The Beach

The Beach

I walked just on the edge of the shore
Where the waves came and receeded back into the mighty sea.
The sun was setting now
And  the sky was now a melange of purple and orange
Odd, the combination of these colours.
It was like the sunrays were trying to
Find their way through, just before going away
One last time, they wanted to open up in the sky
But the clouds wouldn't let them.
The purple now overpowered the orange
Telling it that its time was over.
Each wave  came with a different force, covering my feet.
Each wave left its own mark in the sand.
Each wave left a unique stone or shell.
It was in all peaceful.
And then i woke up.

Woke up to the raging war outside.
To the gunshots and bombings.
To the cries of helpless women and faithful soldiers.
Because it was he-who ruled the world-
Now ruled our little town.
They came in last night like a swamp of bees and invaded us , made us their slaves.
All that we once called ours did not belong to us anymore.
And the beach..
It is now a wasteland
Where bodies now came and receeded into the mighty sea.
Where each wave now came in search of deadly things to take back.
The blood had made the beach red.
And the sky. The sky was now a melange of hatred and savagery.
The beach was now a slaughterhouse.
The beach was not mine anymore.

Hope - A short story

Amin. She knew that hope was a good feeling. She had all the hopes. She had all the dreams…

Painting by Chaitanya Mategaonkar

The society won’t let her do what she wanted. She had fought with her loved one for her love towards art. She had been ‘given permission’ to continue her art only after a lot of convincing to Abbu. Hence, every day she used to go by the dargah that was by the beautiful Indus. She used to sit there with her canvas. She used to just get lost in her art, for hours together. Sometimes for so long that she completely forgot about the fact that all that she was doing was probably going to go down the drain. The reason: her Abbu had planned her nikkah. She felt awful and miserable about the fact she knew that she was good at it but she had to let go. It had been her lifelong dream to get into the University of Kabul, now that she had completed her graduation with flying colours. But she knew she just couldn’t. The one person that supported her through all this was her bhaijaan- Aamir. He always believed in her abilities and he was the one who got her all her paints and other material. He had fought Abbu too and had helped her achieve what she had today. 

Unfortunately, because of the constant firing on Kabul, Aamir had to go and defend his country in the fight. So that was the last time Amin saw her bhaijaan.

Soon the house was decorated in veils and flowers. The day of the nikkah had fallen upon Amin like a boulder. She hadn’t even met her future husband until the day before. Abbu had called her to the door and there he was - not looking much older than her - whom she was a complete stranger to. Abbu was talking about him doing something in Urdu, but her mind was racing at such a speed that she didn’t pay attention to it. All she caught was that his name was Aadil. She somehow managed to stretch a smile on her face. That time on she knew that, all her dreams-all her hopes - were just dreams after all. They had gone down the Indus into the great Arabian sea. But as we say, things always have a way of coming back to us at the end. 

Soon, Amin forced her hands and her body to wear the wedding dress that her Khala had got her. Ammi came into the room with a sad kind of a smile on her face. She knew about the sacrifices that Amin had to make for this marriage. She knew what she had been through. She forcefully had to accept that Amin’s future husband, Aadil, was the son of her husband’s boss. Only to get in good relations with the boss for the ‘greater good’, her Abbu’jaan’ was getting Amin married to an unknown man. She went to her daughter to take her down for the nikkah. But she couldn’t control all the tears that were rolling down her face as she saw the sadness in Amin’s eyes. Having already lost hope for her Aamir to come back from war, she was now losing her Amin also. The thought troubled her a lot.  She hugged her daughter and told her to be strong no matter what, even though she herself was shattered from within. 

They went down and saw the fakir, Aadil and Abbu waiting down. The fakir started performing the rituals and soon the question was asked. It hit Amin like a bullet. A bullet that she had no option but to get hit by. A bullet that couldn’t be dodged. “Manzoor hai”, she said in a trembling voice. Two more times. Two more bullets. She felt as if her voice had gone sore just by those two words. 

Soon Aadil and Amin, were on their way to Kabul - her new home. 

On the way Aadil kept on asking her questions about herself. She answered them with no extra words. It’s really funny, she thought, that she had been told not to talk to strangers since her childhood, but was married to one now! 

Almost a week or so had passed since the nikkah, and surprisingly Aadil had been very good to her. They started talking on a daily basis now. While talking to him, Amin came to know that Aadil was only three years older to her. He was doing a degree in Urdu now. She now came to know what Abbu was talking about him, the first time she met him. 

One such day, as they were sipping a cup of chai, Aadil said, “I have seen your paintings and sketches Amin and I love them. You are really good at it!”  she thought that if Aadil really appreciated her work, why not let her follow her dreams?

***

Aadil had been gone for almost five days now. He was going to an army relief camp to offer help to the injured soldiers of the Kabul war. A picture of Aamir bhaijaan just went past her mind. Taking good advantage of the opportunity, she quickly snuck her art material and canvas, and started painting. She felt happy after a long time now. She just drowned into her work. A small smile had slowly crept up her face. But she knew that this happiness, this joy was not going to last for much longer. 

