boldlyhersalad

[boldlyhersalad]

Talent is never enough. With few exceptions the best players are the hardest workers

Talent versus hard work is an age old debate where the latter succeeds for maximum number of cases. It is said that talent is God’s gift but a person (not so talented of course) can turn the odds is his favour by his continuous hard work and strong determination.

It is very rightly said that ‘there is no shortcut to success’. A talented person without working towards his goals can never reach them (with few exceptions) whereas a hard working person can harness the required talent and achieve greatness. We have many examples to suffice this argument, one of them being the owner of KFC. Throughout his life, he was turned down by many people including his school teachers, his friends, his wife and children and he got into many lossy investments but one thing remained the same in him, his devotion and determination to achieve great heights. And finally he turned out to be the owner of one of the world’s largest restaurant chains.

Many of us are born talented but we end up in a mirage where we feel that we are very close to our goal and we don’t need to work much for that. As a result, we miss out on many opportunities to prove ourself and instead keep running behind a rosy reverie which is nothing but a castle built in the air. If we really want to be what we are meant to be then we need to step out of our comfort zone and face the cut throat competition with full dedication and undeterred devotion. The key to success is to never stop even if we face thousands of failures. It may take quite a long but then who said that the Rome was built in a day?

[boldlyhersalad]

Body and Soul

He was running into the woods. He was panting heavily, terrified as he can hear the commotion getting closer to him. Within fractions of seconds he thought may be he couldn’t make it but still nothing deterred him. He kept on marching ahead with all his congregated might. All of a sudden he felt something unwelcome around his throat. He was choking, couldn’t say a word, couldn’t move his limbs. He was possessed by something with a face as dark as death. And he woke up to a cold winter morning though he was sweating profusely. He recalled that that day he needed to go out for lunch. He was confused if he should accept the invitation but then something in him told him to not break the routine. He has never declined her invitation ever. Amidst multiple voices speaking in his head, he felt asleep again.

His mum woke him up, “Beta! wake up. It’s 11 am now. You don’t want to be late for the lunch”.

“Mum, I am very tired today. I’ll go some other day”.

His mum frowned, “Rohan, she is like your elder sister. You know how much she loves you, right? She will really feel bad if you don’t go. Anyways, you will be leaving tomorrow for your college”.

“I have few engagements elsewhere, mum. If possible I’ll go”, he said in an annoyed tone of voice.

“Ok fine. She was really hopeful about meeting you in your this visit. You don’t come to home that often now-a-days and whenever you come you have no time for people who love you. U have changed, Rohan”.

“Fine, I’ll go”. He was getting paranoid with the conversation. He took a shower to clear his mind and left for her place.

She was delighted upon seeing him. She served him lunch in her bedroom and asked him to start.

“Where is Srinivas?”, he asked.

“Of course he isn’t home. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you”, she said playfully.”You start having your meal, I’ll go check with my in-laws if they need anything. They will be sleeping now”, she said and left.

He couldn’t eat much. So many thoughts were running through his mind. Something in him was laughing and mocking him. He felt some sudden cut-throat suffocation. Finally he stood and prepared to leave when she entered the room and latched it from inside.

“What? Are you leaving?”, she enquired.

“Well! umm.. Yes I was just..”. She didn’t let him finish and pushed him on the bed. She unhooked her bra and unbuttoned his shirt.

“Sameera di, stop it right now. I am planning to stop all this. I don’t like it”, he said with a stern face.

“Oh is it so? Then why do you come every time I invite you for lunch?”, she said with eyes full of lust.

“Coz of my mum. She really loves you. She thinks you are her bestie”.

She started laughing like a monster. “Really? For your mum? You think I am gonna buy that? Sweetheart, I know the man inside you. You love it too, so, cut the crap and do what you are good at”. Her words came in like a flurry of acid on his heart burning it out of life. He tried to resist his libido but then she unzipped his pants and he succumbed to his desires like always.

