My own Personal Humans of Europe!

A 3 week holiday in Europe, with my Mother and my Sibling, and loads of postcard location photographs. But something more intriguingly settled in our memory are the people that we met randomly, the people whose names we don't know but the people who for us are 'Humans of Europe'.

One prime rule of this Holiday was 'living like a local' so a self curated vacation itinerary, going all out to talk to people, making a move to enjoy a drink /a meal/ or just a stroll, was the game plan. And man!  We are touched and how. No idea why we isolate divine from human for the ones we met and the ones who I will quote here were all divine, may be human is divine. (Everyone is a Buddha).

1. Touchdown Vienna and begins the committed platonic relationship with 'Tourist Information Desk'. Our first encounter, a redhead lady (just her hair were read, keep that urban dictionary aside, please) at the desk. While struggling to understand the streets and the sub streets and the sub sub streets, I guess the travel desk lady understood our bewilderment and said, 'It's 5.50 pm, if you can wait for anothet 10 minutes, I will drop you to your accommodation. It's opposite the street where I live'. And the first whiff of the beautiful Veinna air.

But wait a minute. We didn't know that 'I will drop you' means 'I will walk you'. This city walks and walks with stride of an athlete. Not surprised by the 'thigh gap' being a commoner's commodity here. So the redhead not only helped us with carrying the luggage (3 women. Don't expect us to travel light) but helped us give an insider's overview of Vienna. We were amazed at the humility and camaraderie of this woman whose name also we didn't know. This was our introduction to the level of trust for a stranger that the Europe exhibits.

2. Are you from India?

- Yes! 

Ah! Na'A'maste!

Our three days in Vienna echoed with the above. It was amusing to see how people knew about nationalities and the local pleasantries of various nations. It somehow boosts your confidence of 'being known' and automatically creates a sense of belongingness. When after 'Na'A' maste' with a few too many, I asked a gentleman that how does he have so much knowledge about different nations of the world, their demography and their local pleasantries, he said:

'It's the fear of Unknown that makes us susceptible to people around. Once we read, understand others, we know that it's just the geography which aparts us. In today's time and age, it's a must to read about /to know about different cultures, practices and traditions of the various nations. It's not the treaties that maketh a better world, it's the heart'.

3. Prague or Praha, our next destination was the epicenter of a number of civil liberty movements both in the first and the second world War. A nation with its own currency (which is just 3 times of INR ; victory dance) was expected to be quite a contrast from the Elite Vienna. 

But then....

We were at the tube station at Prague waiting for the elevator because with the luggage that we had, it was quite a task to take the escalator and impossible to take the stairs. It's then that an elderly woman, who also was taking for the elevator, smiled at us. She asked 'Africa'. We were shocked, and quickly replied, 'No India'. Sibling and I looked at each other, 'Ghar jaake dahi lagayenge to get rid of this tan. Fucking hell'. She started communicating with us in Czech. Our first encounter with language barrier. She didn't know English, we didn't know Czech.

But she was hell beant to talk. She told us in broken English that she is from Bulgaria and works as a cleaning lady at the Prague Airport. She asked us 'Where To?'. We showed the map and spotted the location. She tried to make us understand and we said 'Okay' in a matter of fact manner because we knew very well knew the route. But I guess it was our confident 'okay' which made her feel that we didn't understand. At the platform she herself went to people around to see if someone spoke English and could guide us on the route. The lady had a walking stick but that didn't deter her from going to people around, seeking help. She got us a translator who enthusiastically told us the route. We were amazed at the local hospitality. When the tube came she got on the tube with us and spotted at the digital navigation to tell us the station we have to get down. Throughout the journey she spoke about India, Indian food, especially Indian Movies, 'Anand' being her favourite.

When our station came she bid us goodbye and waved the warmest flying kiss ever.

4. Prague is symbolised with the Lennon Wall and Lennon Wall symbolises with 'Free World'. Wherever we went, there was atleast one good Samaritan with a Free Hug Board. I was one of the takers of the Free Hug. It was just hug and a smile. The warmth of that Good Samaritan is still with me. I asked him, 'Why are you doing this?'. He smiled and said,  'If not this, then what? Just with a hug, you will remember me. I am a celebrity just by doing what needs to be done'.

5. For us the heart touching encounter with the Church of our Lady Victorious, which is the seat of 'Infant Jesus' was the brief meeting with the Reverend Archbishop Father Dominik Duka who was personally meeting all the people, irrespective of the religious affiliations, present at the Church for the Holy Thursday prayer.

