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On Mother's Day, Paromita writes a letter to her mother of all the beautiful things learnt in childhood.
Dear Maa,
Remember when there were power-cuts in the summers before the inverter came home; you, me and Bhai would lie on the bed, and we would instinctively close our eyes. It was then, I learnt to dream. And when we dreamt, we did not fear the darkness. We knew that light was there. Darkness was just a phase.
Now no longer there are power-cuts, and in my all search for light, I realized what you taught us, “light is within” and dreams a gateway to that light.
It is light that annihilates all darkness.
From Dad came honesty, the courage to be good without reason or season, and from you came the power to dream. And each of your children carried that immense wealth of honesty and dream, and came a long way. We stood where others faltered.
When life stood on a platter of infinite heartaches, of longings and questions, we learnt to hold on to an unseen God; a God whom we prayed to everyday, irrespective of rain or storm. And thus in the bosom of heartaches faith was born; a faith that no experience could falter; a faith to build your own life, even with worn out tools.
And it was much later in life that I saw God, when I saw little children playing with their hands raised. When I forgave and moved without malice or vengeance, I saw the Buddha smile.
When I sailed across the Brahmaputra in the early morning sun, I realized how finite I am and infinite is God. The first time when I saw the Himalayas in the purple sun, I saw the fragility of human egos and the majesty of God. Maa, I learnt the art of letting go of the human flaws that day.
Remember the night sky home; it shines blue with the stars. Nothing moved, the fireflies would glow, you talked to Bhai about the galaxies and the infinite space, I would sit on the edge of the bench and question.
Only now I know, God does not answer; he reveals his majesty. All we have to do is join the dots. And that moment, itself was God, three people saw passing by in a small town.
Life came to us, in so many garbs, and the trick to survive is always held your head high and walk. People mistake it as success and happiness and leave you alone. I learnt it from you.
Professionally, I chose to be a storyteller, of products and organizations, the best possible way. Remember Grand Dad told us stories of the Mahabharata when we were very young. He would verse every story in different garbs. I still remember the verses of Duryodhana, Karna and Arjuna, before they went to war. All were so perfectly fitted in their own stories and emotions.
Last summer when I re-read it, I just realized life is nothing but a series of stories we tell our self, of victory, loss, joy and grief.
Nothing compares to the moment of despair that Arjuna went through when he gives it up all, and says “whom to fight against,” I know what it to give up all is. And then fight and win it all.
And my lifelong fascination for ‘Karna;’ that man grew in my head. I could never love Rhett Butler or Oliver or anyone. My friends spoke about them, but for me it was and is always Karna. He was never “Kunti- putra- Karna,” he was “Daata-Karna.” He rose above his destiny. I believe any woman will fall in love with him. I did. I always was. I think Karna is someone who can be a friend; he is larger than life, his destiny too intertwined. Not someone you can marry, but love you can, and rage as well. Karna I believe will listen. He is my eternal tragic beauty.
Of people I have loved and lost, I miss Grand Dad the most. In my moments of self doubt I just hear him across the veranda telling us stories, of life and truths. I love the legacy he left behind, of infinite wisdom and telling a story. What a legacy to carry!
I am proud I am a Bardoloi.
Every Sunday when I teach those boys and girls, all I see is you and Dad happy. The room starts smelling of goodness the way it did home, and light flows. I become little Pompi. And may be all my life, I ever wanted was to be a good girl, yours and Dad’s daughter, other things just metaphors.
Yes, I still read two paragraphs of a book while going to bed and after waking, underline lines with a highlighter, just like Dad did, saying my prayers, and talking to God, the way we were taught. Life becomes so simple.
As I write this, I just realized one thing, life was all taught to me, in the afternoons of my summers and evenings of the winters in my childhood. I was a fool to search it beyond.
I traveled the whole world, only to return home.
Happy Mother’s Day. Pompi.
(Pompi is my nick name.)
Proud Indian. Senior Writer at Women's Web. Columnist. Book Reviewer. Street Theatre - Aatish. Dreamer. Workaholic. read more...
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Shows like Indian Matchmaking only further the argument that women must adhere to social norms without being allowed to follow their hearts.
When Netflix announced that Indian Matchmaking (2020-present) would be renewed for a second season, many of us hoped for the makers of the show to take all the criticism they faced seriously. That is definitely not the case because the show still continues to celebrate regressive patriarchal values.
Here are a few of the gendered notions that the show propagates.
A mediocre man can give himself a 9.5/10 and call himself ‘the world’s most eligible bachelor’, but an independent and successful woman must be happy with receiving just 60-70% of what she feels she deserves.
Darlings makes some excellent points about domestic violence . For such a movie to not follow through with a resolution that won't be problematic, is disappointing.
I watched Darlings last weekend, staying on top of its release on Netflix. It was a long-awaited respite from the recent flicks. I wanted badly to jump into its praise and will praise it, for something has to be said for the powerhouse performances it is packed with. But I will not be able to in a way that I really had wanted to.
I wanted to say that this is a must-watch on domestic violence that I stand behind and a needed and nuanced social portrayal. But unfortunately, I can’t. For I found Darlings to be deeply problematic when it comes to the portrayal of domestic violence and how that should be dealt with.
Before we rush to the ‘you must be having a problem because a man was hit’ or ‘much worse happens to women’ conclusions, that is not what my issue is. I have seen the praises and criticisms, and the criticisms of criticisms. I know, from having had close associations with non-profits and activists who fight domestic violence not just in India but globally, that much worse happens to women. I have written a book with case studies and statistics on that. Neither do I have any moral qualms around violence getting tackled with violence (that will be another post some day).