That night he went on a flashback again. Sameera was right. He never went to her for his mum, the devil in him took him there always. He felt so used and tortured. It’s been more than 5 years to this now. Every time her husband would go out of town, she would invite Rohan for purely sexual desires. Initially it was something new to try but now it has become a burden. A baggage that is just growing heavier day by day and crushing him beneath it. His soul was wounded and was trying to cry out for help but alas! he couldn’t. He felt choked by the bogeyman in him whose venomous tentacles had entrapped him. He was poisoned by his own desires but still hoping for the day when he could break free and run through the immense expanse of green fields again, leaving behind all hurts and pains and touch the sun crossing the darkest of clouds to uplift his drowned soul again.

[boldlyhersalad]

Yet Another Love Story

It’s Friday so, Arpit and I started for our customary long drive with trans music and wine in our glasses. I love such long drives as it’s a get away from my deplorable life glued to the chair at my office goggling at the laptop screen with a simultaneous plethora of tics and tacs on the keyboard. So, every Friday I wrap it up as early as possible and wait eagerly for Arpit to come pick me up. Well, it’s been mere two months to the day when we tied knots after a long struggle.

As we started, he stopped at a flower shop and bought me a bouquet of white lilies and pink roses with dew on the petals of every flower, exactly the way I loved it when he got me those flowers for the first time at our college. We are college sweethearts. It was love at first sight for him and a gradual process of falling for him in case of me. He was the president of the debate club of my institute and I was into the dance club. We met for the first time in the auditorium which he accidentally entered while I was practicing dance with my batchmates. Being a senior he took the opportunity to talk to me following the process of “healthy interaction” called ragging, he couldn’t rag me though as his heart melted every time I looked at him. We became very good friends and exactly one month later in the exact same spot he proposed to me with one knee down and those bunch of flowers in his hands, white lilies and pink roses with dew on the petals of every flower.

We entered the highway and were on my favourite over-bridge from where I could see the entire city dancing in white and yellow lights in the dark. I opened the window for I love breathing the fresh air brushing through my hair. Oh! I loved it. I looked at him and suddenly planted a kiss on his left cheek, he turned pink exactly the way he did when I kissed him for the first time when he proposed to me in the auditorium. It’s been more than 7 years to our relationship but even today his touch gives me goose bumps and his eyes cast a spell on me. The magic is overpowering and our love.. everlasting.

Suddenly there was this noise coming from not so far. I don’t know why all of a sudden I felt so suffocated hearing to this commotion as if something really really terrible was gonna happen and even before we could realise there was this mob of 15-20 people riding bikes of death all around our car. I closed the window glass as fast as possible but in vain as they broke the glass using hockey sticks. I couldn't see their faces as they had put mask on. Arpit had to pull over. “Oh my God! please make them stop.Arpit, help”. I screamed from the bottom of my throat. I screamed like I never had. “Please don’t hurt us, please let us go”. They started hitting Arpit. “Please leave my husband. What wrong we did to you? You are cowards. You come in group and hurt two innocent and unarmed people. U cowards!”. A heavy and tight slap landed on my cheek from the hands of the devil himself disguised as a man. I started bleeding. “You have brought dishonour to us, to our family, to our entire race”, said the guy who slapped me and that was the last thing I was expecting that night. He was my brother, brother born from the same womb, brother whom I tied rakhi every year when he swore to save me from every such dark shadow that he has become a part of. “BHAI!!”, I said with a squeaky voice and eyes blinded with tears of disbelief.

“Don’t call me that. U died for me the very day you left home to marry this harijan”, again spoke the devil. “You have broken the law, our family old tradition, now watch your harijan’s water-like-blood flow. See him die when we crack his skull open”.”BHAI! No stop please. For the sake of old times, for the sake of our relationship, for…noooo…please…noooo..”, he didn’t even let me finish, he didn’t even listen as if he has turned deaf to my screams, blind to see the fountain of blood flowing, emotionless to stop the agony. They killed Arpit, the devil proved his words. I recalled how exactly 5 minutes ago I was feeling so protected in the arms of a person and how the very same person was lying in front of me, still, motionless, defenceless, dead in a pool of blood. Well this blood has killed him too. It’s his harijan blood that killed him.

“What have you done bhai! how can you do that?”, I told while slapping him continuously.”Why you did this? You are right, I can’t be sharing ur bloodline. You are pure evil. I will die without Arpit”. ”Then die! ”, said the devil and the next thing I felt is a huge knife piercing my belly tearing it apart. I couldn’t utter a word but thanked the devil for finally ending my woes. I fell near Arpit. I could feel the blood splashing out of my mouth and stomach. I saw my blood mixing with his, a kshatriya’s blood with a harijan’s and slowly I entered to the next level, where there is no pain, no sorrow, no hate but only bliss as there is no blood.

