Suiciders

The past few days have been hard for a number of people down here. A charming young boy committing suicide ain’t no joke! But in the light of this incident, I learnt a lot. While doing my research and interacting with people real time, I gotta know that reality and truth isn’t always appreciated.

Anyway, keeping all that aside, I’ve got a request to all those out there reading this and trying to get to me indirectly : If you guys have got the guts, speak to me personally instead of taking the aid of people who know me! Thank you!

Now, for those who aren’t aware of my last post : A boy ‘A’ (for discretion),16, committed suicide on 8th of March without stating his reason and now the whole city thinks the education system, teachers and schools are the villains.

To those who think the above statement is true and stuff : I’d like to point out that in the past week THREE students committed suicide in our state. Two of them left notes suggesting they didn’t want to fail in their examinations. They belonged to the Hoshangabad and Sagar district respectively. But A never wrote anything on these lines in his note!

Then we come to a global level. In the past few days 24 students committed suicide (thanks Tejaswi for this piece of information). Not all of them had the same physics teacher who asked them to take tuitions.

But yet, since we probably don’t like the physics teacher we should definitely blame it on him. Just because he’s troubled us a lot by taunting us in class and stuff we MUST blame him and make it hard for him. Since we weren’t allowed to attend the annual sports day because we try to bomb the school, we should blame it on the school. Just because we aren’t selected in the annual torch light display team, we should blame it on the school. Just because we have nothing to do we should blame the education system. Right?

This is a call to those who think they know enough to start banging down doors of the temple of education demanding justice. How are you so sure that the claims made are true? In the last post somewhere I mentioned the possibility of the lad being a drug addict. I mentioned the POSSIBILITY  and those people had ants in their pants, imagine what should be the reaction of the school when the teacher is being ALLEGED of being guilty.

I don’t overrule the possibility of the teacher pressurising the student, but do you think that the boy would commit suicide just before the exam then?

And how would you explain the other kids who killed themselves?

This suicidal apocalypse has a root that must be dug into. The teachers were harsher in the 80’s still our parents respected them. Then why don’t we do so now?

It is true that exposed to the dejection caused by failure doesn’t come to a student before the 10th grade in the current pattern of education by CBSE and that is a good reason why students are committing suicide, but let’s question why in the first place did this system come into force? It was because students of middle school were committing suicide back then!

So why were THEY (the middle school kids) giving up their life? Because the parents were pressurizing them to get good grades! Ha! So it zeros up on the parents now, eh?

Now let’s relate this to the case of A. He never wanted to opt for a science stream. His parents forced him. Parents pressurized him equally. So, if the school WAS pressuring (the physics teacher to be precise) and he’s being held responsible, so the parents should be too!

Anyway, I won’t take A into consideration now as people are getting personal. But I’d like to clarify that in no way am I indifferent to his death. I lament it as much as you do. But that doesn’t mean I start burning effigies and creating unnecessary nuisance!

We are all civilised humans. We need to use our brains instead of our weapons. Rather we must  make our brains the best weapon!

And then, guys (the one’s who say the physics teacher is the only one who’s guilty), you can never corner him legally as poor A is dead and can’t testify. But do you know what you CAN do? Stop making coaching classes your second homes. You guys are promoting business by going to coaching classes. In my opinion, we must STOP taking coaching until we really need it. And even if we DO need it we should stay back and bug our own school teachers to teach us more of the subjects and clear the doubts. Coaching classes are a root to many issues.

Yes I too go to coaching classes and I won’t deny that…I’ll definitely justify myself! But we’ll get to that next time.

Stay smiling, stay civilized! Stay blessed!

Once again, Rest in peace A, you were loved and will be remembered.

PS: Sorry I never knew what to use as the title so I used this.

Love humanity !

 

Thought for the day

Children – the dainty petals with sweetness in every fold;

The angles of joy and happiness untold;

Yes, the very same children we are talking about whom you see begging bare feet, cleaning up benches and washing defiled utensils.

Yes, these are the very children who, on one hand, are called ‘as precious as gold’ and on the other are sold!