Sketch by Chaitanya Mategaonkar

Just then, she suddenly heard a car come into the driveway. And then footsteps. It was Aadil. But Aadil was going to arrive the day after… She started panicking and thinking about what Aadil would say about her painting behind his back. He came into the door with nothing but an envelope in his hand. His face portrayed an expression of some kind of satisfaction, and that he was hiding something. Amin even caught a bit of guilt on his face. He saw the painting that Amin was trying to hide, and took it from her. He let out a big grin and a tear found its way into his eyes. All he said was, “Mahshallah! May Allah forgive me for what I did, until now.” He handed Amin the envelope and she hastily opened it. 

Inside was something that she couldn’t believe. It was the acceptance letter to the University of Kabul! She was jumping as high as the sky from inside. With that was a letter too. 

Aadil told her that he had met Aamir in the relief camp. There he told him how Amin had sacrificed all her dreams and aspirations for this marriage. He wanted to come and meet his little sister, Abbu and Ammi, but he couldn’t make it. He requested Aadil to fulfil his Amin’s dream, it was his last wish. Aadil then went to Amin’s parents to break the news to them. Saying that they were devastated is an understatement. But, they got ready to do anything for Amin’s happiness now. Even Abbu. So Aadil had mailed the University her resume and had received the acceptance letter the day before. Amin knew now, how wrong she had been about Aadil. She knew that a boat had just come sailing back from the Arabian Sea to the Indus and to Kabul. Although she felt like something inside her went missing, now knowing that Aamir bhaijaan was no more, the other part of her was thankful to Allah. She knew who the letter was from.

As for Aadil, the tear that just came rolling down his cheek and the smile on his face said it all!

***

'What if..."

You wake up one day and realise that things aren’t meant to be this way. You are eagerly waiting for something to change. You wake up one day and realise that you no more want to be the brick in the wall. You want to get out of this ‘loop’. You want to go places. You want to BE someone. So you start thinking. What if I could be a new person? What if I could be the one to do things out of the blue? What if I could actually make a difference? What if I was the superhero for the country? What if I NEVER wake up feeling like a normal person and wake up feeling like a new person every day? What if….

We all feel like this most of the time.  Don’t we!  But why is it that most of us are unable to convert that ‘what if I was’ into ‘I am’?  It really makes me curious that even though we have the ability, we have the knowledge, we have the resources, yet nothing seems to happen. All I want to say that if we put in a little efforts and go that extra mile, I think that our ‘what ifs’ will actually turn to reality. Even if one person gives it a thought, I think it would make a great difference.

It’s just a thought that popped into my head that I should be working on. Hoping that somebody, somewhere might be giving it that extra thought, no? 

Prayers for Paris

"Imagine all the people Living life in peace...."
-John Lennon
I have no words for the recent attacks on Paris. I might just say that devastating is just an understatement. Humanity, peace, mercy are all just words in a dictionary today.
I may not know the true motive behind these attacks but I don't think that any of their motives can actually be justified. Killing people on such a large scale can never be justified. And that too on the basis of religion? Never!
At times the devil within us overpowers the better part of us. One person starts it all, and the others wake the devil within them. Some are even forced to do so! And once that devil is out, the humanity in the world is lost. This results in the unfortunate events such as 9/11, 26/11, and now 13/11.
However, it is truly heart warming that in such critical situations, people all over the world, belonging to all religions come together and make a move. Since the attacks the world has literally crashed the social media with their thoughts and prayers. And not just the social media, but also there are protests and shout outs all over the world almost every hour of every day. If we all come together and DO something, it does make a difference after all.
I hope we all kill the devil within us and let the better part of us overpower the devil. I hope one day, this world is a better place to live... for every human.... I hope there is peace. I hope.

#prayforparis

Inspiration for my Art

Art is a form of depicting the world around you as how you really are and what your personality is. People draw and paint to achieve inner happiness. They draw when they are happy, sad, depressed, angry. It makes them feel better and gives them some chance for hope. People get inspired from various things-be it a tree or an artifact- they get so attached to it that they think about it and put it down on their canvas. I'm one of those "people". I love drawing and painting. Even I draw to achieve that Inner happiness. I draw when I am happy or sad. Or when I get inspired...

One of My Recent Drawings

My inspiration for my art is my teacher and my family. My teacher - my guru - has taught me everything that I know about drawing today. It's because of her extra efforts that I achieved an 'A' Grade in elementary and achieved many prizes. It's because of her that people appreciate me for what I do. I don't know how to thank her for this.

