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The big building was done. They had thought of everything - the wooden cabinets, sleek silver chairs, drapes. No more Sarkari shadows for this government office building.
The big building was done. They had thought of everything – the wooden cabinets, sleek silver chairs, drapes. No more Sarkari shadows for this government office building.
The floors shone unlike the regular dull grey tiles that one finds in government buildings. This one was going to be different. It had state of the art security systems in place. Everyone had their own desk made of compressed wood. All so swish na? No more of those big grey dull shelves. Everything would now be digitized you see, we have the computer.
Oh but attendance tho you have to write in the register, no Biometric yet, or the iris/pupil recognition thingy. Also, the noise of the busy traffic did seep in and the lift was a trifle slow, but somethings gotta give, right? Everything else was just theek! It was perfect. There was a small pantry where the employees could walk in to make their own chai, but no one in a government office would ever do that. The office boy or the chai lady would do it. So yeah the building was ready for the steady trickle of employees who would lay claim to this new office.
A friend walked in and said it looked different and had an ajeeb smell. But that could mean ajeeb as in being different right? Different is good. And if it is different then it should be great na. She had her doubts though. It was her workplace, or so she thought. Everything went about a little smoothly. The chai came on time. The office lady dusted and mopped with a smile. The files were dealt with effortlessly. Work went on.
Till one day, she had her periods. She realized that the office that had catered to (al)most all of her needs, had forgotten that she bled once a month and that sanitary napkins had to be disposed of, but they had no idea, how that should happen. You say they said with a grin, we had only men till now. Oh wow! They wondered, how do we deal with this. My friend asked the office lady, what do you do during those four days of the month? With a sigh she answered, we go home and come back. Different rules for you and me, she answered with a dull smile. But it’s wrong, she said. The office lady walked on. Her head nodding away. She had work to do.
Edifices are built brick by brick
Keep up the momentum, that’s the trick
The facade’s all in place
As long as you don’t enter the race
We want you with us
As long as you don’t want a seat on the bus
See how big our hearts are
No matter that our minds are afar.
Image Source – Pexels
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Varsha Pillai is a former television journalist who quit the fast lane in media when she moved to the erstwhile 'laid back city' called Bangalore. She earnestly believes that she can ‘write stories that people read more...
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
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"I chose to go out into the remote, wild, unknown, and make it home," says entrepreneur Kiranjeet Ahluwalia Chaturvedi, who owns Birdsong & Beyond.
The story of my mountain home Birdsong & Beyond started taking shape in 2009, on the internet, the way many stories do these days.
My childhood fascination for a life in the Himalayas led to an internship with a central Himalayan NGO instead of a much prized corporate assignment. But when they offered me a full-time job, I refused. I was overcome by fear and a lack of confidence.
My other longings pulled me away – the longing to fit in, to earn validation from others. By my mid-30s, with all the trappings of a middle-class urban life in place, the call of the snows couldn’t be ignored anymore. So I got to work on it with clearer intentions and a stronger sense of what I needed for myself, and why.
Many Indian elderly are firm believers in enslaving a daughter-in-law in the name of tradition which is actually a tradition of oppression and not of religious faith.
Albeit, the popular culture has interpreted scriptures as suggesting that Kanyadaan is the supreme form of donation given to someone, the connotation that the word donation alludes to definitely objectifies the girl.
Even when the exegesis justify the act of giving away the daughter, considering it a ritual to mark the initiation of the daughter into her husband’s gotra and her becoming the part of his family tree.
There is no denial of the fact that this initiation is not required on the part of the groom thereby formally denoting the end of the filial ties with the daughter as it was popularly instructed to the bride during the Vidai ceremonies:
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