The very children we seek about, who go to work every morning

And are blasted in mines without any warnings.DSCN0406.JPG

You murmur, you hear, see and talk about their deprived state..

But do you do anything for their unlit fate?

Maybe it’s time you wake up..

Maybe it’s time you realize enough…

Let’s take a step forward and not just “think” about it!

Let’s help them out with a little effort and bliss !


 

Mates, today I want you to think a bit about the helpless children out there who are being tortured endlessly by means of child labor!

A few minutes of silence for them please ❤

Dedicate at least a few moments in your life helping a child get out of such circumstances – if you get a chance!

Pray for their fate!

Stay blessed! Keep smiling 🙂

 

This post is for you!

This post is for all those amazing daddies out there!

This post is for those men who ain’t just a father but also a dad.

Dedicated to the men who kill their wishes in order to fulfil the outrageous demands of their little ones. Who go without bread in order to satisfy their kids hunger.

Dedicated to the men who return home each night, after a tiring day at the office, and make sure their little one is sound asleep. Who remove their shoes and tip toe into their room just to give them the “promised goodnight kiss”.

Dedicated to the fathers who bear the tortures of their “idiot-useless-and-dumb” boss, just to make sure their angels don’t face the harsh complexities of the weather. Who work hard not for themselves but for their innocent kids.

Dedicated to the daddies who go through thick and thin to ensure their daughter is safe and happy.

Dedicated to the fathers who let their funds go into a Harley, so that his son doesn’t face embarrassment before his friends.

Dedicated to the fathers in the old age home who never knew that the child they sacrificed for would turn into a horrendous wretch.

Dedicated to the fathers who lost their sons and daughters either on the border or in the hands of evil in laws.

Dedicated to the men who could never reap the fruit of fatherhood. Who were deprived of this gift of nature but would have given their heart and soul to be a dad.

Dedicated to the future dads out there, struggling in the hands of the cruel world.

But most importantly!

Dedicated to my papa who’s been there for me always. I know you never say …but you are there! Thank you for everything! And sorry…for the wrongs I’ve done so far!

Love you!

Happy fathers day to all 🙂

PS: I WANNA GO ANNONYMOUS !

Savior – A piece of Fiction!

When I was 11, I was obsessed with action.


Millions of people fought years ago and died years ago. Millions of people did that for us years ago. Many of them became famous as freedom fighters. Bhagat Singh, Lal Bhadur Shastri, and Rani LakshmiBai were some of them. But there were some who never came to be known by us, some who were dedicated to the people, worked for the people but were not by the people. And I know about such a man, a man whose death still haunts me. Maybe because he died because of me.

It took place years ago, when I was just 18 and the whole of India was fighting for freedom. A time when the Indians killed Britishers on sight and the British too did its share of kidnapping Indian women and children. And I too was a woman, a helpless woman whom they had kidnapped. I was thrown into a ship and that was when it started….

Previously, two of their captives had disappeared and the Brits believed that they were rescued. So this time they had put us in the upper deck where only the whites could enter. I looked around at the three other people in the room. One, a kid of about seven, was lying on the bed and looked unconscious to me, another was a woman looking out of the window and the third occupant-a woman -was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and sobbing pitifully. I went to her and put my arms around her to comfort her. But when I tried to speak, I couldn’t. It was hard to choke back tears at this point but I held on. At this precise minute, the door opened and a white man entered the room.

I saw the other two women around me shiver (ok, I was scared too) as the man entered the room. He strode directly towards the kid on the bed, his face determined. Was he going to kill us or were we being handed back to our families in exchange of something? I had no idea what was in store for me. I stared as the man heaved the kid on his shoulder and motioned for us to follow. Noticing a gun in his hand, we complied. Once outside he took us through winding passages in the ship. As time passed, the passages started growing deserted.

After a few minutes, the route he took was totally empty. On a sudden impulse I asked the man, “You’re going to kill us?” as soon as the words were out, I wished I had never spoken .The man stopped and turned towards me. His face sturdy but not cruel. “No” he said in a deep voice. “I’m not going to kill you, or even hurt you, as a matter of fact. But promise me that as soon as I let you out, you’d never turn around or speak to anybody about me. Once you’re out I don’t exist, ok?”