When he came to meet us, he was more than amused to know we are from India. He told us that he spent two years in Kerala and excitedly recited the few Malayalam words that he had picked up. He told us that he loved India for being a melting pot of various religions, castes, creeds and beliefs.  While we were in disagreement on India's reputation as the melting pot of various beliefs, the Reverend Father quickly retorted, 'Even the people who crucified Christ didn't love Him less, they just didn't  love themselves much. Once we start respecting and loving ourselves truly, we will not be disillusioned by the blindfold of wrong. So don't doubt the Power of India and it's soul. It will outshine the rest. God bless you'.

When we exited the Church, we were three ladies with the brightest eyes and the widest smiles.

6. Italy or Italia was like abode of Punjabis who spoke Italian. It felt like Dilli, loud, warm, enthusiastic, talkative, always dressed, animated, helpful to the level 'two body, one soul'. Not exaggerating but whoever we interacted, and we interacted with a lot, qualifies as 'Humans from Europe'. But just for relatability, I will mention a few.

(a) Our Gondolier in Venice was a Jabra Fan of Amitabh Bachchan. He had seen 'Abhimaan' and 'Sholay' umpteen times. He also recited 'Rishte me to hum tumhare baap lagte hain, naam hai Shaheenshah' for us. He told us of the instances when Amitabh Bachchan's movies have helped him to fight life's odds. He is my 'Human of Europe' not because he idolises an icon of my country but because he is not perturbed by borders to choose a life icon.

(b) When one talks of language barrier, Italy is the first point of reference and in Italy also, the Tuscany Region ranks number 1. Having said that, our maximum encounters with 'Humans of Europe' happened in Tuscany. One such was at a Farmer's market. My mother who is a local food enthusiast, on her own visited the Farmer's Market in Florence and returned with a bag full of local herbs, cheese and fruits. When we asked her how did you communicate with the Farmers (they only speak Italian and Spanish), she matter of fact replied 'With actions'. Also has learnt the recipe of local ravioli just through ACTIONS. The Italian farmers and my mother synced in so well that we had a dinner invite from a local farmer family and mother made made 'Dal Makhani' for them. The food at the dinner was what #foodgasm hashtag is for. The farmer's son who knew English, translated our conversation for them and their conversation for us.  At the end, I felt as if I was sitting amongst my big, fat family from Punjab, giggling and laughing away to glory.

(c) Our day trip from Florence to Cinque Terre which is  a string of centuries-old seaside villages, Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore, on the rugged Italian Riviera coastline, was more than adventurous. Captivated by the beauty of islands we took a wrong train which instead of taking us back to Florence, took us further away.  We realised this when a brown skinned elderly man in the train came to us and said 'Indiano' and we smiled and said 'Si' (by this time we had picked up the essential local Italian words.) He pointed towards himself and said 'Bangladesh'. He asked us 'Where are you going'?  We said, 'Florence'.  Shocked,  he started murmuring something in Italian and said 'Wrong Train'. We were aghast. It was the last train. He told us to get down at the next station which was 'Portofino'.  And catch the next train in the morning at 5. It was 12.30 in the night. The Portofino station had just we three women. In our heart of hearts we all were scared but just to keep the Euro Trip mood alive, we joked and sang.

After about an hour, a Police Officer at the Portofino Station came and inquired from us. We told him about our plight and he said, 'This is Italy, you need to keep the worries aside'. He asked if we would like to drink or eat. Abreast with our stereotype image of police officers, we said a polite 'No'. He left saying 'Don't worry. I am there.' After about 40 minutes he came back with fresh home made pizza and water. He said, 'My house is close by. My Mamma makes 'Gusto' Pizza. You must be hungry. Eat please'.

We blankly just looked at him. He asked 'la Familia?'. We said 'Si'. 'I amore familia', he exclaimed and left.

We reached Florence at 6 in the morning and the entire next day and the days after  we kept remembering that Polizia from Portofino.

(d) Chianti Classico region in Tuscany was our another day trip from Florence and our next encounter with the 'Human of Europe'. The trip was self planned. But little did we know that Chianti is a quaint old town with quite a distance from the bus depot to the main city Square. Because it is scantly populated, we just couldn't see a soul who could help us with directions. Walking amidst olive groves on one side and vineyards on the other we came across a football field where kids were practicing the game. We went to the field where the coach greeted us with a wide smile saying 'Punto'. As expected, he didn't even know broken English. There was no means of communication. But Italian hospitality amazes you beyond belief. He went to the field and gave a shout out to the young boys asking if someone knew 'English' and came running 3 boys with apple red cheeks and giggles. They guided us and also drew a map for us. The coach said 'Bravo' to them and bid us goodbye with a contagious and an ear to ear smile.

