242 To Kanyakumari

 (ही पोस्ट मराठीमध्ये इथं वाचता येईल.)

Honestly, I had no plan to go to Kanyakumari.

But a project I had worked on for nearly twenty months had just come to an end. Working online has many advantages, but I had grown weary of endless conversations through the computer screen. I longed to get away, to wander somewhere far. My original plan was to travel to Spiti Valley, but that trip was cancelled by the group I was supposed to join. So, almost on impulse, I thought: “Why not Kanyakumari?”

Reaching Kanyakumari is time-consuming. Of course, today there are multiple routes: Pune–Mumbai–Thiruvananthapuram–Kanyakumari (by bus, train, flight, taxi....) , or Pune–Chennai–Kanyakumari, saving a few hours but adding to the fatigue. Since I wasn’t in a hurry, I chose the slower but more comfortable option: the train from Pune all the way to Kanyakumari.

Decades ago, when I first went to Kanyakumari, it was on the old 1081 Down train. That was my very first long journey in the general compartment.  I still remember the thrill of it. Vendors calling out “Paal, Paal!” startled me until I realized “paal” meant milk. A little girl, Rosie, barely two years old, became my playmate, and her parents helped me through the journey. Back then, one had to change train at Trivandrum, and everyone told me to buy a ticket to “Cape.” Only then did I learn that “Cape” meant Kanyakumari. Memories like these made me choose the Pune–Kanyakumari train again, with a smile.

Now the train is 16381 down, starting directly from Pune and reaching Kanyakumari in about thirty-six hours. It passes through five states—Maharashtra, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Tamil Nadu, and Kerala—before re-entering Tamil Nadu at Nagercoil and reaching the southern tip. Along the way it crosses the Bhima, Krishna, Tungabhadra, Palar, and many other rivers. A journey in itself, rich and varied.

Before booking train tickets, I had to arrange accommodation. For me, staying in Kanyakumari always means staying at Vivekanandapuram. I cannot even imagine staying anywhere else. To my surprise, their website mentioned that single travelers are not allotted rooms anymore. In today’s age of “solo travel,” this seemed a sharp contrast. I wrote to the campus manager anyway, reluctantly mentioning some of my old connections with senior workers. And the accommodation was booked. 

This time I wanted to explore Kanyakuamri a little, something I had never done in my earlier visits. I also planned two days in Thiruvananthapuram on the way back. Accommodations and tickets done. 

On the night of July 23, I reached Pune station. My mobile internet (BSNL, of course!) failed just when I needed to pay (online) the taxi driver. He promptly offered me his hotspot so that I could make the payment. A small act, but one that reflected his professionalism. There is a bridge connecting Metro Station and Pune Railway station. I sat there for a while - doing nothing! 

The train was on time. 

One of my co-passengers was a quiet gentleman who promptly fell asleep on the upper berth, and later, a lady who got on just before departure. We exchanged a few words—she was headed to Erode. The ticket checker merely asked our names and ticked them off without even looking at our tickets. And so, the journey began.

The next morning, I woke up without an alarm. Travel always makes me alert, almost eager to watch the world from the train window. 

Wadi Junction, Karnataka

The lady on the opposite berth  was soon on video calls and YouTube, without earphones. The chatter and music filled the compartment. I gently reminded her to lower the volume a few times, but it didn’t last long. It is a familiar experience in India—people rarely follow the simple etiquette of using earphones in public places. Still, she was warm and simple, and I couldn’t hold it against her.

River Krishna? or Tungbhadra? Not Sure.

By mid-morning, another woman joined us—a fluent speaker of both Tamil and English, working as an agriculture officer for a agri-supply company. She had just been given charge of Vidarbha in Maharashtra. Over coffee and shared idlis, our compartment became a small community. Conversations about farming, rural India, and family journeys flowed easily until each of them got off at their respective stations.

Through the day, though, I saw another side: how rigidly people cling to linguistic pride. Railway's outsourced staff couldn’t speak English; and my passengers could not speak Hindi. Communication was left hanging in mid-air. At first, I helped translate, but after a while, I quietly withdrew. It was amusing to watch the stubbornness on both sides. People are ready to ignore each other in the name of language. There was also a Hindi-speaking family with a two year kid. My co-pasangers even did not speak to that child - who probably did not need any formal language except for a smile.  People are ready to experience discomfort because they are proud of their language. I mean come on! Is it too difficult to understand that "tea" means "chai" and "das" means "ten"? People can be ridiculous at times! I just thought it better to read this book. I haven't read it after I wrote it :-) 

In the process, I picked up a handful of Tamil words—Vanakkam (hello), Nandri (thank you), Saapad (meal), Thanni (water)..... Enough to remind me that with willingness, even language barriers can be bridged. We don't need grammatically correct language to communicate, we just need the will to connect and communicate. 

The train moved through landscapes that kept changing with each state. Green stretches of Karnataka, the dry lands of Andhra, the lush fields of Tamil Nadu, the waterways of Kerala—it was as if the geography of India unfolded in one continuous film.

ShaktiNagar, Karnataka

Somewhere near Cuddapah station, Andhra Pradesh

Somewhere near Nagercoil, Tamil Nadu

And in between these sights, I kept thinking: Why am I going back to Kanyakumari? I have always followed the rule of not returning to places I’ve left behind. Yet here I was, retracing my steps. Perhaps it was an attempt to reconnect with the past. So much has changed—me, my circumstances, even the train’s number! Was I testing where I now stand compared to the “me” of decades ago? But I know for that review I don't need to travel miles and miles. 

