Critic- a critical issue.

Criticism is a moot, or so it may seem to be. It is a difficult thing to accept it even if it is true and it tends to hurt the sentiments of the person who had least expected it.

But in all rights, it should be acceptable because if the work is not to its standard, and we seal the mouth of a well-wisher, be it friend or a stranger, with a strip of anger and disgust, we stand as a lone loser. The opinion will still be expressed, in our absence, in the group of comedians, who might have a hearty laugh at our short-comings, and we may never know.

By braving an honest critic, we get a chance to defend our self and learn to respect each others different point of view. Yes I agree, sometimes the blows are real hard, we bend over in shame, we may even cry for days, or try to scheme ways to seek revenge and to get even. But that doesn’t help; it does dawn on you, eventually, that the truth must be faced.

But, sometimes it is difficult to deal with those critics who are there to seek attention. Sometimes a critic can be very cruel and is looking for a killing field. It may be due to his inability to produce his own good work, or maybe his focus of looking at things is at ninety degrees away from yours, or simply, because, he fails to register the message that we wished to convey.

So, how do we deal with such a situation? Do we strike back and get even? Or, we simply ignore and let it pass? If we strike back, we stand as a loser. The groups that witness these outbursts get an entertainment for free. If we ignore it, we fan his intentions and he will be back with some more.

The best solution, I think, would be to expose these dishonest critics sincerely, without malice. If we catch someone intentionally trying to undermine us, we can eliminate their unscrupulous tactics by exposing him.

By keeping an open mind, we will eventually, learn to stand on our own two feet without stepping on other people’s toes and we can avoid being hurt or causing hurt.

Who is the winner? Time will tell.

Dowry..an evil necessity

While reading the ‘Sindh story’ by Kewal Malkani, I was fascinated by the fact that Gandhiji was quite-horrified by the Sindhi custom of ``Deti-Leti'' (Dowry) particularly among the Amils.

Gandhiji added: ``The Amils of Sindh are probably the most advanced community in that province. But in spite of their entire advance, there are some serious abuses of which they seem to have monopoly. Of these the custom of ‘Deti-Leti’ is not the least serious.... The parents should so educate their daughters that they would refuse to marry a young man who wanted a price for marrying and would rather remain spinsters than be party to the degrading custom.''

That was way back in 1934, more than seventy years ago.

In this era, women are more educated and independent, and have faith in themselves, some of them are also in higher positions, earning four figure salaries. But the ‘Dowry’ custom has still not been eradicated from our culture. Only it is done in more sophisticated way.

Recently, I had attended a wedding which was done in a very lavish way. The exchange of gifts and parties between the families (brides/groom) was astounding.

And

Grooms family says, “We don’t want anything, whatever you wish to give, it will be for your daughter” and in whispers they will say ‘Keep the honor of my family’ (whatever that means)

Bride’s mother says, “Do I have to give such a lavish party?’

Groom’s mother says, “What can I say. You know the rules. Honor must be restored. Just keep my family happy” and I wonder why bride’s family should worry about pleasing the groom’s extended families.

Sometimes I wish young boys (groom-to-be) make it very clear to their parents that they are not up for sale. He should use his own money to bring a bride for himself and not tax her parents. If, on other hand, the bride’s parents insist on giving some gifts to their daughter then a Sindhi youth is supposed to be sensible enough to invest all the money for their better future rather than waste all that money in the lavish parties.

But, what can we really do to educate the illiterate parents who embarrass their children by asking/or giving a ‘price’?

The give-take relationship that is done in casual way, out of friendship, is the normal way of life in Sindhi society but give-n-take transaction, if done out of compulsion, or to keep the (honor) of the extended family, is an unnecessary evil.

These practices have been so deep rooted that until we ourselves take effort to eradicate it from its root it will be difficult to fight against these social menaces.

The world is changing and I see youth of today are more mature and self-reliant. They consider gifts as unnecessary charity and some of them even feel insulted with these gifts. Time has come for young people (who are now earning more than what their parents made in their life time) to take a firm stand and just refuse to exhibit themselves in the retail-marriage-market.


Today when we see the wedding celebrations in the cities, it reminds of the gloss and glamour of Bollywood movies. Even the middle class families celebrate their weddings in Bollywood style.