(e) The officer at the Tourist Information Desk, Greve, Chianti region had told us that we can catch the bus back to Florence from the same depot at which we had arrived in Greve. We arrived at the same Depot 30 minutes early from the departure time of the bus but were surprised to see not a soul there. As the time neared for our bus departure we got fidgety because there was no one there and we couldn't see any bus. Just to our rescue a bus from Florence arrived. We went to the driver with our query only to be informed that we are at the wrong depot, as this depot was only for arrivals. This happened at 7 pm and the departure time of our bus was at 7.10 pm. We were in deep shit because in Greve the only way of commuting is either by foot or by a personal transport. The bus driver, who told us that we are at the wrong depot, was a localite and had his car parked at the depot. He asked us to get in the car and he will drop us at the right depot. Meanwhile in the car he called up the bus driver of our bus to Florence(both of them drove the same company bus, Flix bus) and asked him to wait. We were thankful and embarrassed. We apologised on causing him unnecessary trouble to which he replied, 'This is Italy, we wait for others. I waited for my wife for 5 years before she agreed to get married to me'. He dropped us to our bus and left.

(f) Rome, our last destination was in our head infamous because of the scammers and pick pocketers warnings that one reads about. However, Rome, pleasantly surprised us by proving all this wrong. We were told 'bus no. 62 to Vatican is an abode of pick pocketers. Keep your bags in front of you'. It was exactly in the same bus that we met an immigrant from Senegal who got us an early entry into Vatican through his tourist guide brother and didn't ask for a dime. All he said was 'Be safe, Sister'.

Travel is about pinning the countries visited on the world map or showing off the visa stamps on the passport but going out of your comfort zone, abandoning the stereotype beliefs and reinforcing the nurtures that we were born with. The belief that goodness is not dead, the belief that we all have the potential to make a difference in this world, the belief that everyday is an opportunity to make a positive mark in someone else's heart, the belief that human is divine.

Story of a staunch Muslim.

Islamophobia anyone?

We took an auto from Aromas, Powai to  Lake Homes Powai at 3.30 pm,  after a sumptuous meal. Satiated with the meal but tossed by the Bombay humidity we were only yearning for the bed.

Reaching home, I reached for the wallet to pay Rs. 30 to the autowalla only to realise that I have no cash. *Hate the advent of plastic money*. I told the autowalla, 'Bhaiya, ATM se withdraw karke aati hoon'. He said, 'Main le chalta hoon ATM. Aap kahaan paidal jaayenge es garmi mein'.

I withdrew the money, only to get notes in denomination of 500. Embarrassed as hell, I told the autowalla, 'Bhaiya change karwake aati hoon. 500 ke hi notes they ATM machine mein'. He smiled and said,' Koi baat nahi'. Went to the grocery story, bought unnecessary stuff because the shop owner was reluctant to give change until and unless I shopped. I gave autowalla a 100. He had Rs. 60 as change. For all the inconvenience I had caused him I said,  'Kuch nahi hota Bhaiya, aap 10 rupees rakh lijiye'. He refused, 'Nahi Beta, mehnat ki kamai ki jagah hai Islam mein, himayat ki nahi.

He went to two individuals, after no luck from the first and gave me Rs. 70 back. I was Rs. 70 and a life time inspiration, rich.

P. S. Once a companion of the Prophet (SAW) shook his hand with him. The Prophet (saw) felt hard skin os palm and inquiry about it. The companion said it was due to hard work for earning the daily bread for his family. Prophet (saw) kissed his hand and appreciated him. ( Abu Dawood, Islamiyaat 37)

Hazrat Sumayyah bin Umair (RA) said, once people asked Prophet Mohammad (SAW), “Whihc earning the best earning?” Prophet (saw) replird, “The earning which you earn by your own hands, and earning through all business; but which do not involve disobedience of Allah.

In all the world religions, we fret Islam the most. 'Islam is a religion of the terrorists. Islam advocates killing' . The problem is stories of evil in the name of religion get publicised but the goodness which is essence of every religion doesn't reach audience. It's because good is for granted but evil is propagated. 

