Voice of an empathetic

I am a woman, and I live in a fear of being raped. I live in fear of walking anywhere on my own, not knowing who might be silently watching, or stealthily following behind me. When my head goes to rest on my pillow at night, I fear of our home being broken into, and what they might be looking to steal from me. Riding in a taxi alone has become a trauma in itself, as my mind always wonders who this strange man is, where he might be taking me, and how I can escape from this moving vehicle if I need to. The stats tell me that 1 in every 6 women in India has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape. But we all know that number is far lower than the real one, because so many assaults go unreported. Why ? Because we feel shame. We are often convinced it was our fault. We shouldn’t have drunk so much. We shouldn’t have been wearing that. We shouldn’t have gone back to his flat. And funnily enough, talking about it in detail with a tonne of strangers who often don’t g...

Most of the time you must have noticed I used to complain about my insecurities — the size of my forehead, the size of my nose, the size of my waist. I have treated myself poorly in the past because I could not shake the feeling that I am not good enough. I didn't knew my own worth. I believed that everyone surrounding me was more important, more talented, more valuable. I often thought myself as a bother. I toss the word failure around in my head because it seemed to fit me better than success. However, now there are moments when I force myself to take a step back and look at how much I have grown in the past few years — even the past few months. Even though I feel much more comfortable whining about what a screw up I am, I have to admit that I am proud of myself. I am proud of the person I have become. I have been actively working on myself for a long time. I have tried to become a healthier person. A nicer person. A person with unshakable morals and unstoppable determinati...

There once was a girl that was full of endless dreams. She placed them high upon a shelf and when people she knew and loved would come by she would show them: See my dreams, she would say, I am not sure which way or go or which path to take but I have so many. Many nights she would lie in bed and these dreams would filter through her mind so much that occasionally she would try one on to see how it might fit. Would she be a teacher? A doctor? A vet? A poet? And time went by and years cycled on. Eventually she took hold of one of those dreams and followed it. She fell so far down into the ideal of what she wanted that somewhere along the way she couldn’t remember who she was or what she wanted to be. Light shined on ideas that she had held to be true and formed shadows. She saw that things weren’t always as they seem. And then she became a girl without a dream. She took each one, piece by piece and part by part, and tucked them away. How silly, she would tell the people she k...

"Be neither a conformist nor a rebel, for they are really the same thing. Find your own path and stay on it", advised Paul Vixie. What we think is our nature, is actually a force of habit and Habits have a tenacious hold on us. A conformist will toe the line, with misery in his heart, pain in his eyes, living the life of a docile sheep in the herd. One amongst many, who get tossed and hurt by the shear power of the herd. To conform to already trodden paths and be wary and traumatized of your own unique identity is a squashing and subjugating of your own beacon light...your personal trademark, your own rubber stamp. No one can ever be 'you', for your 'DNA', is peerless and matchless. YOU ARE THE CREATOR'S WONDER. Why do you want to be cowering and hiding like a shy bride, in the shadow of the luminaries? Why should your lamp be a, flickering candle in the vast ocean of light? You are the sun, you are the moon, You are a spectacular, many sp...

Silence Silence can be deafening Blaring and loud It hits the eardrums with ruthless vengeance Silence is ferocious A devil incarnate A spell from Hecate's crossroads Silence can be kill by mutation Gradually pouring venom in tiny doses of non communication Silence is indifferent Never hating or loving Merely disinterested Silence is grapes squeezed into wine Crushed beyond redemption Bitten like nails Silence can be blissful Serene and cloudless As a summer sky in the hills Silence reverberates...

You are not wrong if you object to a new idea, a progressive thought, a free person, a liberal ideology, a tomorrow, a hope, a possibility, a disruption in the everyday babble, a ripple in the stagnant conversation. Your upbringing and the lessons taught to you, render you inept to adapt so soon. We are all victims of this deficiency. We were never taught to unlearn the language that judges, critiques, evaluates and terms you as terms (bitch, mental, retarded, weirdo, feminazi, *, *)  . But you are wrong if you don’t correct yourself. You are accused if you don’t educate yourself of how these constructs and judge sheets, handed to every child from grandparents, parents, teachers, society -are scripted and narrow. How they objectify one, discard another, train another and outcast the ones left. If you don’t stop and correct yourself, your neighbor, your sister, your parents, your industry- then you are wrong. Not mistaken, just wrong.

Have you ever felt a sense of belonging As if a particular thing or person or place Is Yours? They simply come into your periphery And proclaim their belongingness to you A puppy that won't let you be Wagging it's tail and nuzzling your knees? A bench in a leaf showered lonely park Begging you to come and sit on it ? A human who creeps like an evening shadow Right into your being without a qualm? You know what I mean?

It's for the first time in 24 years that I am away from my hometown "PATIALA" during the major festivals we celebrate like "LOHRI". When anyone hear the word Punjab only two things strike their mind - Peg(Alcohol) & Chicken(Non-Veg), but apart from this we have a wide varieties  of cuisines to offer you especially in winters. When the carts on the roadside are piled high with Mustard Greens And you missed the "SAAG" your mother made When the radishes are like white sabres that beckon to be bitten And the carrom seeds(Ajwain) in your parathhas know nothing of cholesterol As the venerable lady drop dollops of white butter atop these beauties You almost reached heaven As the grated carrot is added in the vessel full of milk Only to become Gajrela with nuts added nutrition Life was much simpler as food was comforting There was no fear of faded jeans splitting Smug with some Cardamom or ginger tea in your hands As you nursed the gla...

Dont fret. You will choose your stage and the audience to share your story. Distance teaches you a lot - vulnerability, exposure, fear, strength, brokeness, ecstasy, catharsis ~ you experience life. You also cherish every ounce of sunshine, snow, rain, hug, laugh, spring, autumn, music, poetry, art, fight, cause, care, concern - everything a city has to offer you. You grow into a creation that inspires instrument change. You learn, you grow wise, you realise growing up isn't as important as growing forward and progressively. You become more aware of yourself, your surrounding and your purpose. You shape it continuously, till it addressed the gap and need that irks you. You also learn importance of the minutial of life - everything that you carried with yourself till here and that stays attached to you. You become a process that learns how to chisel and continuously shape your journey. You pause, you halt, you process and you persist. You simply, simplify life ...