Today, just like any other commodity in the market weddings have also become commercialized. There are people to plan your wedding. You don't have to spend extra time in thinking about the menu or the venue of the wedding.

And all this luxury costs lot of money, which rich people can afford it and they start these trends which demands an excess burden from not-so-rich families.

Many parents feel obligated in indulging in such practice because they are afraid about their failure to please their daughter’s in-laws might result in endless taunts for their daughter all her life. They are also afraid of being isolated from their relatives and friends if they do not reciprocate in similar lavish parties.

About living the life of endless taunts and allowing people to bully them….....It is deserved by those who have no faith in themselves. How do you feel obligated for not getting him any ‘Dowry’?

Some youngsters are opting for love-marriage outside their community to escape from this menace.

To get married to a non-Sindhi to escape this ‘compulsory exchange of funds’ is not a bright solution to eradicate the social menace called ‘deti-leti’! Getting married outside our own culture requires lot more of adjustments and sacrifices, which is even more painful in the long run.

Only the youngsters of today can end this menace. If they make it very clear to their parents that they are not for 'sale'.

So Be It.

A man who had faith in himself, and a woman, who is brave enough to take a firm stand, can easily survive with dignity.

World laughter Day

Whole world laughs today
On this ‘Laughter Day’
Laughing away blues,
The pains and aches,
The exercises that were meant
To clear the frowns
Makes me feel fresh
and proud tonight
To take out the slate of delight
And share my joys as
I laughingly write…..

Hello Critics. Should I like you?

The other day I got to meet one of the writers whom I admire a lot and have a great respect for her talent. We got to talking about the posts and the feedback and I asked her to give me her harsh critique for my work. I reasoned that the harsher was the critique, the harder I would try to re-write it and she looked at my face and wondered if I was serious.

I was serious because I feel, if we want to improve then we should be brave enough to accept the honest critiques. I am reminded of the ‘doha’ that I had learnt long ago and it went something like this:

‘Keep your critics as close as possible, make him a house in your courtyard, for without soap and water, they cleanse your nature’

But, in reality, how many of us admire our critics?

Many of the post that I see, with the captions ‘feedback wanted’ hardly have any feedbacks. And there are many who complain that they are not encouraged to write because that they get zero comments. (Such reasons cannot be an excuse for not writing!) If I feel strongly about something, I will write, it may or may not reach across the people, but it will surely reach those whom it matters and I will be glad if I am able to express it clearly.

As a writer, one should not be upset, if he/she gets zero comments. There can be many reasons for zero comments. Either you are too good and you have no friends to cheer you up, or you are no good and people do not wish to be impolite or, people are not sure how you will react and sometimes, people are not brave enough to comment on your work.

I don’t consider myself to be a very good writer, but still, there are some people out there who believe in me and who think that I can write better than them and I will be able to help them for some time before they find somebody better than me. (One person is always better than the other person, so they say ‘In the land of blind people, one-eyed person rules’)

Some days back, I received a story from a person, whom I know. She wrote: ‘hey, am sending you a story i wrote.....give me your honest honest opinion.....where i can correct myself.....what i should do right......let me know...thanks..’

She wanted me to read her story and tell her what I think about it. I warned her that I was going to read her story as objectively as I could and I gave her a very frank opinion as I found her story very hazy and disconnected. I think I was very rude, because I dissected her whole story and wrote it differently, with examples, explaining to her why it didn’t work for me.

After posting, I repented. I wished I was not so honest. I thought I had lost a friend.

Hardly a day passed and I received her email.

I was expecting a rude answer, but she wrote back: ‘i cant begin to tell you what i feel.....this has been the best ever ever brilliantly given criticism i could have ever got......seriously!! i am so bloody grateful you have no idea...all this time ppl have told me how it is and how it should be but you actually showed me and explained to me in detail what i needed to know....its easy to explain but its better if examples are given...and thanks for showing me how to rewrite it....really.... i always used to send my writing to my friend...but next time im gonna go through you first....:)

I don’t mean to boast here. But her note of thanks touched my heart.

I think if the opinion are given honestly, without personal attacks and are not biased, then they are always appreciated. And it feels good to know that there are people out there, who may or may not be your friends but they still honestly care…….