Therefore,  telling the right stories is important. 

If it works for Dumbledore, it works for me!

I wanted to megastart 2016 by writing this story but as Shahi Tharoor's bill for decriminalizing homosexuality gets shamelessly thrashed in Lok Sabha, I know the time to tell this story is NOW!

So, a month back, I went for my solo vacation to Pondicherry with a motive to break through my limitations, to come out of my comfort zone and to put a check on one of my life goals- solo vacation. Pondicherry with its remnants of a liberal  French colony, lives like a huge embrace , accepting each individual in his own skim, with his own unique personality. It believes and lives the principle that "Just as cherry, plum, peach and damson blossoms all possess their own unique qualities, each person is unique. We cannot become someone else. The important thing is that we live true to ourselves and cause the great flower of our lives to blossom" - Dr. Daisaku Ikeda. So being true to my nature of jabbering away to glory, I spoke to everyone, I met, from the hawker on the beach selling pomfret to the manager of the vintage property I was staying at.

While on my solo expedition of exploring Pondy, I came across a French bistro which looked too pretty to pass. Found myself a comfortable corner and ordered a Bellini and pasta. In a far corner of the Bistro was a young man, desirable to say the least, reading Rumi. A single girl in Pondy, saw a desirable frame with excellent reading taste, obviously I wasn't concentrating on the Pasta. Our eyes met, he started walking to my table, reached the destination and said "Hi, I hope you are liking the food". In my head, I had already made a call to my bff about  "How I met someone". The tête-à-tête bloomed into conversations. Avinash owned the bistro and about 2 years back left his cushioned job and moved to Pondy to pursue his passion of opening a restaurant and "living life on daily basis and not just on weekends". Not even 30 minutes had passed and another tall frame of testosterone made way to my table. "Hi, you're a new meat in Pondy". Looks sharp, confident gait and talks well. For once, I couldn't thank enough the imbalanced sex ratio in India of 943 women to 1000 man. Raghav co-owned the Bistro with Avinash.

I am sure accepting who you are and pursuing your passion by keeping aside your monthly salary of 6 figures and the coveted degree was a life defining event. "Well, yes! But life defining event for us will still be when we first came out", said Avinash. Came out? and I gulped the Bellini. "Yeah! Didn't you guess by now? We are gay and live-in partners". Obviously, I didn't, because like a jerk I still believed in the existence of Mr. Darcy. FML. "Comeon, it's been more than an hour and we still haven't gazed at your breasts. Obviously we are not straight", said Raghav. We had a hearty laugh and Bellini made way for Scotch.

(In my defence, ladies the 943:1000 sex ratio is all farce and not functional anymore so come out of your glory of being a luxury. Sigh!)

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a strong supporter of LGBT rights and explicitly and aggressively voice my opinion of this community having its legal sanctity. Therefore, knowing about Avinash-Raghav story was crucial as well as critical. So gleaming eyes, "So what's your story?".

"You know Pallavi, for every queer, coming out is a life defining event and here in India, for 95% queer population the most tragic event as well. I come from a conservative TamBrahm family where if it's not sanctioned by the Vedas and the Purohit, it is criminal. I was 14 when I first witnessed the peculiarity in my being. I was "unnaturally attracted to a senior in my boys' convent". It was as bad as self-immolating myself. I was going through these strange feelings and had no confidant, no one to talk to. After months' of struggle, I gathered courage to speak to my Amma. What followed has had such a deep scar that even after 15 years it gives me goosebumps. Amma couldn't register it one go and brushed it aside and told me to concentrate on my studies. An year had passed but the "unnatural feeling" had not subsided. In the 9th grade when Valentine Day's day was a rage, I collected all strength possible and poured my feelings for the senior in a letter. Every night I re-read the letter to myself only to shove it next day in my study table drawer. The silent lover was still at peace. But one day, the calamity struck. Reaching home after school, I saw Amma and Appa sitting in the drawing room. Appa recklessly held the silent lover's love letter. Appa thrashed me black and blue. There was no exchange of words. I was called names. Work of Satan. My mother wept and cursed the day she conceived me. I was taken to a master of voodoo arts, a tantrik, who inflicted pain too cruel too mention. He thrashed me, burnt me with heating rods, called my "evil possessed spirit". All this continued for 3 months. I had no interaction with the outside world. There was definitely physical pain but more importantly it had ruined my psyche. I hated, detested my body and my existence. After 3 months and after my mother sold her ancestral temple jewellery to furnish the desires of the tantrik I was declared clean. The ride ahead was bumpier. In these 3 months, the Avinash died, and ironically he was now a walking dead. With deep hatred towards everything possible I immersed myself into books, which were not biased. Topped both 10th and 12th grade and cleared IIT-Jee with a double fight national ranks. At last, my parents declared how blessed they were to give birth to a child like me. There was no mention of that 15 year old Avinash who was called the work of Satan .

