BA: #IAMCapable

This is about me. I am 31 and I do not want to hide my real age. I am happy about what I am, who I am and the way I am.

I have a Phoenix Tattoo in the nape of my neck from 2010 which summarizes my life.

In 2006, I met with a bike accident and severed my right hand. I was in the hospital for a year and one more year at home undergoing physiotherapy. I went through 19 surgeries on my right hand alone. Thanks to my doctors and the support of my family that I have a 99% functional hand,.

I cant move my wrist meaning, I can’t throttle/accelerate a bike. My hand has a visible scar till my elbow, it looks like a burnt injury.

Well, I can paint, quill, type, cook and everything that supposedly a woman should do. I look fairly good too. I fall under the cute category.

I lost two years of my education, I tried writing my exams with a writer but Engineering exams can’t be given orally, so I badly flunked and lost one more year. Then, I decided to give it up & start working with just a qualification of a Diploma.

First look of what my extended family thought about me

Just after my accident, one my mom’s aunt, who is about 75 now was talking to me in discretion

“Dee, you met with this accident and got this this thing (she said it like my hand was a pest), you have no qualification, your parents had to shell out all of their savings for you. You are just a burden on them. You can’t even work. The only thing you can do I sell yourself to fend for yourself”

I was shocked. How can my own aunt think like this, didn’t she see the pain I went through?

I did cry, I was vulnerable, but I decided to show her that I am much more than my body alone. Today, I am much better than any of her “uninjured” burdens.

Second instance of what the society wants in a girl

Obviously, after an age my parents started searching for suitable grooms for me. 

They started when I was 23. It took them 7 years to find a suitable husband for me.

I have met a million guys in this arranged marriage thing. But, I have got rejected my so many on my injured hand’s pretext.

I was by qualified now, I did my Grad and my Masters but men wanted a “perfect” looking girl. My nature, my education, my background, my experience, nothing mattered. I have had sentences from guys & their family saying

“Our son is perfect, we want a perfect girl” (What does a perfect girl mean?)
"Actually, I am not really comfortable with that kind of a scary looking hand" (Scary? Do you see ghosts coming out of it?)

People who wanted to “help” my parents to find me a guy sent profiles of guys who were very “differently abled” mentally & physically.

My question: Would these people do the same for their daughters? No, they won’t. Then why me?

I have been advised to go for a "cosmetic surgery" by people, which frankly I didn't want to. I am comfortable with the scar. Why should I change?
But on insistence by my family who were pressured by external factors, I did go for a consultation and to my relief, the doctor said its better not to go for a surgery since it won't really show a significant change.

These two scenarios are just a gist of what people have said and done. There is much more to it, that can fill a whole book.

I had my simple conditions,

I will marry a man who will accept me the way I am, with my scars

I will marry a guy who is equally educated as I am.

I shall not cover my hand for anyone. I am proud of what happened. I am proud of what I went through. I am proud that I came out strong & bubbly. I am proud of all my achievements.

Haters will hate.

Today, I can easily defy, whoever said harsh, heartbreaking things to me. I work to earn my living. I travel the world. I take care of my parents & they are proud of me. I live a decently luxurious life. I am pretty & famous in my own way. I am married to an amazing guy into an equally amazing family.

I am what I am because I didn’t give up believing that I am the best. 

Whatever happened, happened because it was meant to happen. 

I did, lose my patience, I did breakdown, I have cried many nights but in heart of hearts I know that my accident has made me strong emotionally and mentally.

Not just experience, but even statistics say the same. Take a look at some of the startling figures that the Nihar Naturals #IAmCapable survey conducted by Nielsen India reveals:

a. 69% of men agree that their judgement of women is based on their looks.

b. 64% of women agree that the judgments passed on them have affected their ability to reach their true potential.

c. 70%of women agree that majority of judgments on women are from family members or friends rather than strangers.

d. 72% of women agree that working women face more judgments on their looks or their clothes than housewives.

