Mirror Mirror on the Wall

I am from Vijayawada(That implies I watch many movies!)
Point is,When you ask a director, he says his inspirations are the real life characters, After all the media is a reflection of the society they say.. Or is it the other way round?
A lot of debate about Raanjhnaa spurred along the past few months, citing women empowerment how cultural barricades are closing our minds to the free open lifestyle, when a male protagonist is a stalker and also the narrator, the director missed the point that this colours the act of stalking to compel the audience to sympathise with him, thus making his actions ok.. Once they are OK, even for a few, doesn't that send the wrong message through the stratas of the society. Fine! Moving on,Chennai Express, the highest grosser they say, isn't that just humour veiling cultural stereotyping? How many in the South drink, Coconut mein Lassi mila ke? Its as if men there do not wear trousers at all,meaning everyone dons a lungi. Fine the movie is only for 3 hours,laugh and leave then why a game, to perpetuate the effect, huh??! Fine, moving on..

Bangalore exodus and the Muzzaffarnagar incidents recently they all have had one thing in common,the politicians blaming the social media for flaring up the issues! Whether it is a blame or it is the true thing,god knows! But when media can be a weapon that destroys, we have to remember, it can also be a pen that constructs the impossible! The Delhi rape case,got so much of an attention, well.. apart from being outright brutal and happening in a public place, eventually killing the victim, the social media played a very important role in spurring the much needed wake up call to the society! 
What is it to some cities,even diplomatic relations of billions of dollars for some huge countries like Iran are fluctuating in few hours and days because of Social Media, as it is a symbol of openness.

Definitely,what constructs can have the same or even more immense capacity to destroy..
May be it is time schools stop giving a debate topic of 'Is TV a boon or a bane?',only to start 'Is social Media a boon or bane'.. 

The medium changes, but there will always be a mirror that shows us what we are.. To correct ourselves,shunning it will cost the self and not the mirror! If we turn out to be so arrogant and ignorant enough to not heed to  the voice that faces us toward the mirror,then who can save us? Nothing can equal the Media as a friend to the society.. To correct the self or to ignore it is only a moot choice. Because we all beleive that betterment is the only way for tomorrow. As inconclusive as this may be, one thing is for sure.. One reflects the other,the main question remains. Are we ready to learn, or are we still with the quetching or flaunting it as art?!

Aspire..

"Hey,look for the green file in the lobby, I am getting really late for the class.." She opened the cupboard, to check for the file there. She knew that the chances of finding it there are really thin, the top drawer,which was not opened for the last few months since her uncle passed away, she did not want to lose even the thinnest of chance to find it, for, she was really getting late. She always used those hand-made files from the SHG she worked for, beautiful as they seemed and also a little something to help the others. She was groping the top drawer for the file,when a roll of paper, as thick as a parchment fell down. To her surprise, it was addressed to her.. Unfolding, she started reading it, it was from her uncle, her father's brother, who was her guardian since long..


" 10th September 2007,
I might be dead long before you read this. But you should know,I was dead. Since yesterday. The day your parents died in the flyover collapse. Even as I wipe my tears off, anger, frustration and self hatred are brimming upon me! I always wanted to tell this to you,but I think it weighed too heavy on me that the chances are, you might hate me.. You are the only ray of hope left for me to move towards forgiving myself, and I did not want to lose that. The truth is, I am responsible for debasing myself,I was corrupt. And that pain anchors heavily on me. It all came back rushing to me when you scarpered, tears rolling down your cheeks, from the tragic scene where your parents lay numb. You knew they were not going to get back to you ever. When I got the contract of the flyover,I got it because I was bribing.Not because I was efficient, not because I was the most suitable for the job. Not because I deserved it. I bribed the officer. When he did not knuckle under, I used the kin force. I gained a lot of money, with which I sent my son to the US.. I was happy. But it shortlived. How the hell did I know that one day, my brother, and his wife, sincere and true to heart teachers as they were, would lay dying under the collapsed flyover? Leaving you an orphan, under the preview of a corrupt guardian such as me..They only left me a life full of remorse. I could not share this with you earlier. I can not bear the feeling that you would see me as the murderer who took your family away from you. But it is my responsibility that I should keep you informed, even from beyond! The day you came to stay with me forever, is the day I realized how gruesome a life I was leading. I stopped contracts. I was a bigger person from then on. I know that this is not the appropriate way of letting you know that your parents' murderer,has been your guardian all along.But,against all the odds,I hope somewhere,sometime down the lane,you can forgive me. I think somewhere deep down I know I would not be able to look directly into your eyes filled with hatred, no.. not even on my death bed, and that is  why this letter. I hope the blotches of tears will not vitiate what I wanted to say. I now know the cost of corruption. You know that my good wishes will always be with you.
Love,
Uncle (If you can still call me that)"