I joined IIT Bombay. College had a kaleidoscope vision. It fulfilled me in so many ways but also was not able to dilute the vacuum I possessed. Whilst my friends od-ed on the rare being, girls in IIT, I was disinterested. Not because I was hoity toity but because the so called "cleaning process" of the tantrik had not done jackshit to my inclination. Internet opened my window to the world, I met a number of individuals who were "unnatural" like me. We talked of our agonies, our desires, our dreams and also a lot of sexual gratifications. A bit of my original being started to rise as a phoenix, literally from the ashes. I attended my first underground gay bar in my 2nd year of college and that day cried. This was my real coming out day. I was finally accepted for who I was, with non pretentions, no explanations. And in one of these gay parties, is when I met Raghav. We hit it off like sex on fire. It was literally like love at first sight. Love is just not a 4 letter word. It was the power to take over the world, it has the power to cross every salt desert. I came out to my friends who abused me left, right and center for taking so much time to come out them. It was indeed my Homecoming. After completing my engineering and getting placed in Google is when I finally came out, "officially" to my parents. They told me not to show my "Satan face" to them, ever. I left quietly but peacefully.

And today, I am out of closet 'Happy and Gay. Key member of the Hamsafar Trust, Bombay and a friend, mentor guide to hundreds of LGBT who are struggling, fighting against odds."

By now my eyes had dried of tears. I was so heart drenched that words had no meanings. I just sat there, dumbfounded, with tears not stopping.

"Asshole, look what you have done. Women should never cry", said Raghav and hugged me. "Let me tell you my story. It's entertaining. I came out to my parents at the age of 16, while my Mum was serving dinner for both my Dad and me. On hearing it my mom said, "chawal or roti". I thought my mum was obviously brushing it aside and increased my decibel and repeated, "Mom, I am Gay". And all she said, "Okay! But still have to have food, you know". I said, "I will have Roti". We had a 3 hours long discussion that night. My parents were a little disappointed. My father expected me to have trail of hot girlfriends from Mithibai but now he will have to settle for a dude/dudes from Xavier's. At the end of discussion, all my mum said, "We raised you with a lot of expectation but all the way I have always visioned you making us extremely proud and making a social impact. So we are with you, but that doesn't mean, you compromise on your studies. Also no bringing boyfriends home in our absence". Dad on the other hand said, "Are you the boy or the girl in your  gay relationship? Better be a girl. You will always win". We all had a hearty laugh".

Raghav and Avinash held hands! "Aww"!

"And then 6 years of being in a relationship and living in Bombay, we both decided to take a plunge in a life long dream of running a bar and restaurant where "ALL" are welcomed. We decided to move to Pondicherry, both because it's solaceful and easy on the pocket, and execute our dream. And here we are 2 years hence, talking to you, who was slyly hitting at us thinking we are straight", Raghav smirked. "Oh! shut up", I didn't. "Of course, you did. Stop lying". "Get lost", bottoms up!

So how has the journey been?

"It's not about a Raghav or a Avinash, it's about a sizable population who is scared to love. The state of affairs is distasteful. The juvenile in the Nirbhaya rape case is the center of debate of being pardoned and two major individuals are considered criminals because they are courageous to love. It's about changing the mindsets. Homosexuality is not a diseases. It's a just a different inclination than the majority population has. It's about struggling to make my Amma and Appa and the likes come at peace with the gay sexual orientation. It's about making a difference in the society where each one is accepted for who he is with no judgement or remorse and can contribute to the social and industrial development of the nation.", Avinash said.

"We are forerunners in decriminalizing homosexuality in India. We are in direct correspondence with the lawmakers and legislators and are working hard with steadfast faith that things will change. And with time we have received a lot of possible change. The elderly generation is accepting, the younger generation is walking with us hand in hand and our LGBT community is falling in love and declaring it with courage and smile", Raghav eyes gleamed with hope, courage and compassion.