[boldlyhersalad]

are u real?

Yes I am. Are “you” real?

[boldlyhersalad]

Words

In the utter silence I hear few words

Words of hatred, words of love

Words preserved as a memory like a fly in amber

Words that I still remember for the scars they bear

Words that make me elated with joy

Words that kill some part of me every time I recall

Can words be that important, I ask

Why did they come so effortlessly to my venomous tongue, I ask again

Was it me or the time to be blamed

Again a deep silence, a darkness which doesn’t end with light

I am a warrior, only know the language of victory or defeat

But alas! I am clueless of my stand

Did the hatred in me win or the love in me fail

I don’t understand, the words have just stopped

Yes, they have stopped

Yes, they were important

I sit and ponder and realise

Fighting with words made more sense than fighting with silence

Words brought tears but what has this silence brought to me

Nothingness, oblivion.

[boldlyhersalad]

Merry-go-round

Well it’s been long that I have written anything. It’s not like I didn't try to pen down something new and interesting for my virtual readers, whom I love a lot by the way, but I failed every single time. I thought of writing on some recent news item or something that has been the talk of the town. Like about the Syrian civil war, about the unending list of bailouts to Greece, about the brutal bomb blast at Paris, about Modi’s recent trip to India, about Ramdev baba’s noodle doodle or about the horrifying Pathankot tragedy but every time I felt short of a very basic thing- words. May be that’s because life has taken an unexpectedly disastrous turn for me lately or because I have realised many harsh realities of life all of a sudden, though both of the events are born out of the same source, my dad’s sudden demise.

Since my childhood my dad and I shared a very competitive relationship, but if I try to remember then I have vestiges of my childhood memories which were also of love between us. I remember him giving me bicycle rides in his basket, long rides in scooter, buying me a candy floss, quarrelling with my teacher for having given me a ‘B’ in my drawing copy, fighting with the head master when they didn't allow him to get me the lunch box which I forgot at home, savouring the taste of some junk food with me at roadside stalls, getting me some funny stickers on his way back home, laughing with me when I enjoyed sitting in some ride in a mela and oh boy! I am short of words again. It’s disheartening that many unhealthy interactions and uncleared misunderstandings overshadowed this overpowering love between us. The family tensions and harsh words had mercilessly put the grave stone on our eternal love’s tomb with all its might but alas! only death gave life to this dead love between us. Only separation could unite us finally. Only darkness brought dawn to this incessant night of abhorrence.

I can’t even curse myself as I am already cursed to the highest level, can’t blame God as he hardly listens, can’t shout, can’t cry my heart out as the world I live in isn't deaf or supportive. At this juncture, where I was a youngster at my prime with dreams mighty enough to keep my emotions and love at bay, I have signed myself in for a life-long trauma by forgetting to mirror certain gestures and saying certain magical sentences of warmth and adoration.

But I couldn’t really believe that I have done this. That I, the most logical person( according to me :P), made this big mistake of letting scores of moments of joy go only for my ego and judgements based on iffy assumptions.

One day I got infuriated and asked him if he really loved me and all of a sudden he came with his face having a smile as big as of God and a glow as serene as the snow. He said that he can’t really answer that question because then the time has to stop, the river has to freeze, the wind has to stand still and everything, living or non-living, has to come to a halt and even then it won’t be enough to express his undying love for me.

Now he comes to my dreams quite often, almost everyday, and shares many smiles and funny stories which we couldn’t share in his mortal timeline and I wake up happy again and ready to dread the world full of disappointments and failures with a smile which has no reason and no motive. I have asked almost everything to him by now but haven’t yet asked one thing, “Have you forgiven me yet Papa?”

[boldlyhersalad]

Being Human -my version :P

The famous poet Shakespeare beautifully penned in one of his masterpieces ‘The Seven Ages of a Man’, that life is a stage where we all enact our roles. Though I would like to slightly deviate from what he said. The life being a stage is an ideal state which rarely happens but that should happen for a blissful and secluded life. We usually lead a life where we cease to play our parts. We get carried away by the million ‘marichika ki mrig-trishna(s)’.

