Women of Steel

The year started off with perseverance and oozes of energy.

The story goes like this. Well, it’s not a story to begin with. I must say this, it was an eye opener for mortals like us who just get waned away with dwindled pleasures.

I met 2 women. Well, I can say they are well past their prime. In fact, prime was gone long time ago and here they were, smiling at me, with unsurmountable words of wisdom and a gentle swagger that defines their aura.

These young, old ladies are miracle women to our generation.

One is 97, the other is in the pink of health at 102.

Now, those are staggering numbers.

Age has always been a subject of enigma, distortion and privacy. Face it, we hate getting older. Every birthday is a kind reminder to your ageing lifeline. Yet, we flaunt it with our ego and prejudices. We don’t like being taunted, though.

They have a memory of a whale and the eye of a hawk. They remember everything, doesn’t matter who it is. Like-able or not, memories are still memories.

Memoirs of a 97 year old-

The name of second child of her third grandson, the last time she visited London, birthday dates of almost all family members and an eye for details. If guns were blazing, I would give it to her hands down.

The tale of a 102 year old-

She crossed borders in Rangoon during the war ravaged times, with her children in her arms. But she charms you with her diaspora of memories and faith in God. She had few suggestions for me – take care of your family and respect your parents, they are the reason for our existence and success today.

Words of wisdom these days come in from all quarters but this one was one of it’s kind.

Meeting both of them gives you utmost satisfaction for the very reason we live – to love life.

At this age, I would be sipping Coke in my grave!

Both of them have stark similarities.

They have been through the worst, understand and paved the way through life with limitations and tenacity. Most importantly, they have this insatiable urge to live. And, that is the sole reason for the magic they exude.

Ladies, you aren’t merely the Women we celebrate. You are the giants for generations to look up to and take pride in our tormented and illustrious legacy.

Inevitable 2018, Hello!

2017 was a roller coaster year. Well, I can call it adventurous and tumultuous in the same breath. Yes, you might argue that these expressions don’t quite sit adjacent to each other. But at times, our derivatives stand flawed and undisputed.

Strange are the ways of life, so was 2017.

Indulgent, attractive, celebrated.

Sometimes, we feel excited about things that didn’t work. Perhaps, time is the major player here. We smile when it smiles. But in life, at some point, we all smile. Not really when we want, we don’t get to decide everything in our life, every time. As much as I am a great believer in myself and am self obsessed, I cannot ignore the subtle variations of destiny in my interesting life. I guess, there lies the beauty. And all the joy, apprehensions and agony that supplements the turmoil of the journey, so famously called ‘Life’.

But, all said and dusted, 2018 could be the year of my life. Instincts, gut feeling, not sure what it is. But the feeling remains undisputed. And, I am looking forward to it with exuberance and hope. Hope is good, fear is not. But apprehension, yes. I guess, that’s why 2018 is going to be a massive year of glorious uncertainties.

Keep aside my life for sometime now, 2017 was yet another year with lots of everything – emotions, achievements, disappointments, celebrations.

For each of you, let’s achieve what we always wanted to.

Let’s do what we enjoy the most in our decorated lives. Let’s create the space we always wanted in our lives. If you don’t like something, say it. If you want a change, now is the time to take first baby steps. Respect people but don’t take shit from anyone, especially if you don’t deserve it. Value relationships but make sure the relationship is two fold and devoid of oscillating benefits.

Phew! I know. Words of wisdom for few, Gyan for many and just rustic, frivolous words for those who don’t find a meaning in web of words and spoken partitions.

Let’s take a look at some pulsating pictures that defined my 2017, in more ways than it so appears.

2018, come and you will realize that you are already falling in love with me.

An Adulterated Life

Call girls. Prostitutes. Nymphs. Even worse, sluts and whores. Even an elite bitch works like magic.