It was 1.30 in the night and time for me to leave. I hugged them and thanked them for making me a part of their story. It has been a privilege. I am gonna treasure this tête-à-tête for the rest of m life.

I still made a phone call to my BFF only to say, "How I met someone and his only one"!

Story from the Brothel

"Nandini, dekho toh", shouted an old, forlorn woman with an unpleasant gait. And the already anxious me had another thousand thoughts gushing in my head. The red sofa on which I was sitting was used beyond repair. And I sat there battling between my thoughts of 'judging' and 'not judging'. After series of emails, research papers, discussions, deliberations with the British Asian Trust, I had got this opportunity, so the prejudices were to be kept at bay. Finally drank the glass of water that was offered to me. Waiting anxiously for Nandini.

"Didi, sorry, subah ka time hai, itne customers hote  hain". "Customers", shut the fuck up, Pallavi. "Kya lenge aap? Coffee, chai, coca-cola". "Nahi, thank you. Kuch bhi nahi". " Arey didi, kuch toh lena  padega, warna bahar jaakar aap sochengi kuch pilaya bhi nahi". "Giggles". "Coffee chal jaaegi".

Nandini is a rescued sex worker. She was sold by her cousin in Kolkata at the age of 15. She worked as a sex worker in Kolkata for 3 years after which she was deported to Delhi. *WORKING as a sex worker is a grossly misfit word. She was enslaved as a sex worker*. She was in the flesh business for 6 years in which she had seen alcoholics, druggies, violent abusers, psychopaths and lovers. She was rescued an year back and was rehabilitated by the British Asian Trust and now runs a ration shop. So the 'Customers' prejudice breathes a sigh of relief. 

Sipping my coffee, I did not know from where to start the conversation. I wanted an honest story without scrapping her wounds. Coffee was sugary, far too much for my palate, this gave me more thinking time to carve my build up to the conversation. "Didi, aap vakeel hai na". "Haan". " Aap prostitution ko legal karwaein". Firstly, I was thankful that Nandini took the plunge and relieved me from the sugary coffee. Secondly, "Prostitution ko legal karwaein". Dude, that's too much knowledge for marginalised and avoided sector to know.

And from here it started. (Rephrasing Nandini's statements in English, the Hindi words are not added in my MS Word dictionary and the red highlight scare me of a typo. *Just a lawyer thing*).

"It's not that this business will shut overnight and victims will be rehabilitated and accepted by society. So whilst in process, legalization of prostitution will atleast give us good living conditions, respite from STDs, free condoms, health check ups, good sanitary conditions. Also once the sector gets the legal status, the middle men abuse will not be predominant. Our taxable incomes will also get us benefits from the government. Right now, even from the government's point view sex workers are a burden and a risky, convulated burden. Once sex workers pay taxes may be the government will be interested to look into their misery and seek solutions".

Three claps. Today, I am extremely proud of my profession and especially those bravehearted lawyers who kept alive the title of 'law of being a noble profession' by educating the marginalised sector of their rights, on pro-bono basis. And also so much respect for Nandini for not being cynical and sadist after whatever she has gone through and blooming like a lotus in a pond of mud and dirt.

Here is Nandini's story.

She was 13 and a virgin. Her virginity was bidded for Rs. 300. A middle aged man, around 40. Brutal and lusty. It was a 20 minute business in which Nandini wasn't even properly undressed. Motive of the 'penetrator', a victory dance of deflowering a young soul. The so called 'first sex' had scarred her so much so that tears didn't stop flowing and goosebumps become more prominent. Because of the brutal act and the shock, Nandini was bed ridden. She cried, howled out of pain, both mental and physical. But brothel has a strict rule, each pain is enjoyed and inflicted with more pain. She was lashed, thrashed, verbally abused. She gave in.

Now that Nandini had lost her virginity she was amongst the lesser mortals in the market. Her bid depended on her 'training'. A 13 year old was forcefully made to watch porn, morning and evening, enact the positions, accentuate her underdeveloped body by wearing threads for clothes. There was a language she had to learn. A language of seduction. A language of be-littling her soul and body. This was a ritual, a daily ritual. And the day she failed her bid test, there was no food. Needless, to say she was in confinement.

She had tried to escape the shackles twice. And burn mark on her left breast and right upper thigh are the medals of her failed courage. For seven days she was kept in confinement. No food but muddy water for survival. For seven days she littered herself in her own urine and faeces.