I don’t know why, but the current generation youth is flinching away from the rational and logical and emotional state of mind and instead is paving the way towards criminal activities without having the slightest hint of where they are heading. By criminal activities I don't merely mean high degree of inhuman attainments like murders or rapes but hurting others, bullying and taking pleasure in others’ heartaches are also counted among those.

The young generation has become full of anger, disgust and despair. Where, in the earlier ages all movies, songs, paintings and any form of art used to be about love, happiness or were a mere token of appreciation of some form of beauty, now they mostly mirror anger, vengeance and misery. No doubt it’s good that now those who were oppressed have a voice against their oppressors but in the present scenario every negative things said about you for your own benefit is also being taken as an oppression.

The newspapers are flooded with mournful events like students beating up their teachers to death who used to, in their words, ‘exploit’ them by scolding them for not doing their homework or scoring less marks in the test or caught them red handed doing something mischievous and hence threatened to inform the higher authority if repeated. There are many other events happening like this which clearly means that you would land yourself in a pool of trouble if you say something for someone’s wellbeing.

Our mindsets have been filled with negativity, we can’t see the good things happening and keep playing blame games. What we lack in the present time is ‘Optimism’ and ‘Love’. The meaning of the word ‘love’ for us has been chained to be only existing between opposite sexes. One of the greatest lessons of Christianity ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’ has lost it’s meaning. We need to rethink our endeavours and bring an immediate change. We need to break free from the man-made barriers made of rage and hate and rekindle the sense of love and compassion for our fellow-mates. Let’s take a step back and be back to the drawing board but this time with our minds filled with the air of optimism and hope, and heart brimming with love for all.

[boldlyhersalad]

You are Supermom

I came back from the office to find no food. That’s when I recalled that my cook has gone for a holiday so, without any complain, I ate some fruits n drank loads of water to just get away from my hunger. I started going through my FB home page to find a picture of yours receiving an award of some sort. You always receive awards, even at this age you have not stopped learning and growing. You have not stopped excelling in your field. How you do that Mom?
How you cook, work, think about ur children, study and excel at the same time? How you do that? How come you are so strong? I do only this one job and get so damn tired at the end of the day that I don’t even cook for myself, how u cook for urself and everyone else at home?
From doing this same thing of going to office and working I get so tired that often I ask for a break but you have been doing this for more than 23 years, from where u get that patience? Today there’s no Mother’s day or women’s day, it’s just like any other normal day when you make me feel so special and proud to have you as my Mom!


[boldlyhersalad]

ENIAC PROGRAMMERS PROJECT

The ENIAC Programmers Project records the stories of the six original ENIAC programmers, seeks recognition for their accomplishments and has produced The Computersdocumentary in conjunction with Google founders and leaders to tell their dramatic story.

Discovered by Kathy Kleiman, a young programmer in the mid-1980s, “the ENIAC programmers inspired me to stay in computing at a time when there were few women in my programming classes and every signal was telling me that computing was not a field for women,” she remembers.

The ENIAC programmers’ story was fascinating, but lost for more than 50 years. Kathy devoted years to ground-breaking research in the University of Pennsylvania Archives and Library of Congress, and recorded extensive broadcast-quality oral histories with four of the original six ENIAC programmers in the late 1990s with senior PBS Producer David Roland. Kathy applied for awards on the behalf of the ENIAC Programmers and joined them at the Computer History Museum, IEEE Computer Society, Women in Technology International and Women in Computing to celebrate their long-delayed recognition!

In 2013, Kathy teamed up with award-winning documentary producers Jon Palfreman and Kate McMahon of the Palfreman Film Group to tell this incredible story in the stunning documentary short, The Computers. “The Computers documentary is designed to fit into every classroom and every computing club. ENIAC Programming Pioneers Betty Snyder Holberton, Jean Jennings Bartik, Kathleen McNulty Mauchly Antonelli and Marlyn Wescoff Meltzer tell their story—of how they programmed the first all-electronic, programmable computer, ENIAC, without any programming languages, tools or manuals!  They were amazing, brilliant, insightful, funny and riveting, and absolutely committed to making programming easier for the rest of us. They are Programming Pioneers to celebrate!” shares Kathy.

