain. It came in torrents without any notice and stopped as suddenly as it had started. What remained was a chill that froze the bones…. a draught that was determined to be wayward… and a night sky surprisingly awash with button-like stars and a scornful moon.
Her pace was becoming erratic because something kept coming between her legs. A flapping thing…a torn piece of cloth …Oh! It was her salwar. She couldn’t recollect when it had got torn. Perhaps when she had run out of the house in a hurry. No, not hurry….it was panic. She was driven by panic then. Panic was driving her now.
Ouch!! She was almost going to fall headlong but balanced herself on time on all fours. A twig, like an amputated limb, lay askew on the road. In the dark she had missed it.
She scrambled up. And as she did so, she saw the lights…further down…dim but steady…a sign of life and civilization.
***
Palampur was located on the outskirts of the main city.
It could neither be described as a sleepy small town nor could it be called a back water village.
Similarly, Palampur Police Chowki was somewhere between a full fledged Police Station and a Beat Officer’s roadside Booth.
It was generally headed by a bored Sub-Inspector and a grumpy Havildar, both, waiting for their turns, to grab one single opportunity to show their prowess in investigation and (man)handling the most wanted goon.
But unfortunately, nothing happened in Palampur. Nothing whatsoever, not even a case of petty theft or pick pocket.
The residents were too docile…too contented in poverty….too God fearing to go astray, which was a pity.
However, the stature of Palampur Police Chowki had recently been elevated as an Officer of the rank of SHO had come to be deputed to head the post.
Although, for Kaamesh Baraat, it was a virtual demotion but for Havildar Ram Bhuvan and SI Nidhiram it was something to boast of and brag about.
Baraat, fondly called KB Sir, spent his days killing flies and drinking innumerable cups of chai in tiny earthen cups and the nights dreaming when he would be reinforced to the mainstream where his reputation of being a formidable cop would once again be restored in full glory.
He regretted his foolhardiness in the previous posting where he had knowingly locked horns with the wealthy and the influential.
Now, at nights, when sleep evaded him, KB Sir made elaborate plans of making amends.
Tonight, he lay on a convertible bed (which also doubled as his work desk) in his office, unblinkingly staring at the ceiling fan with a twisted blade and thinking from where to begin…when he heard a muffled commotion …and then a soft knock on the door and Havildar Ram Bhuvan entered with an incredulous look on his face.
“Janaab”, He stammered, “There’s a woman out at the front office who wants to lodge an F.I.R. “
An infinitesimal pause…
And then he blurted out, “She says she is witness to a gruesome murder.”
***
Kaamesh Baraat literally leapt out of his office and reached the so-called front desk or reception or whatever one could call Havildar Ram Bhuvan’s work station where the woman stood shivering like a leaf. Kaamesh’s eyes took it all in…in one swift roving glance…She was most probably in her late thirties….not a beauty but definitely not a forgettable face…her hair, dark brown streaked with grey, rested limply on her thin shoulders. Her Salwar was tattered…her kurta had one slashed sleeve…bare feet in this cold, KB saw she was bleeding. A thin line of blood trickled down her left leg…the flapping sleeve barely covered a hideous looking bruise on her upper arm. She looked fragile but her eyes shone with….what was it rage?….hatred?…or something else? KB couldn’t pinpoint. But one thing was sure…the woman was desperate.
KB drew closer to the desk. The light here was a little dim. Perhaps the coat of dust on the bulb made it so. He peered at her. Doing so, he was at once taken aback. It took him a few seconds to shake that strange feeling down. Clearing his throat, he embarked upon asking her all the routine and right questions that he was supposed to ask in such a case.
No, the woman was not a local. She told him the place where she lived. The office where she worked. This evening she was late leaving office. As she came out of the building somebody had called her out at the car park. As she had turned around something hit her hard and she lost consciousness.
No, she did not know anybody who would want to harm her. She was just an ordinary office-goer with a routine job. She led an unexciting life. Of course! She stayed alone. Her family lived elsewhere. Her daughter was in the hostel. Her little son was being looked after by her mother. Her husband was posted in another city. A scattered family…nothing unusual though in today’s times.