And are eager to help you fly with them, smoothly, into their writers’ world…….

a Crow

From morning to evening
He gives me a head ache
With his monotonous caw-caw
On my window sill

I give him bread crumbs
And he stares at me
With his head at an angle
To the left, and then right

I speak to him
As if he understands
He picks the bread
and glides away

Expertly flying,
breaking though winds
resting on a branch
opposite my grill

To refresh a breath
and rest for a while
pruning his black feathers
after a short flight

Far on that branch
amidst the green leaves
I see his black beak open as
I begin to write.

Roller Skating

The children play a balanced act
As they skate on their roller feet.
They miss a turn when they pause to greet
And down they go on their knees
Slowly, quietly, they rise again
Dusting palms above the streets
And once again they play happily
Skating on their wheels

Young adults, too, play a balanced act
As they skate out from their seat
They miss a turn as a careless wreck
When to goodness they paid no heed
They cry for long for a wrong move
Of life, and for years they meander
Aimlessly, trying to find their way back home
So that once again they can peacefully sleep.

But, they sleep too long
And time passes by
and in the past, they continue to live
Instead of grazing into
new pastured land
they prefer to die as a creep.

You like Mangoes?

I know
You like mangoes, but
How do you
eat mangoes
Like that,
Licking, smooching,
By nights and day
Its juicy fibers
Spoils my tray

Sit here,
let me wear you
an apron
Let me peel it
And chop it
fine for you
I don’t like that
sucking noise from you

Let me grind it
to make a milk shake
Will add some ice,
Some syrup and
And an essence to
make it something
cool and refreshing
for you.

Look, come here
Let me wipe it clean
Your messy hands,
mouth and cheeks.
You wait not for me
To prepare the dish
You just slurp
These mangoes and
Gulp them all
in a swish.

Mangoes

Summer time
All fruits disappear
The king of fruits arrives
Mangoes flock
the market stocks
I see them all around
At every street
At every signal
The urchins run behind
Every car
Offering the yellowish
Green, pulpy fruit

Speaking, er… writing
Of mangoes, sorry sir
I no like mangoes
Nor I care
My visitors no understand
And bring in a heap
They lie in my kitchen
On a shelf,
in pitiful state.
I wait in vain
For guest to arrive
Who would slurp
These mangoes
Before they crumple
And lose their grace.

Am I a bad writer?

I paint on
Staining the canvas
with disjointed words
Sans punctuations or spell check
Pouring my emotions
Into meaningful colors that
Shuffle like a jigsaw puzzle
To form a rainbow that seems
To you as an
‘ Incomplete art’.

I understand it all.

Chuma! chuma! aie la!

Ole Richard kissed Shilpa Shetty
Liya Diyaa oh
And that kiss lasted two full minutes
Liya Diyaa oh

With lorries here and police there
All getting horny, burning effigies
Public going berserk everywhere

Ole Richard kissed Shilpa Shetty
Liya Diyaa oh
So they got sued for a crime
Liya Diyaa oh

Happiness!

I looked for happiness
Travelled for miles
But nothing could compare
With the joy I derived
from bringing out my slate
and re-reading those pieces
that so laboriously
I wrote each day.

Happiness was immense
Reality was a farce,
A unhappy jungle
with no signposts,
landmarks or boundries.
I would just walk on.

In writings
I lived into my dreams
with my own government
and my own rules
I made war,
I made peace
but the rules of my land
were that
The happiness rules!

A Gentleman

What can I say of a man
Who is a gem?
His gentlemanly ways
Impress me everyday.

He holds my arm in protective way
Smiles or grins at my silly ways
Cancels his appointment
To be with me
Makes a fuss
Just to please me
Calls on nights and days
To check if I am alright
I wish to thank him so
I decide to write…

Searching for me when I am lost
stands far away when
I tell him to get lost
but never meanders away too far
He never is out of range

On Rakhis’ days, and festive days
He comes to me
with Gifts and Honey
and a firm promise
that he believes in
protecting me against all odds.

Joking, laughing, all in sprite
When his moods are warm and bright
I dig under my manuscripts
Of endless yellow-stained pages
to show him what
I write.

Dear Publisher........