“I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”

BA - #LoveAndLaughter Our Story

Ours is a typical arranged marriage.
Our parents surfed and scouted matrimony sites, found us suitable and contacted each other.
Then our horoscopes were matched, they matched very well it seems.
Our email id's were exchanged.
And that's how it started

My version:
I initiated the email, yesI was rude and to the point, in fact I sent my first email with pointers (ridiculous ain't it), and his reply was "I feel I am clicking the "I Agree" button on a website. That made me grin & I was at work in Mumbai with a stupid grin pasted on my face. I started liking him on his reply itself.
We started chatting, then exchanged numbers. We met. He proposed on his birthday & the morning of the day we were to be engaged
He loves to talk, and has a superb sense of humor,  (that is some quality I totally love in a man)
We are total opposites,

He says:

Mine is a short story because she stole what I wrote and made it her story. I am now left with very little original story to write! Would strongly recommend reading her version first and if you are still jobless continuing with this :)
Given that Laziness is a quality in me that I am really proud of, choosing the arranged marriage route and outsourcing the work of finding a girl to my parents was a natural choice. But I had severely underestimated the amount of work required to get a Yes out of a girl (actually it's infinitely more difficult to get a Yes out of her astrologer in the first place).
Dee played the role of “hard to get” girl to the T. 
Can't forget her first mail which had a long list of confusing terms and conditions and an "I agree" button at the end. But my friends, most of whom are married, by now have taught me well - scrolled down directly and hit the "I agree" button and from then started an eventful journey of long distance courtship, Mumbai visits and endless saree shopping (Should have read the terms more carefully)

It's been a fun time discovering each other.
We make an odd pair -
She is an eternal optimist who is as romantic as a princess out of a Disney movie - breaking in to song and dance sequences just like one of their musicals (albeit the songs are more localized to cater to her Mumbaikar tastes) while me an eternal pessimist having a very dim view about all these things.
Should really credit Dee for being understanding and working around my sarcasm and dumb jokes and still managing to love me the way she does!
Jokes aside, it’s been one awesome journey yet, one filled with fun, fights, flights and silliness! Over this period, I have had my opinion about Dee change from one with whom I have to grudgingly share my Internet Connection To someone, at the cost of sounding cliched, who I know is a great partner in this journey of life, having fun and growing old together!


Will take a moment now to thank the proud sponsors of our Long Distance Relationship: Whatsapp, Vodafone, Go Air, Various Matrimony websites and the two astrologers who finally agreed on the horoscopes matching!

Even this, his version of our relationship made me smile, he still has that effect on me after more than a year

“This post is a part of #LoveAndLaughter activity at BlogAdda in association with Caratlane.”

WOW: No One Knew

There is a good side & a bad side of everyone. People out there have seen a stupid, silly, dumb, mean me. Not many people know that there is a side of me which sympathizes with people who feel like committing suicide.
Because I have been through the feeling of being alone, having no hope, losing all what you had, all what you have worked for in the matter of seconds.
The feeling when you just want to end life, thinking that is what is the answer for all the problems.
Then, I started a blog and had something to pour out my feelings to.

Now, Im successful, happy, loved by everyone.
Not all are as lucky as I am.

My post is number 9th in the list

People try to kill themselves for gravest reasons to reasons as silly as "not able to see their favorite TV channel"

Nobody knows that I am a volunteer at the anti-suicide helpline & I work in a different identity.
It feels good when after months or years you get an email from someone whom you spoke to, thanking you for stopping them from killing themselves.

Its been more than 3 years, that I have stopped my "helpline" work. But, when I did, it gave me an immese satisfaction.

The feeling you get, to bring smile to a stranger who doesn't know who you are is priceless

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

WOW: Inspiration

I was inspired to follow my dreams.
I went behind following it
And fell from the balcony
Then I realized I was sleep-walking

Sent from the hospital with a few fractures here and there

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

BA-SS: I don't want to hide

I saw the gruesome video of the teenage girl being molested in Guwahati and saw her pictures being shared on Facebook, that video squeezed my heart so much so that I felt those hands on me. It brought goose bumps to me.

