Another day, another travesty of justice

It ishttp://www.thehindu.com/news/national/homosexuality-illegal-sc/article5446939.ece?homepage=true


Baby Krishna tied to a mortar
for his own safety
Baby grew up, and the millstone
and rope cut into his carotid.
Ouch!

Golden nothings

People post their childhood photos on Facebook, brimming with mischief and innocence. The screwed up eyes, the broken tooth smile, the naughty glints, the tongue stuck out. There are cricket bats and stumps and beach balls in the photos, adding to a sense of a full childhood, as it should be. There are other kids in it, playing with them, adding to the cuteness.

I look at my childhood photos. There is nothing like that in them. My photos are just me, alone. No siblings, no cousins, no cute snotty playfellows in them. Sometimes my Dad or Mom can be found in my photos, looking indulgently at me. I am never to be found playing in my photos. There is only one photo of me where I am tearing apart my Mom's wedding saree. Well, my Dad thought that moment was more precious than the wedding saree, so he chose to take a snap than rescue the saree. Other than that I am most passive in all of them.

I guess my photos are a reflection of my childhood. There were no friends. My first best friend was made in std.  7. Till then I was happily alone with my thoughts. I never liked to play in the sun. I was happy to fake some mild illness and read under the trees during PT Time. Chess was my game of choice and Scrabble was my favourite exercise. There is no snap of the hours spent reading Nancy Drew in a dusty corner of the public library.No one has captured the moments where my school librarian gave me grown-up books off the record. Nobody knows how much I cried over Sidney Carton's death when I was 11.

I am sure there are others like me, who grew up feeding their imagination rather than actively experiencing life. The way the rest of the world looks at childhood, we will always be made to feel like we didn't our normal share. That just isn't true. Our childhood was every bit as special, our growing up was equally heart-breaking if not more. After all, if you read about the horrors of adult life well before time, doesn't that dampen your wish to be grown up? Our innocence was precious too, so were our joys and sorrows. We bear our own scars, most of which are not visible to others, but we know why we don't like strawberry ice-cream or that red colour dress. 

Sweet Ageing

Ageing is lovely, if you don't fight it. It is like drinking wine, sipping and swirling it at all the right places, when you start to recognize each of the underlying notes in it. 

You realize the importance of gradual ascension in a trek. 

Unknown, unbranded solid perfumes made from essential oils and wax alone start looking way more appealing than some random Davidoff or Carolina Herrera picked up in a rush from the duty-free counter in the airport. 

You start questioning discounts. 

You realize the worth of other veggies besides potatoes. You give the Maggi and egg bhurji a break, you start cooking real dishes. 

You have conversations with your mother, father, older uncles and in-laws. Real conversations. You are pleasantly surprised to learn that these people have distinct personalities, real identities that you had no part in shaping. They are not known in the world as So-and-so's Mum/ Dad. You begin to understand what makes them who they are and consequentially you start finding things out about yourself and where that comes from. 

Reading becomes even more important than before. 

You don't feel the need to have a large group of friends around you to have fun. You are not lonely when you are alone. 

You don't look for clothes that reveal your best body bits, you sport your character. 

It is such a lovely time, when you become emotionally mature. Much like how we rebelled against the physical changes during puberty and adolescence, we tend to fight against this time of ripening emotional maturity as well. 

Stop the fight, revel in the ripening.

You are served on the world's table as a delicacy whose time has come. A bunch of sweet grapes under a cloche. 

My wish list

1. Write a novella
2. Lead a more eco-friendly lifestyle - trying to eliminate plastic from every possible aspect of life
3. Look better -want to regularly apply multani-mitti and besan packs etc, however feel deterred by the paucity of time and break down at the thought of the messiness.
4. Cook a lot of new dishes - a lot of new ones
5. Do a bit of ballet everyday
6. Learn to take my Ayurvedic meds on time
7. Try and be a part of a food raising charity - something on the lines of Oz Harvest

When I think about what I really really really want for this year, it is nothing big like a trip abroad or a high paying job or even a baby. I just want to make elementary changes in my lifestyle, however this list seems tougher than Baby- Job- International Trip list.