“Not only did they program the ENIAC, the first all-electronic, digital computer during WWII without manuals or programming languages, but they dedicated years after the war to making programming easier and more accessible for all of us who followed”, she adds.

The ENIAC Programmers story changes forever how we look at technology and computer history. It inspires young women, and young men, to believe that computing careers lie within their reach.

source 

documentary info here 

[boldlyhersalad]

Nature’s duplicity

Since time immemorial we are petrified by the fury of the nature. The duplicity of the nature has left the entire human species bewildered and agitated. Sometimes the nature is personified as ‘The Mother Nature’ for she selflessly provides us many treats of her motherhood like the picturesque woods, the lofty mountains ornamented by cottony clouds, the brimming rivers, the gusting winds, the immense expanse of greenery in the fields, the melancholic chirping of the birds, the beautiful blends of colour in the evening sky and many more which gives solace to our body and soul. Then again she metamorphosises into a vamp and destroys everything including her own creations.

We are having many natural calamities happening throughout the universe now-a-days. Hurricanes, floods, tsunamis, landslides are to name a few. They are not only killing the unprepared living mass but also terrifying others by the fact that life is never certain. Currently we are sleeping in the lap of the nature but no one can say that when we wake up we will face showers of her love or fires of her fury.

What made me to think about the nature in this angle is the very recent epidemic of a series of earthquakes happening in Nepal and various parts of India. The beautiful country Nepal is shattered with this disaster and the loss is irreparable. Though I am an ultimate nature lover, I never hesitate to sit and ponder upon the simplest of beauties of the nature, still in the advent of such miserable occurrences I feel the intensity of my this love deteriorating.

This dual personality of nature has made we, humans, to remain scandalised and worship the nature no doubt out of respect and love but more importantly out of fear. We, even being the most intelligent living species, feel powerless in front of the might and rage of the nature. We have always admired her masterpieces and respected her artistry but her this show off of power is no way justified. No doubt, she is our inventor, our creator and we love her for that but when she misuses the power vested upon her then she doesn't remain praiseworthy anymore. She becomes a mere power which is evil and horrifying.

[boldlyhersalad]

LITTLE CATS ON PRAIRIE (PART 2 of 3) “Oh! Charles! Charles! I pray you haven’t yet again, been crushed by some run-away piece of junk in the lumber yard.” Today is Laura Ingalls Wilder’s 148th birthday! Author of Little House on the Prairie.

[boldlyhersalad]

This is a Book for Parents of Gay Kids  IS GOING TO ITALY!!!

This September, This Is a Book for Parents of Gay Kids is going to be translated into Italian and published in Italy! WHAT?!

We are so excited. We are SO EXCITED. We. Are. Molto. Eccitato.

Stay Tuned for Updates!

(Also did you know that BAMBINI GAY means gay kids in Italian? LOLOLOL.)

[boldlyhersalad]

[boldlyhersalad]

Entangled Soul

Horns honking round-the-clock, over strained eyes peeking ceaselessly for a way out of the swarm of mechanical animals with circular limbs and yet the scream inside the mind is louder than the outside. He hasn’t slept the entire week but is managing with a few power naps.

Today I reached the pick up stop to find him in deep slumber on his driving seat. Something stuck me and I went on a flash back. I recalled whining myself of my meagre salary when my reflection was of a classy woman dressed to nines in a fitting room. I keep lamenting about my rotundity and how my office is gulping away all my otherwise productive hours of the day. And then there was this guy, busy all day driving with the only time he gets for himself is the gap between consecutive pick ups and drops.

Earlier it was money that drove him to lead such lifestyle but now this job has become more than just a part of his life. This is him now. He is part of a different species now, the ones with blurred red eyes, a mind working without break and a body made of metal.

Looking at him, it wasn’t him on whom I felt pity about but was me. He has accepted the way of his life and doesn’t complain about it but on the other hand I, earning enough money to survive and enough time for myself , keep fretting about many things revolving around money, time and interest.

Some pioneering mortals call those who are satisfied with life to be imprudent, lacking courage to carry a colossal dream in their hesitant eyes and lazy to push on the same ambition-less and uninteresting life everyday. These so called enthusiastic and purposeful people come up with lofty goals, for achieving which they keep working harder and harder each passing day.

