DOUGHNUT

Doughnuts are yum, doughnuts are cute, doughnuts are soft, doughnuts are so tempting! These are the different answers by brain had when I asked myself “Why doughnut?”

It all started when the number of daily tasks for me increased. It was so much that I thought my brain deserved a break. I stopped everything and began to stare, at my desktop wallpaper, blankly. There he was – the criminal! HOMER SIMPSON! “You know what grills me the most?” I was going to say.

I have loved Simpsons from I don’t remember when. Simpsons has always reminded me of my family. That is why the show is so dear to me and also because the Simpsons are yellow (Yellow is my favorite color). Maybe, that is why my brain did not take the break seriously.

So, Homer, as usual is holding a brown bag full of doughnuts and eating one too, in my wallpaper. Things were still okay till then. Andy, our IT expert comes to me, sees my wallpaper and says ‘Oh! Doughnut! I love it! It’s my favorite snack. You get the best ones in the coffee shop downstairs.” That was it. I was already packing up my things, picking out my wallet and walking into the lobby lift, thinking about why I wanted a doughnut.

‘Ma’am this one’s nearing its expiry” the cute guy at the counter had to say. I bought it anyway, to satisfy my craving. I took a bit and “DISAPPOINTMENT!” my brain was screaming. Yeah, the cutie was right; it tasted a little weird and lacked all of its special qualities. I, however,  gobbled it all up like a super-hungry girl and rushed to join Cici, at the gym. Cici is my colleague, best friend and Miss Sexy. Her hair, her skin, her slim body, her height, everything gives me a complex. I still act secure and confident around her.

We reached the gym and there I met my oldest enemy-the weighing scale. I had put on another kilo. I could feel the universe aligning itself to make my day worse. “So, doughnut huh?” Cici smirked. I quickly started to say “Doughnuts are yum, soft..” “and fattening!” she added. Well, yeah, she is also Miss Know-it-all. I wiped the sweat..er…tears off my face and began cycling, dreaming happily about the other doughnut, lying in my bag.

“The best part of the doughnut is the middle. But, to get to it, you have to eat the outer circle”

We, the Indians

India is my country, I am an Indian. It is always so easy to say this and even act proud about it, in spite of knowing, we all are still divided. The different religions, the castes, sub-castes, the traditions, the different cultures in different states, the different cultures in the different towns in the states; it is an exhaustive list. Every time I think about all this, I am reminded of what my Social Science teacher had once told me in my 7^th standard. ‘In spite of it all, we are united by a single force called nationality’, she had said. Yes, indeed. But, do we really need a so-called ‘force’? is it not a thought?

There was a rather funny thing that happened at office, recently. I work in an organization with 80% Chinese, 5% Indians, 5% from other countries. We were having a general discussion about the various festivals in our countries. One of my colleagues asked to me, ‘Are you Hindi?’. I instantly thought I was being asked that question because, I was talking about Diwali.

(I remembered how I had tried to explain to a couple of North Indians about how the festival is celebrated on a grand scale in the southern part of India, as well) I gave them all a mini lecture about how every Indian cannot talk Hindi, how it is unnecessary to learn the language as long as we do not travel to or have any interactions with the northern part of India. My colleagues gave me a perplexed look. ‘Don’t you talk Indian?” they asked. I quickly realised they were talking about the religion ‘Hindu’. I felt stupid about how easily I had started defending my language, my state and, in that, I had tried to show we all are different.

I come from a modern Brahmin family. My parents have been well educated.  They never told me anything against any religion, culture or practice or against any person who is different from me, in these areas. Nobody told me anything; nothing good, nothing bad. But, now when I think about it,  I feel I chose to see the difference. In school, I have always tried to find out if my friend was a vegetarian or not. If he was a vegetarian, where he was from or what language he can talk. If he can talk my language, I would try to find out if he belongs to my caste, my sect and what not.

What is it with me? Why do I think like this? I ranted on with my best friend about it. ‘We all think like that babes, but, we all are Indians’, she said. I did not understand her fully and I could not really decide if she was right or wrong. I was only left with the question about whether the thinking process of all Indians’ need a change or if self-acceptance is, as they say, the ‘tried and tested’ mantra.