PC: www.indiandramaqueen.blogspot.com

Why? Maybe because I and every girl like me have seen it and faced it, gone through it

I have been reading every article I can get my hands on about that case, and all I can see is how shoddy our legal system is and how insensitive our media can be.

No one did think about how that girl would have felt, something inside her would have died.

Her confidence would have gone for a toss.

I know people would want juicy details but can anyone imagine how that little girl must have felt when she was groped, touched, rubbed, fondled, beaten, burnt with cigarette butts.

In a video I saw, the media guy actually had the audacity to ask the girl who just went through hell, a heart wrenching question "How did you feel when this happened to you?" what the hell does he expect she was a little teenage kid who in her own way was happy, confident, sweet like any college going kid.

There was an article I read about in a news site.

 In the comments section an insensitive jerk of a man commented "what was the girl doing outside a pub at that time, how can she wear such a short skirt, I would never allow my daughters to do this.

This girl deserves it. It will teach every girl a lesson of how and when to go out"

I so wanted to strip this guy and castrate him right there and maybe stone pelt him..

Men out there do not just molest women in skirts or late nights.

It happens to any woman in skirt, jeans, salwar, and saree on even burkha at any time, even in broad daylight

An act of sexual violence may look small to the outside eyes, but it tarnishes a little self-esteem of a woman and the scars just remain there like an ugly wound.

Every time a girl speaks out, she is bombarded with questions

What did you do to cause this?

What were you wearing?

Why were you alone?

It was stupid of you to take the risk. Why does it happen to you only?

Where did they touch you?

Why don’t you wear, walk, live, study safer?

After a while the advice,” its good nothing more happened and it just a bad dream, forget it”

Forget it? How? It happened to me...It killed me...It destroyed my faith

How many times I have hid inside shops, got into strange buildings, and changed my daily routes and timings just to avoid vulgar stares or lewd comments or lecherous men in bikes and cars following me.

Why do I have custom myself

Why can’t the men respect women...

Would they do this to their mothers and sisters?

What gives them that guts to touch any woman and get away with it?

No Answers..

When I am writing this I was in a ladies compartment in a train...I looked around. I had tears in my eyes. I narrated the reason of my tears...after 10mins I noticed tears in few other eyes and gruesome, horrifying stories coming from every woman out there, and the age of the woman or her background was irrelevant then...the only thing that she was a WOMAN

3WW: Crime

She was a single girl in a new city

She loved to merry & party

She saw this lovely little dress in a store

She brought it, and loved what she wore

He saw her with a menacing greed

Her nubile flesh he wanted to feed

He wanted a chance to get her alone

In the lift, she was on the phone

As it moved, he became all violent & rampant

Her screams turned into agonizing moans

Her virginity was a history

He unraveled her like crazy mystery

He dressed and walked off like nothing happened

Little did he realize that, her state was worst than he would have ever imagined.

She called for help to people known & unknown

The said "Look at that dress, look at that drink, look at that lipstick"

She is a slut, she deserves to be thrown

His justification to himself was

She was alone & she looked at me

She wanted it, I gave it to her & set her free

This post is to all the men who think that women who are single and party and wear cute dresses are inviting you to them. 

No, they aren't.

 Keep your pants up. Respect Women for what they are. 

Someday, if someone does this to someone you love, you wont be justifying his actions

WOW: That Gruesome Day

There is one image I cannot get out of my head ever in my life.

Well, there is this little story I really want to share.

I had to get a medical test done for some Government thingy, and it had to be done by Govt run hospitals only.
And, being new in this city, I knew only two Govt hospitals. The first one I ran from pillar to post and didn't get my work done.
And the second Govt hospital is the one, I swore to God I would never go back again and also prayed that no one should ever go to this kind of place again even if that person happens to be my sworn enemy.