And after having lost track of time they reach their goal but then the question is, now that they have got what they fancied, what are they going to do next? Are they gonna stop the mad race now and sit and ponder what they have lost in their voyage so far? Are they gonna retrospect their past deeds? Are they gonna mend their mistakes? Are they gonna keep quiet for a moment and freeze every flowing thoughts and worries to relish what they have achieved so far? Or are they gonna continue to be the same dour prig with a black hole in their heart which stealthily is eating away a little bit of their sense of humour, feeling of brotherhood, love, compassion and bliss each passing moment and leaving behind more and more of a hollow creature.

Even after writing so many things against aspiring people , if I would be asked to choose between a power-hungry life and a gratifying life, I would go for the former because no matter how hard I try to be the later one I would still be yearning to achieve my objectives. I would still like to chase my dreams fluttering like butterfly because I never liked the idea of standing still like a pond and silently watching the moss creeping in rather I have always reckoned a flowing river who gushes through a long oddity packed with horrifying and enormous hitches to meet the ultimate ocean.

[boldlyhersalad]

msipra23@yahoo.com

[boldlyhersalad]

Anonymous Fiend

With each passing day, we know for sure that we are approaching towards our demise. We all know that we are gonna grow old and die out of ageing someday. Death is something really petrifying but a natural death isn’t that panicking. But there are a multitude of other reasons for our final exit. Study shows that around 53% of all deaths are due to chronic diseases and the rate of death by accident is 18.9 in India. This is so horrifying that we are uncertain about our presence in this world in the very next moment.

There may exist multifarious things that I am scared of but one of the things that sends million chills to my spine is a ‘Serial Killer’. I go to office and on the way meet a swarm of unknown people everyday. What if the guy next to me in the office cab is a serial killer and he abhorred the perfume that I am wearing (as it reminds him of some girl who cheated on him)? What if I am in a lift alone with a guy and the lift stops all of a sudden and he gets his attack, that overpowering desire to kill?

Everyday we take careful measures to not get killed by some accident  or by getting infected by some deadly  disease but how to protect ourselves from someone whom we don’t even know, the one who has got absolutely no reason, that I am aware of, to kill me, the one who looks extraordinarily ordinary?Talking of the looks, when we look at a thief or any wrong-doer, we immediately smell something fishy about him. We humans have a third eye in guessing the intentions of a person by his behaviour but in case of a serial killer, our sixth sense just ditches us as they are so normal that they get completely blended in the colours of the society. A camouflage that makes the situation even more precarious.

According to the tests these serial killers are psychopaths who feel less fear and anxiety than normal people. Such psychopathic behaviour arises from their very pre-teens due to legions of reasons mostly being a result of a bad parenthood. Apart from environmental reasons there can be biological one as well. It has been seen that biological relatives of sociopaths are 4-5 times more likely to be sociopath than the average person. Again the ambience plays a major role in fabricating or dismantling such sociopathic conduct.

The world has seen scores of such secret terminators. Many of those cases are yet unsolved and that conundrum has kept the impalpable wounds in people’s heart by the murderer’s ruthless killings still afresh. One such name is ‘Jack the ripper’, the most famous serial killer of all time. He terrorised the population of London’s notorious Whitenchapel district during the year 1888 by exterminating the prostitutes. He would kill them by remarkably making two slits in their throat in such a way that it doesn’t spill blood on him and would artistically cut away one of the deceased organs with just a single stroke of his knife without disturbing the other organs. He is accused of murdering five women officially but is believed to have executed almost 8-9 sluts. The reason why he is still in limelight whenever we talk of serial killers is because an untold number of amateurs and professionals tried to solve the case but it continued to be an enigma. The killer would come out of dark, finish off a woman and would disappear into thin air without leaving any vestige. And after killing his last victim he just vanished as if his thirst for blood was quenched , just to give a supernatural touch to the ending.

Another name is ‘Ted Bundy'. He was a mysteriously handsome and educated psychopathic law student who terminated dozens of college going women who looked like the girl who ditched him. He would fake a broken arm to ask for help to women to carry books to his car where he would hit them hard with a baseball bat just to start with his atrocious recipe. Speaking to press he said that he has got no remorse and that he feels pity for those who feel guilt. His barbaric statements hit the headlines of those days tormenting the mass.