She did not know what time she regained consciousness. When she did she found herself lying in a room. It was dark. She got up and her whole body ached. With outstretched arms and unsure steps she tried to wade through the darkness and had almost crossed the room when she stumbled and fell….on a body. She gasped…stood up trembling and almost hit her head on the wall. And then by a stroke of luck she found the door. It was not locked but screeched to her touch.
Did she shout for help? Yes, she kept on shouting but nobody answered. And as her voice echoed back to her she realised she was alone in that house in the midst of nowhere. Somehow she managed to make her way out of the ramshackle building and took to the roads.
How did she know that the other person lying in that room was dead? She felt the body…it was cold and felt lifeless. The person could have concussed but she was positive she could not hear or feel the person breathing. In that pin drop silence of the night even shallow breathing would have been audible.
No, she did not know the address but knew the direction and could take the cops there.
KB gestured to Ram Bhuvan.
“I would first like to visit the scene of crime before writing down an F.I.R?” Who knew if it wasn’t a ploy! The woman could be making up the whole story…
“How far is it?”
The woman looked uncertain.
“Ok. We will take the jeep and go down there.”
The woman nodded mutely.
***
It took almost half an hour to reach to the place where purportedly the heinous act had taken place.
KB said, “Incredible! You said you ran this whole distance…”
“I was a good runner in school.” Was the quiet reply.
“You said you were witness to a gruesome murder. But it was dark when you fell on the body.”
“All murders are gruesome, aren’t they?” Was the succinct retort
“And how do you know it’s murder?”
“You’ll see for yourself!”
Through a rickety gate they entered the premise. It was really dark. A short path led to the house.
In its hey days, the house must have boasted of a lawn. But now it was a mess of thorny brambles, thick bushes, untended grass beds. This place could well be a residence of deadly beasts, thought KB. Who would require a human hand to wreak havoc?
The doors stood ajar. The panes dangling on hinges. A winding staircase led upstairs. KB put on the torch he was carrying. He somehow felt the torch light in his mobile would be insufficient. And he was right.
“Was it upstairs?”
“Yes” She replied softly. Very softly.
KB took the stairs two at a time.
On the landing he moved the light of the torch from one end to the other. There was one room at the far end. The door was open.
He entered and stopped short.
A faint light was glowing in the room.
A light with metal shade hanging by a wire like the ones he had seen in the Police Force’s Recreation Club. Underneath such lights they had once played Carrom and Cards. But that was long…long time back.
He looked over his shoulder and asked “You said it was dark….Where’s the body?”
The woman was standing on the threshold.
She just raised her long arm and pointed towards the other end of the room.
There was a bed in the middle of the room.
“As per your statement when you fell on the body you hit the wall. But now you are pointing to other end of the room…”
KB said circling the bed.
There was no reply.
He looked back. The woman was not there.
KB frowned. He was immediately on the alert. His hands closed in on the pistol by his belt.
He had now reached the other end of the room.
Yes, there was a body lying stiff on the floor. A woman in white. Her salt and pepper hair was spread like a halo around her head.
Her attire was torn – a sliced sleeve….a torn salwar…a bloody leg…a blue gash on the arm…she was staring at the ceiling.
KB stooped down to feel the pulse. It was then that he saw her eyes – one blue and one brown.
Just like the woman’s who had ran through the night to lodge an F.I.R at Palampur Police Chowki in the dead of the night……
KB felt something wet drizzling down between his thighs.
And then everything went dark.
The story can also be read here
How many mothers, in reality, have the choice of taking revenge against injustices done to their sons and daughters? I would say nil. What could Nirbhaya’s mother do when her daughter was barbarically raped by the bus driver and conductor (one of them a juvenile) in front of her helpless boy friend? What could Jessica Lal’s parents do when she was gunned down in a bar by a politician’s son in an inebriated state? In both cases the Court did a fast track under mounting public pressure roused by the media. What happened to the more recent SSR suspected murder case – a celebrity whose father was part of the police force? There may be innumerable such cases in the lives of common masses happening in this huge sub-continent every minute and dying natural deaths because our system does not permit proactive policing and super-fast judicial redressal which again does not mean that the parents take the law in their hands and transform into avenging angels. It does not happen like that except in fiction and cinema.