We nodded and I was about to speak when a man’s voice boomed from the rear, “You traitor!”

We all turned around to face a burly Brit. The next thing I knew was that I was being pulled from behind. We were all running and shots rang from behind us. The man led us to a door that opened into a dark hollow. He led us through the narrow path and after about fifteen minutes walk he stopped. We saw a thin streak of light behind us and knew they were not far away. The man brought his mouth near my ears and whispered, “Lead the women and kid through and take the first left. I’ll handle the bastards. Just hurry and don’t make a noise.” I could clearly hear his labored breathing and was reluctant to leave him. How I came to trust him, I don’t know but whatsoever, I followed his orders. Moving cautiously in the dark, I suddenly noticed a light ahead. Moving towards it, I noticed that it was the turning, lit by a lantern. It forked into two, and I took the left and suddenly stopped short as I heard the fire of a bullet. Looking behind me I saw the tension on the other women’s faces too. The one who now carried the child looked on the verge of tears. My own breath was held and after what seemed like ages the voices of the men went away. After what seemed like an eternity, I started walking again but not towards the exit but towards him.

Making my way through the dark with the lantern, I finally heard someone breathing heavily and my leg hit something. Bending down I realized it was none other than the man. Placing the lantern down I noticed his bleeding stomach and knew that he was shot. I was so frantic that all I could do was ask why?

And to this monosyllable he answered, “I lost my loved one in their hands and didn’t want your lovers to experience the same. I knew it was wrong, that we’re wrong. It was the least I could do.” And with that he left the world but his memories never left me. Many wouldn’t consider this meeting as being a friendly one but for me that single meeting was enough and I knew that he was my friend, my savior…….

A Villain with a Heart

I wrote it when I was 11 !!


My eyes misted as I clapped for my son who marched up the stage to accept his medal. I was really proud for the deeds my son had done as a military commander for the country but the cause of my tears was the memory of a friend, Jackhans_7507

Jack was an excellent shooter and a famous (in the underworld) personality. How did we meet? Well, he saved my life.

It was a chilly morning of December when I was walking down the Eve Street, unaware of the danger in store. The locality was deserted and except me there were only a couple of other peoplea young man and an old womanon the street. Everything was quiet when suddenly a shot rang out, shattering the stillness. In an instant the young man had his gun out, aimed at the old women. The woman, surprisingly, lost her limpness and ran for cover behind a wall (and she too had a gun) – she turned out to be a man. I shrieked as someone grabbed me from behind and blindfolded me. I was carried in, perhaps, a car to some musty place, which turned out to be the dungeons of the Webster House. My blinds were removed but my hands and feet were securely tied and then I was thrown in one of the
cells.

Sweat poured through my body, all sorts of thoughts passing my mind. I looked around myself and found to my surprise that there were a dozen more people in the vault, all unconscious. They were all VIPs (except a couple of girls who were simple citizens like me)relations of different ministers whom I knew by faces .For a minute I felt honored to meet such people but then again the thoughts of the gangsters filled my head. Otherwise, the room vault was completely bare and was illuminated by the glow of the only light bulb present there. I tried to wriggle out of my bonds but they were tied quite professionally. At that moment the metallic door opened to reveal a lot of rogues.

They were all dressed in black and were carrying AK-47s in their shoulder holsters. I got scared when they started towards me but they didn’t even seem to notice me and passed on. They carried the unconscious figures of the VIPs out one by one and closed the door. Now there were only three of us left in the cell- the two, partially conscious, girls and myself. Once they were fully recovered I tried to talk them into telling me what the whole affair was about but they were too scared to utter a single word.

After a few hours of silence, there came a grating sound and the door opened. In came a man, closing the door behind him. He was dressed fully in black like all other thugs; he advanced towards me with a sharp knife gleaming in his hand. I screamed with fright assuming that he was planning to kill me. The man gave me a sharp look with a finger on his lips; I understood that I had to be quiet. When he came a little closer, I gasped in recognition- he was none other than the underworld face whose picture was on the wanted list of criminals on the papers, famous by the name of the Jackal.