Hello Mr Publisher
Have you ever
learnt to dream?
Have you walked
on an arc of rainbow?
Have you heard
window plants sing?

Here, sweep a glance,
Through this script
Taste the words
Swallow the drops
Of emotional words.

If you really like it
How about
buying the script from me…?
I need some money
For coffee and tea.

Books' gossip....

Surrounded by scripts,
notes and drills
Listening to the manuscripts

Said Bestseller to a Paperback
Here are more writers
Be aware

Sitting around us in cane chairs
They chatter and blabber
Without a care

Clock strucks five
Hear their names, let them
Enjoy their two-minute fame

I-T, Florist, Tarot queen,
Have you , so many talents
Seen?

Ooooh! La! La!
Do you feel the thrill?
They are here for a refill!

See that Rohin’ tough and proud
Commands the script,
leading the crowd

Suni-Jugal! hear! hear! all!
One lazily stretched,
while other clicks on

Crazy moods and silly expressions
Helplessly trapped
Glued into a film

Tea/coffee sip what may
Look they waste
No time today!

One by one,
their stories call
For nod, or smile or betrayal laugh

New uns’ stare at ole uns’ around
happy to have found
a ground.

Young writers are alert and smart
Ready to grasp
the cliches that fall

Meet is over and
still they meander
Staring at our sisters’ walls.

(Pssht! Nudge’sh!) I heard them say
They plan to come back
Once again!

Mysterious Affair

She stepped onto the deserted platform and looked about her. She felt the drop of perspiration drip slowly down her back. Where did Mr. Murthy disappear? Damn! There was so much traffic on the road, with cars, auto rickshaws, bullock carts, cows and hand-carts, all occupying the same strip of the road! If only she had followed him discretely but kept a safe distance!

She fumbled into her bag and fished out the cell phone.

“Hello Mrs. Murthy. I lost him again.” She whispered into the phone.

“Oh! No! Search him! I need to know where he is going. I heard him talking to somebody on phone this morning. Whom does he meet on a Sunday mornings at this hour?”

Urmi looked at her watch. 9 o’clock. The morning sun was warm and pleasant. She walked up to an empty seat and sat down. ‘Patience’, that was the first lesson she had learnt at ‘Rammu detective agency’, who took up the most challenging assignments, cases ranged from financial and property thefts to government overthrows to murder to infidelity. And the agents always got their man (and woman)

It was better to wait here. Maybe, he might come here if he has to go to town by train.
She removed a magazine from her hand bag and started to leaf through its pages.

“Hi, excuse me puhleez, may I share your seat?”

Wow! Holy Cow! She couldn’t believe her luck. Mr. Murthy wanted to sit next to her.

“Er…Ye..es! Of course! Please!” she said as she shifted to the end of the seat.

Mr Murthy wiped his thick brow as he looked from left to right.

“Are you new here?” he asked casually as he neatly folded his kerchief and pushed it into his pocket.

“Yes.” She said as she shifted her gaze from his long stretched legs

She heard the horn of the approaching train, few more people had gathered at the station.

They got into the train and sat facing each other.

While the train moved, they talked of many different things… when they reached the town after an hour; they were chatting as though they were old pals.

“Would like to join me for a coffee? I have fifteen minutes to kill.” He said as they crossed the street at the green signal.

“Are you meeting some-one?” She couldn’t help asking.

“Yes. Just a friend.” He smiled and he passed his hand through his thick brown hair.

They had coffee in silence, enjoying the jazz from the juke box.

He shook her hand and took leave of her. She followed his movement as she saw him enter a dental clinic that was facing the side lane.

She waited in the coffee shop and ordered more cups. She saw him leave the clinic after an hour. It was time to follow him to see where else would he go now. She followed him discreetly as he walked towards the station and boarded a return train.

‘He came all the way to meet a dentist? Eh?’ she wondered. He had said ‘a friend’, not ‘doctor’? ‘But why didn’t he say that he was visiting a dentist?’ ‘Was she a lover?’ ‘Was he unfaithful to his wife?’ Should she inform Mrs. Murthy?

She decided to investigate. She went back to the clinic and read the nameplate that said “Dr Suman Dutt’ she went inside to speak to the receptionist.