I am not trying to open a Pandora’s Box here. What I intend to pinpoint is that there are so many strands intricately interwoven in such matters that it is not easy or even at times right to take steps which are dangerous as well as detrimental to one’s own sanity. What is the option then? To go on brooding silently? Let time take its own course to heal the wounds? To keep on ranting about it till someone hears you out and initiate action against the wrong doer? I think every case is unique in all its dimensions. Therefore, resolution is also on case to case basis dependent on a myriad of facts and factors.
But this is not the case in “Mai”(Mother), the web series (Season One) on Netflix which has drawn positive as well as negative critiques and responses. The theme is hackneyed on which many movies have already been made. Most recent being Sri Devi’s last – “Mom”. The only difference being the change in backdrop – small town Lucknow – and the crime being more complex – medical scam, money laundering, corrupt judiciary, power play amongst gang lords, aspirations of small timers to hit the jackpot and become big time mafia kingpins, ineptness of Special Police Force (SPF) to nab the culprit in time etc. etc.
Amidst all these is a middle-aged middle-class homely woman who is sucked into the vortex of gore, violence and foul play to avenge her daughter’s sudden death by road accident which she suspects to be murder. And as time ticks on and layers after layers of dark deeds peel off, she gradually transforms from a vulnerable, submissive saree- clad woman into a ruthless, unforgiving revenge seeker. She (mis)uses her medical training (as a nurse) to silence tricksters and gangsters when they refuse to vomit out the truth about her daughter’s killer. She quickly learns to glib talk her way into hideouts and villains’ dens as and when required. She plays one mobster against the other like a smooth operator and finishes off the last of her hit list without a speck of qualm. The depth of her hatred is unfathomable!!
What does she gain in return ? Her family (husband’s brother and wife) grows to dislike her. Her husband cold shoulders her. Her son, who was adopted by her husband’s brother and wife, even after knowing the truth, still calls her chaachi (aunty). Does she actually find peace after so much of life risking blood bath ? There are so many questions which remain unanswered – usual cliffhangers for the next season.
She goes to the extremes to tick off the suspects one after the other. But the police never suspects her. The case is handled by the SPF. But they only make guest appearances whenever the script suits them to do so. She remains absent from the house at nights. Her husband is unaware of it. She scales high walls in ugly, worn out walkers, enters buildings through small windows balancing on half broken ledges, she follows deadly men and an armed woman through murky alleys in the dead of the night, she disposes off bodies in cold storage with the help of another ally (a woman who had had a stint in prison on charges of hacking her violent husband to death), she shoves a dead body under the bed and coolly has a conversation with her hubby, she raids a chemist’s shop in a burqa and poisons the crook’s mole inside SPF barricaded safe house!
Credulity surpassed, the entire series is relentlessly bound by just a singular stronghold – the stupendously credible performance by mai – Sheel Chaudhary played by Sakshi Tanwar. She is unapologetic in her cruelty yet manages to incur the viewers’ wholehearted sympathy. As the bloody tale unfolds it is hard to figure out whether mai is blackmailed into random acts of outrages by the twosome- Prashant and Shankara – former sidekicks of the gang leader (Jawahar) – who actually discovered that she had unintentionally killed their boss – or these were instigated by her own convoluted sense of justice and tragic loss.
Mai is unbelievably gruesome. I do not know whether karmic progression routed through the path of unwavering and enormous forgiveness should be touted as the more effective alternative. But what Mai shovels up is your own ineffectiveness and lack of daunting courage which you failed to muster at times in the face of acute indignity and wrong in your life. Whether it was advisable….whether it was desirable…..whether it was feasible……that’s another story!!!