"Halaat, Didi, halaat, baut kuch sikha dete hain and woh kaam bhi karne padte hain jo galat lagte hain, jinse ghin aati hai".

Over time Nandini had mastered the art of keeping her professional self and her personal self under two different character names  After the sunset,  she was a celebrated prostitute, a tease like no other. During the broad daylight, she was a shadow, gazing out of the window, into the oblivion.

"Kabhi pyaar hua". To which she laughs and turns red. "Ek baar nahi, 2 baar"- definitely not a SRK fan. The first was a DU student, not good to look at, aiming to join the politics. He spoke to her about Bhagat Singh. "Chehre se toh pyaar nahi hua hai, lekin uski baatein lubhati thi". "Badlav ki baatein karta tha, main bhi toh us dorahe par thi".

And....

"And what, he came one day only to say goodbye. Somewhere, I had developed hope of he being my knight in shining armour. He didn't lead me on and didn't make any promise but somewhere I hoped. I confessed my dependence to him. And he gently hugged me and said everyone has to fight his own life battle. I cried for days together but also thanked him to for giving that shadow who gazed out of the window, into the oblivion, a spark".

The second 'love' was a factory worker. A virgin. Shy and scared. They made love and only talked about themselves. About their past. About their likes and dislikes, about food, weather, birds, clothes. There were days that they talked each other to sleep, whilst being in each others arms. And one day he got her a saree and asked her if she will like to marry him. She beamed with joy and said a jubilant 'YES'. But after the joy sunk in, harsh reality struck. Prostitutes don't have husbands, they have customers. Society is cruel and harsh. A world where rape victims are outlawed, prostitutes are repulsed more. But, Harish, oh!, I missed introducing the 'second love', held her tight and let his eyes do the talking. He told her that he loved her. And that's the bottom line.

And now I had tears, tears which kept flowing. "Love is all there is, is all we know of love". These are the love stories which are commendable. The love stories which rose above the ordinary, the stories which are an inspiration, the stories which developed into classics.

Harish, confessed his feelings for Nandini to his factory manager who was more than happy to help. And through word of mouth, British Asian Trust was contacted. A game plan was devised. And on September 13, 2014, Nandini became a rescued sex worker from a sex worker.

"When your determination changes,  every fibre, every nerve in your being, orients itself towards your winning"- Daisaku Ikeda.

For a minute or so Nandini and I looked at each other, tears in our eyes but smiles on our face. So what next. They got married. And Nandini today is 5 months pregnant. 

"Ladka chahiye, ya ladki". " Koi bhi ho, Didi, tandaroost ho aur soorat meri ho (main zyada Sundar hoon) aur himmat Harish ki".

We both smiled. Nandini hugged her belly tight.

So, Nandini, how has life been ?

"Life is battle between ups and downs. Setbacks and victories. But every story mandatarily should have a happy ending. That's why we took birth as humans in the first place. Everyone has a mission attached. We can only have a happy ending if that mission is accomplished and we can only accomplish that mission when we endow ourselves with courage, wisdom and compassion. It's not gonna be easy, there will be failures, but trust me, in the end there will be victory. My mission was to struggle in the flesh business, go through all the tough times , escape and then start a fresh new life. Today I work with many women, some sex workers, some sex workers in their own married life, I inspire them to make their own victory. Today you have come to hear my story, you will narrate it to others, and may be my story will reach that one little Nandini in Kolkata who will understand the difference between a good touch and avbad touch and be courageous enough to take a step and raise her voice when she is wronged."

I hugged Nandini tight with a promise that I will visit her soon. She promised  besan ke ladoo on my next visit.

Two failed relationships, one daughter and a badass woman.

“Commando”, she was called by her father. She belonged to a family of soldiers, who had served the country for generations. Raised with stories of courage and valour, she was taught the spirit of not being defeated, as a way of life. She was raised normally, studied well, participated in school activities, just like any other girl next door.

College came like a breadth of fresh air. The new born freedom and she bloomed. She met a boy and in no time they were in love. You know how of the first love is, boundless, shackle-less and seemingly forever. They wanted a forever mine, forever thine. Her parents disagreed; they found it stupid for 21 year olds to get married. She defined the “commando” in her and decided to move ahead without her parents’ consent. She pictured her life like that in movies, only difference was 6 months and love was out of the window.