“Is Mr. Murthy in?” she asked innocently.

“Mr. Murthy? What about him?”

“I need to meet him.” She said

“Meet him next week. He just left.”

“You mean to say that he comes here regularly? Why?”

“Sorry Maam, it’s personal. I cannot discuss with you.” She said as she continued to look into her files.

For next 2 months, she watched from a coffee shop, and saw him enter the clinic regularly, and she was convinced that Mr. Murthy had more than one reason to visit his dentist.

“Mrs. Murthy. You were right. It is serious!” she spoke on phone, giving her all the details. “You can confront them.”

“Oh Miya Goodnesh! He comes to Mumbai regularly and does not even visit his sister, who lives in the same town!” she exclaimed as she made a note of the address.

That evening, Mrs. Murthy casually asked her husband whether he knew any dentist by the name of Dr.Suman Dutt. But, he faked ignorance.

Following Saturday, Mrs. Murthy took permission from her husband to stay with his sister for few days in town. How could her husband cheat on her? She was feeling miserable. His sister, too, was unaware of her brother’s visits to her town.. She had to put an end to this. She needed to teach that dentist a lesson!

Early Sunday morning, she reported at the clinic.

“Do you have an appointment?” asked the receptionist as she looked into her appointment book.

“I need to see this doctor immediately. I don’t need any appointment.” She said as she barged her way through the door.

“Wait…you can’t……”

But Mrs. Murthy was already inside the cabin. The soft breeze poured into the cabin as the door shut heavily against the wall. Dr Suman Dutt raised her brow and stared at Mrs. Murthy.

“What the hell…Who are you? Coming forcibly like this…..” said the doctor

“I am Mrs.Murthy. Does my husband visit you often?” What a question. How many women go round to dentist clinic asking questions like that? She must have treated more than two thousand husbands on record and most of them visited her many times.

“Mr. Murthy?” said Dr. Suman as she turned to face this angry woman and took a deep breath.

“Now, now, now, don’t pretend, I know he has been visiting you” She was standing so close to the doctor that she could actually count her cavities. Even her teeth needed a little bit of whitening. The strong odor from her breath made her turn away

“Excuse me please. I have many patients. I have no time to discuss my patients with you? And why should I” she said

“Because this particular one happens to be my husband” as if she cared! She wished that all women gave enough care and comfort to their husbands so that they wouldn’t go barging off like that and making a fool of themselves?

“Oh really, then why don’t you ask him, huh?”

“Because he won’t tell me, and he actually faked ignorance. But I believe that you are having an affair with him.” Thank God, she was alone in the room. If her children were to hear this madness they would have laughed heartily. Theirs was a happy family and they usually laughed away at the dinner table when they discussed the moods of different patients.

“I don’t believe this, you must be crazy, please excuse me I have to attend to my other patients.” She said

“Oh yeah! You have more patients to attend? Who? My husband? He will be coming any moment, isn’t it?” She was shaking now as she spoke.

The cabin was small and her loud sound reverberated in the room. Dr Suman was tempted to bodily drag her outside.

“Mrs Murthy, please lower your voice.” She told her politely.

“Okay, you want to tell me what treatment are you doing for my husband? Huh?” she said as she approached forward, her hand dragging against the smooth, glass surface of the desk and dropped a book on the floor scattering all the loose sheaves on the floor.

“Calm down Mrs Murthy. Sorry! I cannot discuss this with you. It’s confidential.” said Dr Suman as she bend down to pick her book and the papers from the floor.

“You cannot discuss with me? Confidential? Huh?” she walked two steps and came closer to Dr Suman, and pulled her arm with her tight grip. Dr Suman wondered if she had gotten up from the wrong side of her bed.

“Please Mrs Murthy. You are hurting me!” said Dr Suman as she released her arm from her grip.

“I am his wife and you cannot tell me? Why? Eh? Tell me the truth! I know about your affair. Just let go of my husband…Do you hear me? I will not allow it…” she was almost screaming now as she came forward and suddenly pulled doctor’s hair hard, almost plucking it out from its roots. On an impulse, Dr Suman took a sharp turn raising her elbow up in the air, gave a swift punch and Mrs. Murthy went stumbling, losing her balance, two steps backwards and was down on the floor on her back with her feet up in the air.

