Wrath of Death : Road Accidents

India is a great nation where I'm guessing human lives aren't as important as the 'cultures' or the 'everyday protests' against simple issues of women's clothing or a celebrity couple kissing or hugging onscreen. A life just isn't valued. A general sarcastic line of thought is that, given the population of this country, a loss in that count doesn't really matter. We read about it in the papers everyday, happening to someone, somewhere in the city/country. But the intensity strikes only when it happens to someone we know personally.

 I have seen two deaths in the gap of only over four or five months. One, a personal friend with whom I studied with up until my tenth grade. Till date, the image I have of him in my head is that of a smiling one. His was a hit and run case. The lorry driver who hit him riding the pillion did not even bother to stop and see what he had done. The second was that of my close relative who passed away only yesterday after he skid and fell off one of the huge mounds of earth that was dug out for some reason, in the city of Chennai. It saddens me deeply to see a spate of such happenings one after the other. To lose both these people meant a lot to me and many others like me. Both of them were college students and students came in huge masses to pay their last respects to both of them at the cremation grounds. 

   There are many reasons for such happenings in the city. When I was at the police station yesterday, I heard a policeman mention that there have been over hundred odd casualties that year. There is such an incident happening almost everyday. Everyday, some parent is lamenting over a lost child who they lovingly had brought up for over 20-25 years. To merely think about it overcomes me with grief. 

   I don't have statistics to support what I thus write, but a large number of the students from my knowledge don't wear helmets. Racer bikes with riders who don't know the difference between rash riding and speed, eventually end up getting hurt. Moreover, Indian roads are not suitable for such kind of rides. There is always some part of the road that is dug out for the one of the million reasons the Corporation has enlisted. But the speedy progress and the attention given to attend to whatever the problem may be before digging out the roads and while doing so isn't there after it is done. Mounds of earth lie on the centre of the roads, on to the sides and hard,rock jalli is used to close some of the dug-out areas. This becomes highly difficult for any commuter on a two wheeler or vehicle, as even crossing the road becomes a worry. With the Chennai Metro Rail in progress, there are several one ways and the already shortened roads spell trouble with uncovered pits, uneven and extremely rough-terrain-ed roads. I wish the Corporation connects more with the people and finds out the root cause of all these problems so that they may be repaired. 

  This works on several levels. There are several cases of hit and run. Why can't there be a speedy nabbing of the accused personnel? I wonder, how do these people sleep at nights given the horror and grief they push on the family of the deceased. I don't know where to start and I don't know where to end. I just felt I had to write this at the least. 

Whatever may it be, I request all of you who are reading this to wear your helmets and ride safe. Indian roads are not for racing.

Cheers and love, 

Hemu 

(For Deepak and Pappu) 

At Sixes (and Sevens)

Someone once told me that the most important thing about the command over a language or your prowess is about how much you can condense your text and not in the many pages that you manage to fill up. It has been tiring to sum up my life so far in merely six words for the Chennai Bloggers Club's 'Six-word memoir' happening among the bloggers here, but it's definitely worth it as there is some introspection needed there.

Here go.

Insouciant gossamer of infinite ice-cream castles.

*BGM *

It was fun, this tag.The baton was passed to me from Reflections of my mind to you!!, which is a free hit information place for anything that you might need; views of the blogger ranging from movies to sports to philosophical inclinations in life. The tag thus follows to BeerSting ink , a blog as unique as its name that unravels into the creative imagination of the author in the form of articles, short stories and poetry which is a pleasure to indulge in. The blogger though, is not responsible for mugshots post luxurious drinking.

   

Love and cheers, 

Hemu 

Image credits : http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/01/09/six-word-memoirs-students/

   

Turning Twenty-Something

I am soon reaching the first quarter of my life. It sounded beautiful when I was fifteen. To be in the twenties. To be the woman I have never dreamed of becoming when the bob cut lived and dirty pants from the evening out relished the present. I never saw it coming. Never. Not this.

   It's beautiful, to be able to say that you are now a woman in a little more of a true sense than from the words that ring in your ears when people say it around after you have your first period. Well, to hell with them. This started out as a post to see where I am heading with this whole quarter life crisis, to analyze and see if there is any hope's ray hiding amidst the bushes, to wonder which other university will be ready to accept me after another year of undergraduate studies or if I should start working; you know- like trying the whole 'responsibility' thing. To give back something to my parents instead of taking from them all the time.
 
     An unplugged stream of thoughts flip around in my head. About this period full of magical twenties. It's tough. It's tough because I have no idea where I am heading to. I imagined that I would be globe-trotting by now, making new friends and getting drunk in an Irish pub. Wild dreams and could-be-made-possible dreams aside, I just want to share some of the best times in my life which happened when this number called 20 hit me a year or two back.

        Several things. The taste of knowing how it feels like to be in college. I most certainly did expect it to turn out differently and I completely blame the movies and all my books for it, not to mention my own imagination. This was an experience in itself. The day, that moment my sister got married and when I cried because I didn't know what else to do. To send her off to another home and for her to start her own life at her own accord. To feel in-charge of family.

Source: Google images 

  To fall in a possible whimsical version of love. Revelations all the way. As Scott Fitzgerald would say : ' I wasn't actually in love but I felt a sort of tender curiosity'. The many number of boys who might have struck my senses hard for just a minuscule side of them that was blown out of proportions in my mind. The way a strong rock spreads into dust after a blast, I had words escaping from within. I just had to put it down. Somewhere. Anywhere. In scraps of paper, tissues, my several diaries, the less-personal ones on this blog that you read. And once that strikes, you'll never be out of words. Twenty lent me more  mature writing. Or should I say this tender curiosity alerted my senses?

 
Growing up saw my elder brother confiding in me and treating me as an equal alongside the little sister look. I saw a change in the way he conversed, the way my sister told me about her happenings, the joy trip that I took with my cousins.. Just seeing that stroke of acknowledgement that you are old enough to understand what they say.. that's amazing. The way I look at my own cousins with a smile and understand what they're going through because I've been there and done that. To feel proud that your baby brother is growing up in the world's eyes, yet an immature kid in my own is all that you can perceive. Well, I don't know how to exactly classify this. Should I feel sad that I am growing up in numbers or gape at the progress in thoughts : emotionally, spiritually and befitting the age; passing on what I know to the other smaller ones.
 
   Twenty later told me it's okay to watch adult movies, it's okay to laugh over such jokes because you are an adult. Authorized to know. It sounds dumb, but I have always appreciated the way technological and other information reached me at the right age. It reached me right when it should have and when such an exposure would have made a difference and dwelled within. To just go through your own old books and realize how silly you were. To learn to remember that we enjoyed playing in the mud and making sandcastles. It's beautiful.

  There is a voice. There are people to listen to. My niece looks at me like I am from the outer space when I play with her. She's the first baby I have carried before the head would stay stable. To see the way her entire hand can't encircle even my little finger and her gibberish sounds- it's beautiful. To feel like a mini-mother, (Oh, not the complete one) to hold something so tiny in your hands and weep out of joy.. that's when I feel it's okay to grow up; when that little bundle of joy looks at you with big brown eyes and kicking your chest.

  For all this, being in this whole growing-up phase is lovely.

  But every other way, you're screwed. Pray your soul doesn't roast like the souls in hell.

Source : Google images: http://www.flickr.com/photos/thegoodtribe/4470200634/

Untitled

Walk hand-in-hand with your fear and dump it in the nearest well.
Jump after it and push it underwater.
You might think you're the one drowning,
but remember,
fears never learn to resurface as will does.