It's Paradise

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Trust me...its paradise; This is where the hungry come to feed, For mine is the generation that circles the globe in search of something that we've never tried before; So never refuse an invitation, Never resist the unfamiliar, Never fail to be polite, Never outstay your welcome. Just keep your mind open and suck in the experience And if it hurts, its probably worth it. You hope and u dream But u never believe something's gonna happen to you, Not like it does in the movies; And when it actually does You expect it to feel different More visceral, more real I'm waiting for it to hit me... Of course, this is not my creation... but what the heck??? Who says you can share only your creations with the....

This Week That Year

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11th July, 2006 - A very normal day at work. Infact, the reporters heaved a sigh of relief after reporting about the incessant rains in Mumbai. It was one of those rare days when we were blessed with time to have a proper lunch at a proper time. Everything seemed so nice, so smooth, so normal... completely unaware of the existence of some 11 people who were planning something... something huge, big and explosive. Within minutes, seven bombs ripped apart different trains on the Western line in Mumbai, killing more than 200 people, injuring thousands of them and shattering millions who lived in the city. The first image that comes to my mind when I think of that day is the helpless look on the faces of the people. Faces that were looking for different answers - Who did it" How many must have been killed"....

Search for Azhar...

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"He loved trains...", says Dara Mody, with a half smile on his face, recalling what his son liked the most, "...my father and my grandfather both worked for railways... Azhar too wanted to join railways... but I wanted him to join army. He was a tall boy you see... but that wasn't meant to be..." he signs off weeping inconsolably. Dara and Rupa Mody alongwith their two children, son Azhar and daughter Benafiya, lived in Gulbarg Society, Ahmedabad. Azhar loved travelling in train and visiting Mumbai.. especially the sea...and like every other boy loved playing Cricket. He loved teasing his sister Benafiya... and the thing he hated the most was - homework. You see, he wasn't exactly interested in studying and loved doing everything except picking up his textbook... Inspite of that was immensely loved by his father, mother and sister.... 28th February 2002 was just another day....

Malnutrition Knocking...

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A fortnight ago, I was down in bed with high fever and low blood pressure. Doctors blamed it on exertion and irregular food intake. But no matter how much I hated being teased 'sick' by my brother, the illness gave me an opportunity to getting pampered from my mum. So on my road to recovery, I was fed with the best nutritious food, fruit chats, juices and dal khichdi. In less than five days, I was back on my feet... ready to go back to work... So finally I returned to work after five days... after relishing some good food and care. But the moment I reached office, I was asked to rush to Ghatkopar, where 11 children had been admitted to Rajawadi Hospital under suspected malnutrition. We reached the hospital but the authorities at this BMC run hospital denied entry to our camera. So the story fell....

Saffronizing Dang

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Jayaram was seven years old, when malaria struck him. Living in a remote adivasi village in Dang, which hardly even had drinking water to boast about, there was no help available at hand. With his father, away at a sugar factory in Maharashtra, his mother had no clue what to do. So there lay Jayaram, with not a sign of recovery for entire one week. Forget medicines, there wasn't even morsel to eat. Jayaram's mother was already thinking how will she inform her husband about Jayaram's death. But before the death came, a christian priest walked in. He had fruits, medicines and a Bible. The medicines and fruits cured Jayaram. And the priest got a special place in their hut. This priest stayed on for five years and started a small health care centre and a missionary school in this village. But as they say, nothing comes free....

My conversation with God

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(G: GOD himself and M: myself) God has a mobile phone up there....and he has stored my number. M: Hello... G: Now, what happened? M: I am very angry with you... Why do have to make things that I don't like? Or why don't you use your magical powers of making me invisible when Sapta is looking for a bakra to get 'vox-pops'. G: What is this 'vox-pops'? M: arre...you don't know?? The term vox-pop comes from Latin phrase vox populi, meaning 'voice of the people'. G: My dear, the way you hated Math in school, I hated Latin. The way you don't know what is eight times seven today, I don't know what is vox-pop.... But so what about it? M: Well, I feel like a beggar when I have to go asking people on the road for their opinions......

Gujarat's Asmita? Ohh... really???

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February 2002, Ahmedabad: I was preparing for my final exams for that degree that hardly matters now. The exams were to start from March 15. More than studying during that study-leave, I was dreaming about my holidays... where would it be this time? Mountains or beach? But before I could decide, channels flashed the news of S-6 of Sabarmati Express set on fire... More than 50 ramsevaks dead, including women and children... Honestly, I was unaware of the magnitude of the massacre that day. Soon news trickled in that Vishwa Hindu Parishad had called for a Gujarat Bandh. And before I could digest the news that kept flowing after that, I soon realised I had developed a serious indigestion, something that I have yet to recover from. In days to follow, Muslims were set on fire, butchered, raped, abused, humiliated, tortured, killed, disposed, buried... and forgotten. But it was the....