Dr Suman was surprised and embarrassed. She had not intended to hit so hard. She went closer to Mrs Murthy and sat down on her knees and held her hand. “I am sorry! But believe me. There is no affair. The secret is his, not mine. I am only his doctor, sworn into secrecy”

“What do you mean?” said Mrs. Murthy, as she straightened and tried to get up.

“Listen, your husband lost his eight front teeth in an accident when he was twelve years old.. My dad had made denture for him then. He came to me for regular check-ups. Three months ago, his dentures chipped off. He needs to make new sets.”

‘And why wouldn’t he tell me that? Why are you so secretive?” she was whispering now

“He did not want to tell you, because, he was embarrassed, because, he loves you too much and he was afraid of your rejection on knowing the truth.”

There were tears in her eyes as her husband entered the room.

Time heals all wounds

Time heals all wounds
That’s what they say

But miseries may last for
Very, many days

You cross the long tunnel
to reach the other side

and see a new valley
on your horse ride

Some butterflies kiss
A baby blooms

The birds learn to sing
A colorful tune

And in the midst
Of green, new, fresh hay

You throw back those
Painful memories away

sigh! sniff! sniff!

Cry not, Oh, my broken heart
Life is just a dream
If tears could built a moving stream
I would swim across the seas
to reach the back door of his heart
and destroy all his peace.

Dance with me

I sit bored across the room,
Deep in thought, watching you
As you swirl to rhythmic nights
Of loud music and blinking lights

Wondering if you can find me
In the left corner of the room
Yes, the one sipping rum
The curls overshadowing eyes

Back is drooped, titled head,
Waiting for music to pause
So that you can disarm her
Lead her to an easy chair.

Lift your smile and walk ahead
Relax on to my side, I want my
verbal dance tonight
You promised me candlelight.

When Pragya Thakur, of ‘Shakespeare and Company network’ on Ryze.com, came to Bombay to meet Shakespeareans friends,

I was wondering ‘Should I go? Should I not go?’ Now, Churchgate is one hour drive from Bandra unless I decide to take a train of 30 minutes (but then we have to climb up/down bridges) they don’t allow active people to cross the tracks! (Only lazy people are allowed to cross the tracks that too, secretly.) But I was keen to meet Pragya and her Family and decided to hit the road.

The venue selected was Astoria Hotel. I enquired at the concierge and he directed me to go to Tea Centre. He asked the watchman to show me the route, he came with me all the way to the road and asked me to go the building next to subway (wrong directions) but when ever I ask for direction I don’t ask one person for directions before proceeding. When more than three people told me to take the subway and go to the other side of the street, I was convinced and reached the venue.

And it was worth it! It was nice meeting John Mathew, Archana Kombrambail, Jane Bhandari (who runs a poetry group called Loqations), Shilpa (a television script writer), Anil Siqueira, Prabhakar, Ravishankar C, Maya Sriram (My coach in writing), Raamesh Gowri Raghavan, Pallavi Bhattacharya and Pragya's husband Anil and her six-year-old daughter Anoushka. (Sorry, if I missed anyone).

The ambience was warm, group receptive and laughter with joy was a packaged deal. I was amused when they wanted to laugh aloud after I read my piece on ‘Laughter club’

“Shoo!”
“No! No!”
“Small laugh please!”
“People are staring! “
“Nah!”
“Nahi!”

So all we did was to postpone the laugh for an open space some other time.

Anoushka was a real treat and her chatter was music to me. (I love kids) Thirty years from now, I hope I am alive to see this famous writer-to-be.

I was glad I could make it.

I need a new maid

Who will clean my floor?
Who will answer the door?
Who will set the table?
I am quite unable.

Head is throbbing fast
Eyes are wet and red
Back is bent and blue
Bai, I am missing you

Don’t ever take a break
Don’t you know it’s hard
What is easy for you
It’s tearing me apart

Who will boil the milk?
Who will iron the silk?
Who will answer the phone?
Oh dear Bai! I am all alone!

You are resting at home
But I have reading to do
Now my day is waste
Doing odd jobs of you

Who will swab the floor?
Who will clean the clothes?
Who will massage for me?
Get me a new Bai please!