And one day her world came crumbling down. The usual husband-wife banter ended in physical abuse injected to her. She slept with bruises and tears drying on her cheeks. Next morning he apologized, wept. They made up. Things were peachy again, so she thought. But it had not even been a week and physical abuse became a daily regime. The reasons, were too many, none which were legit. And on their second marriage anniversary, there was not a single portable thing in the house which was not used by him to lash her. From wipers to, wooden planks to kitchen utensils, everything, just everything. Why didn’t she move out? Ha! The “Commando” in her said she can’t be defeated, she will make it happen. Also, with what face could she walk out, her parents had objected this alliance. She had to fake the bliss of marriage.

One more year passed. The only change this year had was that she was promoted at work and also she was pregnant. He was elated. He promised to change. She for the first time, in the last 3 years, along with the husband and the baby bump went to her parents. Time heals all pains, all bitterness. Parents accepted them with open arms. The “Commando” in her had finally won.

She gave birth to a beautiful girl child. The first promise she made to her daughter was that as a mother she will stand by her daughter in all walks of life. Life was smooth. But one dreaded December evening, the drunken husband came home and started forcing himself on her. She objected, she was tired. The hurt male ego couldn’t take it. And out came the leather belt and the lashes didn’t stop. She again slept with bruises and tears drying on her cheeks. The “Commando” had lost.

Next morning, while feeding her baby, she started dreaming about her daughter going to school, doing brilliantly at all things. And then came a dark glimpse of the abusive father. Motherhood, they say, infuses you with strength that can move mountains. She knew that this was her true “Commando” moment. She decided to walk out. With a braveheart she went to her parents. Not only did they accept her but helped her file for divorce. With unending court proceedings, society smirks and no alimony she was divorced. Her parents encouraged her to take up work and continue with her life.

She bloomed again. Professionally she was not only a pleasure to work with but also someone who cushioned people in times of upheavals. A confident, courageous woman attracts everyone around. She was in love again. She was cautious to move ahead. Her past had made her skeptical. But this man was different. He brought out the best in her. In no time, they were in a relationship. He was not only loved by her parents but even her daughter loved him. He moved in with her and started sharing responsibilities. Life had never been this blissful. And one day she caught him talking to a woman online and the conversation was sexual, to say the least. She confronted him; he confessed. He had been cheating on her all this while. She was shattered. Her world came crumbling down, yet again. This time she didn’t cry because her already shattered heart could not register the pain. She had become numb.

You know life is really cruel at times. She hadn’t done wrong to anyone then why was she God’s hate child? Why was she used and abused by people who moved out of her life without any remorse. She wanted to put a full stop to her life. While all these thoughts jumbled up in her head, she heard her daughter chuckle from the other room. She walked upto her, only to realize that her daughter had taken her first step, all by herself. Motherhood, I tell you. She forgot all her remorse.

She decided to put an end, not to her life but to the past. She settled for a SEMI-COLON.

The “Commando” did lose a few battles but did win the War. The “Commando” had won.

            ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I first met her and got to know of her story, I had gooseflesh. How can someone who had gone through so much in life still hold a smile and joke about how her foundation would always run out because of excessive use for hiding the bruises. I asked her if she had any remorse. To which she replied that till a year back she did. She constantly begrudged life and belittled herself. And then saw the rippling effect of this in her environment. People had labeled her “Bechaari”. She was no “Bechaari”, she was a Commando. She had fought all odds in her life and come out victorious. So if she had to be labeled, it had to be a warrior, a fighter, a commando.

From that day onwards, remorse died and self worth took birth.

I guess, this is what we humans are made of, strength and courage, which can defeat any tough situation.

Thank you, you, for inspiring me.

Why Stories?

I strongly believe that every person is good and wants to do good. It just fear of the unknown/fear of something they don't identify with that makes them do wrong. 

Therefore, it is very necessary to tell Stories. Stories of the changing times, stories of different ideologies, beliefs and perspectives, stories of struggle and compassion, stories of the human underneath the skeleton.

Here, I am gonna tell real life stories, stories which you and I can relate to, stories which actually happened. Stories which are necessarily not meant to preach but atleast inspire us to not put a full stop, to stick to the semi colon. Because no matter, what situation you are going through, someone else is in a worse position, someone who decided to not give up, someone who came out victorious, someone who wants to tell you to fight.

I am a succor for human interaction, I crave for it. Somewhere over the years, I have met these amazing individuals, who had no peachy lives, but who fought and fought hard. This blog is a repository of their Stories. 

This blog celebrates the lives of the people who did not end their life rather introduced a semicolon to their story.