Spark a change

With the increasing number of rapes, murders, kidnappings and child trafficking, the only thing I can wish for is, like the title says, a spark, a miracle, a magical support and a super power. It cannot be a temporary solution; it has to mark the beginning of a revolution; a revolution for peace, safety and security; or, at least a small step towards it.

What lead to the inception of this thought was a normal bus journey that started from college to home.

Buses near colleges are mostly filled with boys and girls around the age of 18, the youth, to be precise. They are fast-paced, naive, rebellious and light-hearted. For an onlooker,  they seem unconquerable. Maybe that is what makes it challenging for a pervert. In the bus full of young college girls, there was one big man. He was tall, large in size and looked decently dressed. He wore neatly ironed trousers with a crisp shirt and a tie. While he remained unnoticed, the excitement and the hurried whispers among the girls was high and eye-catching. There was a sudden drop in the chattering and the laughs. Yes, the 'decent' man had made his 'move'. He was either trying to squeeze a girl's waist or grab her breasts. The girls lashed out at him, stamped his foot, even tried to push him off. It just did not seem to work. The man did not budge. The girls soon realized that they were too weak for him and moved away. Other girls began to fall prey to the same torture.

I began to wonder what I would've done. Would I call for help? Who could or who would lend a hand? Would I call the police? But what about the trauma? Would I ever feel safe again?

Miracles happen. Super powers exist. But, sometimes there is just the need for more super humans who can take care of things till the miracles come for rescue. Here, I mean the real super heroes, heroes who can face it without fear, who are nothing but a sense of hope to the others. I wish every woman can be strong physically, maybe through martial arts or any other form of self defense. When one is strong physically, it is not hard to face the big bad world full of dirty minded men, who take advantage of their physical self. I am taking lessons on martial arts and self defense and I often tell my friends and family the same story. I hope for a tomorrow full of 'strong' women sparking a change in the world of male dominance.

"It is true that a victim who fights back may suffer for it, but one who does not almost certainly will suffer for it."
                                                                                                          Jeff Cooper (1920–2006)
                                                                                             "Principles of Personal Defense", 1989

Bajji theft

Saturdays are official happy days to me. The sunny mornings, the lazy afternoons, the 'chaat'-n-chatty evenings, the dinner with movie and the rosy-cosy sleeps. It is the time to relax, stretch, yoga and rejuvenate. Or, to idle at one place and watch mommy-dearest prepare some delicacies and then, spend the next hour, munching on them.

Well, this time, after my evening 'chaat', I had to go over to Golu's house. Golu is a round and plump guy with a never-dying energy and an ever-hungry tummy. He is a loving friend from a long while. His dad is an amazing cook. Maybe, that is why he has been my friend for so long.

Today, Golu's eyes were filled with excitement and impatience. His dad was making his favourite potato 'bajjis' and onion 'pakodas'. While the delicious smell from the kitchen was killing him, his dad's order to stay outside was ripping his soul apart. He was, indeed, a sight to see.

Rhea, his little niece, has always had a soft corner for him. Every time I have joked about his mad urge for eating, she has been there to make her rude remarks. Now, she was looking at me, scornfully, while I was laughing at Golu's plight. He was dancing on the tips of his toes, complaining about how hungry he was.

It was around 6.30 in the evening and the lights went out. Golu's dad came out of the kitchen, handed us each a 'bajji' and warned us not to go into kitchen because the cooking pan was hot. He repeatedly told Golu to wait with patience and stop acting like a glutton. Minutes seemed like hours as we sat there, staring into darkness. Golu seemed to have gone off to sleep with Rhea lying on his lap.

The taste of the 'bajji', still lingering in my head, was making me restless. I thought I can sneak into the kitchen, quietly, for a quick bite, without making a sound. I managed all of it well, except for the last bit. A tin or something fell to the floor with a bang and like a wonder, the lights were back, that very instant. I quickly turned around to hurry back. Three pairs of eyes were looking at me. Rhea was looking at me with folded hands. 'You too?!' was all Golu's dad could say.