Well, if you want to know what gruesome is, please visit the "Burns Ward' of a Govt hospital. The sight will want you to thank god and your parents to bless you.

In toto, of 5 beds in the ward with badly burnt human bodies, a flimsy net with holes covering them. Other about 60% odd burnt human bodies lying on the floor, with their relatives fanning off the insects from over them. Rats running around the ward that is supposed to be quarantined and speck clean. Chipping walls, that acrid stench of damp walls, flesh, sweat and medicines would make you cringe.
After, you pass this ward and come out, that is another sight that would make you want to either cry or run off as fast and as far as possible.

A man with an amputated bleeding hand plastered in rags, a crying baby in its mothers arms, all lying outside the hospital under scorching sun waiting for someone from the hospital to attend to them.

This is the plight of the poor of this country, free-run hospitals are least bothered about the people, their health or anything. I wonder, where do the tax-payers money go.

Got Published in Write Over Weekend - August 9th

I wonder, what is the point of the doctors taking an oath to save peoples lives. i wonder, what happen to basic humanity. I just wonder..

Oh, in the end of all of that I did not get my work done, because the doctor did not turn up.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Got Published in Write Over Weekend - August 9th

WOW: Is it a dream?

I shifted into a new house, that has a pretty garden and nice beautiful attic. I plan to convert the Attic into a reading room, and I have in mind the perfect old blue sofa with soft fabric, already lying in the attic. It will give a Victorian feel to the reading room.

Wait a minute? What is this behind the sofa, a diary?

Oh my God, its dated in the 1800's, Wow!
This is treasure.

I have to read this, *opens the book* and FLASH

Where am I?

Who is this? Why does it look like me/ And What am I wearing?

Tailed waistcoat? and super fine china? I can't afford that?

Something is surely wrong here? *closes book*

Still sitting in the attic, thinking *Was this my dream? Or was that book a Time Machine*

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Got featured on Write Over Weekend - August 2nd

#MemoriesofMotherhood : Whats in the name?

“I am sharing my #MemoriesOfMotherhood with Bio Oil and BlogAdda. This Mother’s Day check out the Yummy Mummy calendar and  make a similar calendar of your own using the Bio Oil App.”

I have a son and a daughter, now my son is 24 and my daughter is 30 and married.

When my son was about 3 or 4, he had this dry skin issues, and a homeopathic doctor suggested "Radha face oil" to be applied every night

That oil used to smell bad, and my son used to run away from it.

He used to say “You are after me for Radha face oil, so from today your name is Radha oil”

For months, I was called “Radha oil”, my daughter followed the suit of calling me “Radha oil”

That name stayed.

Slowly, “radha oil” changed to “Oil”

The word “Amma” was uttered only when they had to inform me something. But, when my kids came to cuddle or shower their love I was called “Oil”

Then over the years  “Oil” became “O-yal”

All my relatives, friends, their friends knew who “O-Yal” was, I am not sure how many people know the story behind it

When they are in a playful mood ‘O-Yal” becomes “Yal” and L is stressed.

Every birthday card, Anniversary card, its always Love you O-Yal and Appa.

Like every mother, I have the dream of seeing my daughter as a bride, I see her wearing nine yards, looking like a princess, I have tears in my eyes,

I felt a hand holding my hand, it was my son saying “O-yal, I am with you, I will always take care of you”

My daughter turns to me with a smile on her face, excuses herself from the ceremony, sprints to me in that outfit and says “O-yal, I am still your little girl, I am going to call you every day and make my kids call you O-yal  too”

Now, my son is away to another country, my daughter is married and moved away, though they make it a point to call me every day.  

I still miss their loud, brash “Yallllll, I am home”

I miss them running to me when I am back from work calling “Ohhhh-Yal”

For every mother her kids are the best.

I am no different,

For me my 2 kids, are my 2 heart and my soul

And I am still called ‘O-yal” and I love it