The story started as our version of Fairytopia. With me, the mad witch, trying all kinds of spells and stunts to grapple with my two sweet little bickering fairies.
The fairies are on their own wings now, but the fairy tales continue.
So does the magic and the madness!.
I'd love to hear from those of you who've had a glimpse into our world. Thanks for being a part of it.
Some other children
Amidst all the chaos of my Children’s day preparations, I clicked on the NDTV homepage featuring some other children-the ones losing their struggle for surviving beyond the day.
It took me back many years to a tiny, deserted railway station in Rajasthan.
We were returning from a college trip and the train slowed down at a signal. A woman walked close to the train, with a little baby in a basket. A couple of us were hanging at our usual spot near the compartment door and I leaned out and waved merrily at the baby.
The woman seemed to rush over, talking desperately and almost thrusting the basket at me. Unable to follow her words, I stepped back, was she begging?
My friend pulled me up a step as the train picked up speed again. The woman ran the length of the platform holding out the basket as I fished out some money and started to throw it near her.
“She is not asking for money,” my friend insisted, “she wants you to take the baby.”
We had left the platform by then and I was still struggling to understand: She was saying she was going to throw the baby on the tracks, then she saw you looking at her, and ran after you.
It took time to sink in.
Was it real?
That woman was really going to throw her baby on the tracks? Why didn’t I grab the basket?
“Are you crazy? Just imagine the hostel warden’s reaction if we went back with a baby.”
I was still shaken. We could have given the baby to some NGO, some mother who would have kept her, but it was too late.
I still feel guilty.
Because I am afraid that nobody else grabbed that basket either. And that baby too met the fate that so many other baby girls in our country do.
I still want to go back and help a few babies like her. Writing about her is just the beginning, I hope I can do something more.
Thanks to blogadda for picking this post-we need all the help we can in rooting out this evil
These are the details of my experience as a HSBC Credit Card holder. You can help me and possibly many others like me by circulating this link, taking the time to read this post, and advising me on what are my options now.If you are the independent type who believes in not learning from other people’s experiences, please continue using your HSBC Credit Card.26th April 2009After a long day out the previous day, as I was keeping away all the shopping and arranging my bag-I notice that my credit card pouch is missing. I go down, check in the car, all around the house and then not to take any risks, call up the Banks.ICICI assures me there has been no misuse, blocks the card.HSBC-yes there has been a series of transactions-of amounts adding up to approx 10K,, blocks the card and advices me to log a complaint with the police and drop a copy of that complaint to the nearest branch or ATM.I drop everything I was doing to rush and do all that.I couldn’t submit the papers to HSBC because there…
I am starting to write my own
story here. First, because my primary source
of inspiration-my conversations (aka tirades, rants, clashes, slugfests) are so
few and far between with the girls moving to boarding school. Second (or maybe this is the
primary reason) because as formal studies are taking over their life in a
stronger grip (my last post);, I feel as if I am re-living that trauma
again. I wrote this part of the story
first on a post for mycity4kids. Reposting here.. At fifteen, Elena had to decide on her ‘subject-combination’. It took me back to the time when I had to make my choice. I had been for waiting for months for the time where we get to choose which subjects to study. I loved History and Literature and Geography. The combination wasn’t ‘available’ in our school so I had to pick the nearest available package. I think it was History, English and Home Science. My parents were aghast. Their well-wishers (extended family, neighbors, friends, friends of friends, families and all)…
(This post is a continuation of my story from the earlier post This happened a generation ago. I have tried very hard not
to repeat my parents’ mistakes. But I am sure; I have made plenty of different ones.
I just hope that my daughters deal with them in a better way than I did. )
Mummy meant well. Being a teacher, she was well-informed about the benefits of CBSE
over the archaic state board syllabus and so she changed my school in 11th
standard. Yes she also wanted me to be away from the strong peer pressure, my
existing group of friends, and begin again as a focused student. I did not want to be a focused student. Getting better marks
on subjects I anyway didn’t want to study didn’t make much sense. As a teenager
who drew on the company of her friends for oxygen, it felt like the end of life
to be forced to cope without them. (My imagination and my
emotions were always dramatic (rather melodramatic) as per conventional norms.
But that’s how I think and feel. Yeah, even now J.) I did try…