A letter, a piece of paper has changed all that has happened to her, her whole life, all that she has believed in.It was from that person who taught her that 'Life is beautiful'. But it turns out,Life is clasped tight in the many paths you have to choose, which path you take, which color you apply to make it beautiful, is totally in your hands.

Puffy-eyed, she thought of the last time she saw her parents, through the balcony when they were going to get her the Harry Potter book she has been nagging them to buy.They never returned. She walked up and down the hallway, clutching the letter tight. On hearing the loud footsteps, she looked up and on seeing him at a distance, a faint smile appeared on her face.As he walked closer to her, she gained some strength she lost in the last few minutes. He sat next to her, gave her the file and asked her what the matter was. She shook her head, gesturing everything was fine.Its her husband. Yeah, everything is going to be fine. She knows,though not at the moment, she is going to forgive her uncle, after all, he died of remorse, she is a bigger person than he was,now, she has a husband who is a social worker, who never in his living nightmare,would offer anyone a penny to bribe. She is a teacher, and works with the Self help groups. She is on the right side of the coin. She clutched the file, and took steps towards the school, as she knows, somewhere down the lane, she will influence at-least one person to stick to morale and be truly humane all life long. She knows, her job is what moulds the future, she knows that what she is doing is what is going to save more people from getting victimized. She can pay back to the society for what her uncle did. She was sitting in a corner, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the ends of her sari. Life goes on, but only towards a better tomorrow..

The delicate rhythm of a boatman’s song

His eyes had a glitter of glee and celebration, the bicycle sped past the village temple, the aarthi was going on and devotees were singing the bhajans, usually he would have stopped to have put the tilak on his forehead before he went home, but today all that was echoing in his ears was the rhythm of the boatman’s song. Screeching halt infront of a magnificent household, the 6 year old carefully placed the cycle in the shed,he ran towards the house. He was excited as this was his first time alone in the village on the cycle. He rushed inside, saw his aunt sitting in the verandah, panting and all puffed up started singing the song he heard by the river, it was about the river itself and how it flows, like life.. 


“I went to the river all by myself aunty! All by myself! I am all grown up! I was playing near the mango tree, by the school, the fisherman was singing this song while getting his net ready.”

“Oh, so it is a boatman’s song huh?”


“Yes aunty, he told me all about fishing, casting the net and the baits. Then his children came from the school. We played hide and seek, they bought me an ice-gola. I promised that I ll come to play with them every day.”


“So you played with those kids? Go take bath before you enter the house. They are not good kids. You are never going to play with them again.”


“But aunty! They were very nice to me. We had a lot of fun. I promised them. Why shouldn’t I play with them?”


“They are bad kids. They go to a bad school where they teach everything wrong. You should not touch them and you are not going to play with them. Now stop asking me more questions, go take bath now!”


His eyes fell, excitement drained, he left to take bath, that night when his mom asked him to come to dinner, there was one question gnawing his nous.


“Mummy! Aunty said the boatman’s kids went to a bad school and that everything they say is wrong! But I saw mummy, their teacher, like ours, also told them that 2 plus 5 is 7. Why is it that I should not play with them?”


The only answer he got was a pat on the head and a sigh.. He did not get the answer for years, and after he knew the answer, he never felt a rush of excitement seeing the river. It saddens him that he could never play with those kids again.


But he could never stop admiring the delicate rhythm of the boatman’s song.