One more unsolved puzzle of the crime history of serial killers is ‘the Zodiac’ killer. He used to taunt and at the same time tyrannise by sending letters to the press with ciphers, phone calls, insulting and cryptic messages. Police investigated over 2500 potential suspects but couldn’t single out the murderer.It was believed that the liquidator was a dual personality disorder patient who would change to a completely different person with totally different handwriting, voice, etc. making it almost impossible to trace him.He could never be caught because the forensic department wasn’t that advanced those days.

The moral of the story is, even though you are not smoking or drinking or getting stoned everyday, even though you are not a worker in an asbestos factory, even though you are not travelling, even though your city isn’t struck by a fatal disaster and even though you are doing normal stuff, you are not safe. There can be werewolves near you wearing the mask of a very naive person or a person with extremely high intellect. So never be overconfident and keep on taking the small hints to stay alive. And if you are a ‘Serial Killer’ reading this article then ,”Excuse me Mr/Miss.WorldsMostInsightfulPerson! It wasn’t to hurt your sentiments. I know how it feels to paint a masterpiece with blood and not give a name to claim it”

[boldlyhersalad]

Locking For Saving

We Indians respect women a lot. We have reservations for them in village council, education and jobs. Men in India do so to provide a fair share of the opportunities to women. But at the same time they are perturbed about women’s safety. They are very much rebellious against sexual harassment of women in everyday life. They want the dignity of the women to be untouched. If a woman getting back from office after working hard till late hours gets raped, men just can’t take it.

From their very childhood they have been overfed with the image of a “Bhartiya Nari”, the one who always drapes a saree around her and never forgets to hide behind her veil. Her most treasured jewels are ‘Laaj’ and ‘Sharam’, i.e. being shy and bashful. Her countenance mirroring selflessness, sacrifice and caring nature. The one who never raises her voice against the male family members and skilfully follows their orders, cooks for them, makes the house worthy of living and bears children, preferably sons. This “Bhartiya Nari” is well within her limits and hence never gets raped and even though she gets by mistake, it is well taken care of. The word will not be allowed to fly and hence the dignity of the woman and so of the family remains intact though the woman still might be forced to spread her legs to that unidentified ‘dignified’ miscreant.

These facts and figures leads the Indian men to a conclusion. Like to protect our extremely expensive jewels we lock it in a safe similarly they have to lock these women up and why won’t they? After all they treat women as the rarest of gem stones. Hence the “not-so-Bhartiya Naris” are loathed and hated. These are the women who wear non-Indian clothes and value their freedom a lot. These are the women who instead of following orders have the audacity to give orders. These are the women who dare to speak valiantly at public against all the injustice and oppressions they face. They are neither shy nor bashful. They have forgotten their limits. They have forgotten that they are the birds only meant to be caged. These are the women who must be raped to drag them out of their la-la land.

Therefore, men have decided to chain these women to their houses, they are not allowed to step outside after 9 pm, they are not allowed to wear dresses of their comfort and all the cab service apps are banned that facilitated their travel. Thereby it was declared that these rules approved with ‘Sarkari Thappa’ are must to be followed by women henceforth, failing to which they will be harassed, raped, murdered and done things which will give goose bumps even to the Satan.

Men have got what they wanted, they have enslaven women. Women are their obedient bitches now whom their masters love a lot. The master mercifully throws the bread of equality in the shape of reserved seats for them but as it is only the voice of the master which has to be followed hence the bitches are required to behave as nice puppets.

But we women are not bitches, we are birds with eyes filled with green dreams and wings powerful enough to take a flight of the limitless sky. You can enslave us but how will you chain our soul  which wanders free like a cotton? Instead of caging us, can’t you cage those men who harm us? Instead of asking us not to wear short dresses, can’t you punish who ogle at us? Instead of banning the cab services, can’t you just ban the cab drivers who have got past criminal records?

It’s high time that men understand their roles and that they are not meant to frame rules for the women. Such rules can be created by none but by the sole power that governs the universe. It’s high time that men behave “Manly” enough to respect women, who is the creator of the man and at the same time possesses the power to be the destroyer as well.