Doesn’t matter how derogatory and pervert these words are, whether you like it or not, these words have a life of their own. And precariously, they live amongst civilians like us, living a nomadic journey of sleuth and ignominy. We despise them, yet we want them. It’s a dynasty of ruthless victims and jeopardised lives.

If they are animals, we are of a worst kind.

Prostitution is an industry in itself. An industry that traces its roots back to 200 years (perhaps older taking in to account, the frivolous and lustful nature of the human clan). Despite all the taboo attached to it, it still manages to thrive big and remain pioneers in a money spinning game of lethal flesh and enduring politics.

Coming back to the lives of women who have embraced prostitution as a way of life.

Real time, on the ground.

To begin with, let’s clear the air about this profoundly disgusting profession. It has nothing to do with pleasure, love or the art of lovemaking. In fact, it is devoid of human emotions and chemistry. All it is, is a game of flesh and bones. The woman is just devoured and used, spit and discarded once the capacity to inflict pain diminishes. All in all and significantly put, it is rape with consent.

As I mentioned earlier, here the protagonists are equally hapless and displaced. One craves for the other, for obvious and inexplicable reasons.

It is also a glorious example of the position of women they hold in a society and culture that has been an epitome of mercurial savages with a penchant for vegetable terrain.

Prostitution is an industry manufactured and designed to integrate the turmoil of system. Men need respite, women are used to get crucified and system needs a bait to bask in return on investments. A system relegated to a wicked and inevitable ploy supplemented by an equally disdainful history.

The families of such women are equally guilty. We have families around this world who struggle to make ends meet and the money their women make from this distasteful profession is a welcome boon. But, they equally despise them for what they do and the women are subjected to unsurmountable pain and hatred, which is grossly unfair. They want the cash but they don’t the profession to taint their lives which in itself is the sole reason for their survival. Pretentious, to say the least.

Despite leading a bereaved life of pain and humiliation, this clan continues to grow unapologetically. Redundancy, for one, is not a forte in this world woven with ruthless anguish.

Encounters with Water

It was humid, sweaty and hot. It led us to the place of perennial relief. Our ‘Massive Friendly Neighboring Beach’!

It was dark but we could see the lights shoving up whine the earthly clouds. Clouds did not have enough water, but the sea did.

Sunshine eluded us but we could walk on the sand and feel it as well. Without too many people and usual chatter around, we felt breathtakingly serene.

The long drive wasn’t essential but we made it necessary. The destination was a delight to look forward then.

More often, let’s do this.

9/11. Change-versary.

Yes. We changed. World changed. Everything else around changed. In fact, I have bleak memories of how this world looked before the apocalypse.

Our outlook to America, our attitude towards terrorism (we now call it global post 9/11), our stand as global nations against one unified enemy. All this changed. And somewhere, it changed us and the way we live. I call it, the ways of our enigmatic life.

9/11 also opened up the floodgates for more violence, hatred and counter terrorism (perhaps, it ended up being counter hatred). Post 9/11 saw undisputed destruction of human lives. Some alive but still dead. It isn’t the number of years, it was those crucifying moments that nailed it. In real terms, that is.

We celebrated the fall of the Satan, but nothing stopped. In fact, it has multiplied. If the world has become a unified household, the anti has become 6-fold, perhaps 10-fold. Not that calamities and torture has stopped or minimalised since 9/11. We have grown monumentally, sadly.

We will continue to fight the demons, within and outside. For how long? May be the question isn’t – for how long. The question is, how far?

Immersed in Self

It is not a lonely place. It’s just that you wanted to be left alone.

You and water, remain separated till you want to. Get together when you want to. The important thing is, you wanted to.

State of mind is an art, you would rather give it a miss.

Sun Days

Day or night, the sun never goes down.

It wallops, it gallops, it eats your head, it vibrates. But never goes down.

Glittering waters or the artistry of the clouds. Deep meanders or open flings. It ain’t going down.

Sun never goes down. Hope never goes down. We are hope.

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