He walked up to me with the sharp blade, and with one stroke of his arm…

I closed my eyes, waiting for death to come but instead I felt the grips of ropes loosen around my wrists. I slowly reopened my eyes and gazed at him who was setting the other girls free. My mind still wasn’t ready to accept what was happening, I was sure that he was going to assassinate me but my heart opposed it as his eyes showed concern though he appeared to be ruthless.

The man motioned us all to sit and said, “The doors are heavily guarded at present. It’ll be easier to get out at noon, the guards at that shift are easier to handle.” I sat close to him and asked in a hesitating manner, “Aren’t you the-“

“Jackal, yeah!” he said interrupting me. I sat quietly waiting for an explanation but when none came I again inquired, “What’s going on here and how come you saving lives instead destroying…I…please, no offence or anything intended.”

“None taken. And about your question, the whole thing’s this- these people are an international group of terrorists, want money and their dangerous fellas set free from the clutches of the police. They’re holding important people as hostages. And about why I’m helpin’ you’ll- it’s a long story but in short” he sighed “my sister, the only one I’ve ever had to call a family, was abducted and was brutally murdered by a group of outlaws”, for a moment his eyes were filled with misery and sorrow but in no time, he regained his ruthless attitude and resumed, “I can’t see innocent children and women killed and I came forward. And my reputation helped me to gain the terrorists trust, so here I am.”

“So you mean to say that you entered as a terrorist but are actually working for the government?”

“Not. For. The government.” He said this slowly yet furiously. “I told you how much I cared for my sister Laura. When she was in danger I was not there to save her; and I find… peace on saving the innocent. And the government is actually after me, ‘cause I’m a wanted criminal, am I not?”

A criminal saving women and children, weird.

I sat for a while, looking at the man and then extended my hand, “I’m Jane Maria Christie.” He gave a quick two fingered salute saying, “Jack Sullivan”

After a sleepy hour or so, Jack stood up, asking us to do the same. “Now, follow me and remember-if there are any shootouts, stick to the ground. Clear?” We all nodded.

With gesturing to be quiet, he moved out of the door with all of us tailing him. After turning a corner we followed him at a brisk pace towards the door, but Jack came to an abrupt stop and to our horror, we were face to face with one of the assassins.

He, at first ignored our expression and gave Jack a friendly smile and extended his palm, asking for a pass. From Jack’s expression it was clear that he wasn’t expecting anything of this sort. When Jack was unable to provide him with what he wanted, his expression became grave. He looked first at Jack and then at us, and at once took out his gun. Then there was quite a lot of shooting between a few terrorists and Jack. As instructed, we went down on our bellies and crawled all the way to the door.

“Run, run for your lives, go to gate 4, hurry” came the orders from the wounded Jack as he was still blocking the door so that the terrorists couldn’t follow us. Unwillingly, we left him to fight for himself and ran out. Whatsoever, we were being followed by a couple of gangsters. Once outside, we saw that the atmosphere was tense as if preparing for a war. We saw on a city map displayed on a board that gate 4 was a military base and was not too far from where we were standing. We ran at top speed, stopping only once to catch our breath. We finally reached the base (where one of my companions fainted out of tiredness) where noticing our conditions, we were carried inside.

In a week, we came to know that the terrorists were under control-all because of our army-and the VIPs were located.

The next morning’s paper showed that several of the gangsters were found dead on the door of the Webster House (I knew it was Jack’s work). It also explained that the army men were under cover, patrolling the city (like the old woman who turned out to be a man) and it even revealed that the Jackal was found dead too, outside the dungeons.

Every one still thinks that he was a companion of the terrorists. No one knows the truth about the daring hero. Now, 20 yrs have passed but the incident is still fresh in my mind. I’m really happy to think that I got a chance to know such a great person who gave up his life just for three citizens whom he didn’t even know. This was not exactly a friendly meeting but to me he would always be a friend-a savior.

There are many villains in this world, but this one was different …he was a villain with a heart.