Family is the best place to 'show off' your talents. You are who you are with the family. They keep protecting you and they never deny to appreciate whatever you've done. They are my inspirations. Whenever I take up my book and pencil but don't know what to draw, my mother simply says-".. draw whatever you are thinking right now. Or draw me-I'm so beautiful!..." She's the one that gives me the idea for drawing anything. Even when we go through any picnic spot she persuades me to draw one drawing of the scenery over there. My father- is a lover as well as a critic of my art. He tells me wherever I'm wrong and always corrects me. It's because of him that my drawing gets that touch of finishing and beauty. I am very grateful to him for that. And last but not the least,-my twin brother. He always tells me to take up the drawing sheet and draw instead of taking the iPad and watching YouTube! He also sometimes takes ME to be his teacher in drawing. A few days before the art exams he's like... "Akanksha please please help me..". He's that kind of person who's very encouraging all the time and surely appreciates my art. I like him for this.

Art is that thing in my life that makes me who I am. It gives me the power to face and show everyone who I am. I want this to continue till the the end and that it should keep inspiring me.
My life and the people in it are my inspiration for art. I am thankful to them. 

A Brutal Crime against the future of our own country

Recently in my school, we have been working on the ISA project with our partner school in UK. For this, the teachers have been giving us projects and speeches to prepare on Child Labour. This project has been an eye opener for me, as I came to know more about this serious issue faced by our nation. 

I personally feel that child labour is the most horrible crime one can commit. Young Children are made to work day and night for a meal a day. This mostly happens because the father in the family becomes jobless and hence the child is made to drop out from school and is made to work elsewhere to increase the economic status of the family. Poverty is the root cause for all this. Children are very innocent and delicate. They can be fooled easily and hence rich and wealthy people take them away for years and years telling them that they will be getting gifts and goodies. They do not understand what they are put into; they just have to do it so that the family survives. We always say that children are the apple of each ones eyes. But what kind of apple of our eyes are we making them? By making them work? I feel that this is very wrong.Their lives and their childhoods are put at stake just to fulfill the needs of some greedy people who make them work. India is home to 12.6 million child labourers. Out of these, 120,000 are indulged in hazardous work. 20% of the country is indulged in child labour. 

          There is  however one question that arises in my mind through all this- if the economic status of our nation rises, won't the amount of child labour decrease?

           It probably could. The economy will rise if more and more people get educated and get employed. They will get to know about the right and wrong things happening around. Hence children will start getting educated. It will indeed be a great change. Even the government is taking efforts towards solving this problem. It has introduced RTE- Right To Education. RTE makes it compulsory for all children to get free primary and secondary education till the age of 14. Hence, there was one more law brought in- No child should be allowed to work below the age of 14. Despite all these rules, there are still some backward thinking people who make children work vigorously. There are a lot of NGOs also working against child labour. Bachpan Bachao Andolan, Talaash Association and many more NGOs are working hard. 

What can the children of our age do?

Actually when I think about it, we are the only ones who can actually DO something about this issue. We can arrange rallies and launch andolans against this crime. We can write letters to the government about how we feel about this problem and how it affects us. Also, most importantly, we can take up the stand to educate at least one such child and give him a better life. So my friends, it is us and only us who can save these precious diamonds  and make this world a WAY better place to live in!!

We do not understand the scars that put them in agony,

We do not understand their need for a nice, warm bed,

The children that are starving, scarred and sore, 

The children that are beaten, bruised and lives are torn, 

They need your help,

They need your love,

So please help them and show them your love,
and BE THE CHANGE YOU WANT TO SEE!!!!!!

The Cricket Fever in India ……

Cricket- cricket- cricket…….!   I can’t count the number of people who literally worship cricket. It is the most famous and most played sport in India. India’s national sport is hockey, but now it looks like in a few years, cricket will be as good as the national sport of this country.

One of those who - as I said- worship cricket and follow it, is my own twin brother. He’s mad behind it and has an ambition to become a cricket player too. In his free time- either he does balling practise, batting practise or play something with the ball. Sometimes he even carries the ball while we are going out. But, I’ve never seen anybody like him who has detailed information of every match that was ever played. He writes a blog on cricket too. That is really worth appreciating!

People go crazy when especially during big tournaments like the World Cup or the IPL. When India won the World Cup in 2011, my family and I had gone to celebrate the victory, to Naturals ice cream parlour. There was already such a crowd there that people had come till the road! People in countries like Sri Lanka, Pakistan are also crazy about cricket.

Children and adults alike play cricket in some or the other way all over India. Mumbai's Gully Cricket is famous. This is played in all those small gullies where it is impossible even for cars to go. They break a lot of glass doors and windows, but they enjoy their game. I have even seen cricket tournaments in small compounds. And not just in gullies, but also in big societies, children play cricket. Shops are making a lot of money with the number of bats, balls and cricket kits they sell. My brother also plays very good cricket and has joined a club for it. Sometimes he also tells me to play with him. They have built separate grounds just to play cricket, and no other sport.

Cricket is appreciated a lot in Mumbai. If people cannot play the game, they just watch it and enjoy.  They wear t-shirts, those fake curly colourful hair, paint their faces, and what not! But, they enjoy the time of their lives while watching it.

Cricket is really worshiped in India! No wonder my brother has a blog on cricket named "Religion Called Cricket".