Kanyakumari was one of the most important turning points of my life. That first visit had left both immediate and long-lasting imprints—some joyous, some difficult. In many ways, that journey had now come full circle. Perhaps returning to Kanyakumari was my way of celebrating it.

After Trivandrum, the train was nearly empty. Slowly, it rolled into Kanyakumari station—the southernmost railway station of India.

Kanyakumari Railway Station

Decades ago, I started a new path from here. This place is important for me. It will always remain important. 

(To be continued…)

240: An Experiment in 2024

(ही पोस्ट मराठीत इथं वाचता येईल.)

Questions like "Who is your favorite teacher?" or "Who is your favorite author?" often seem amusing (and sometimes even pointless) to me. The reason is simple—there is rarely a single person who stands out so distinctly that no one else comes close. We can admire multiple teachers and/or authors simultaneously, each for different reasons. Our memories of people and experiences are shaped by various contexts, and predicting which memory will surface at a given time is impossible.

Someone recently asked me, "What was your happiest moment in 2024?" and I found myself utterly confused. Several things came to mind, but ranking them seemed impossible. How do I compare the joy of unexpectedly spotting a beautiful bird with the happiness of mastering a new skill? Do I even need to rank them? Must one experience be considered superior while the rest become insignificant? Of course, I didn’t express all these thoughts to the person who asked. Instead, I gave a quick, generic response and moved on.

A Yearlong Experiment

Later, when my work was done, I opened a small box from my cupboard.

No, not to eat Shrewsbury biscuits (those were long gone!) This box contained notes from an experiment I had been conducting throughout the year. It was time to examine them carefully.

At the beginning of 2024, I came across a Facebook post suggesting an interesting activity: Every week, write down a positive event from that week on a piece of paper, store it in a jar, and at the end of the year, revisit all those moments to reflect on the good things that happened.

I was curious about the experiment. I decided to try it, with a few modifications. Instead of a jar, I used a box. The idea of simply noting a "positive event" felt too vague, so I redefined it: "What made me feel happy or content this week?" This is what I recorded every Sunday evening. A reminder on my phone helped me stay consistent with this Weekly Positive Note practice.

Of course, I didn’t always manage to write the note on Sunday itself. Sometimes, I would delay it by two or three days. When I finally opened the box at the end of the year, I found 51 notes out of 52 weeks—one week must have been missed, or perhaps a note had slipped outside the box into my cupboard.

What Did These Notes Reveal?

There was nothing grand or extraordinary in these notes—just small moments, everyday experiences that might have otherwise been forgotten. If I had tried to recall my happiest moments of the year without these notes, I would have remembered only two or three. But here, I had written proof that I had experienced joy 47–48 more times! And this was just what I had consciously recorded—surely, I had felt happiness even more frequently than that.

So what were these happy moments?

• Meeting people and sharing their joy.
• Unexpectedly spotting a beautiful bird.
• Enjoying the rain.
• Taking a peaceful Sunday morning walk on empty roads.
• Visiting parts of the city (like Kondhwa and Ramwadi) for the first time.
• Noticing magnificent trees while riding the metro.
• Buying books.
• Reaching my goal of reading a certain number of books in the year.
• Writing something meaningful.

Even work-related joys made it into my notes. I have always chosen work that makes me happy, but looking back, I realized that even the small details of the work gave me joy.

• Successfully holding an engaging discussion with rural communities on LGBTQ+ topics made me feel accomplished.
• Completing a training manual was a moment of satisfaction.
• Seeing participants in a workshop actively engage in meaningful discussions brought a sense of fulfillment.
• Learning a new language and watching a film in that language with minimal reliance on subtitles was an unexpected delight.

There were new experiences too—visiting the Pune Meteorological Observatory for the first time, attending a workshop on Constitution of India, and listening to instrumental music at Yashada. Even something as simple as eating a pancake after many years found its place in my happiness list! 😊

Healing and Gratitude

2024 also brought an accident, followed by a necessary surgery. Naturally, a significant portion of my recorded happiness revolved around medical progress—

• The ability to sit up on my own.
• Regaining movement in my arm.
• Being able to eat with my right hand again.
• Returning to typing on my laptop.

For nearly three to four months, my notes were filled with milestones in my recovery.

Some entries expressed gratitude—for people, for life itself. Even letting go of certain things effortlessly brought its own kind of happiness.

What Did This Exercise Teach Me?

Happiness and contentment aren’t found only in big achievements or major events—something I already knew in theory, had read about, and even experienced before. But going through this year-long process reinforced that understanding.

Of course, my year wasn’t without struggles. There were challenges, pain, and difficult moments, as expected in life. But now, looking at these notes, I find myself smiling again.

In the final balance, these small joys were what remained and truly mattered.

I am sure such positive moments have always existed in my life, but I had never made a conscious effort to observe and appreciate them before. If I pay even closer attention, I know I will find even more layers of joy in everyday life.

So, I think I’ll continue this experiment in 2025 as well! 😊

239. The Search... for a Book

To begin with, this post is both about 'that one novel' and yet, it isn't. It's not about that novel because this post doesn't aim to introduce the book. Yet, it is about that novel because... well.... 

In truth, this piece is less about that novel and more about myself. As usual 😉

*****

This story dates back to around 1993-94. It's so old, and the details are so hazy that I might even be remembering the year incorrectly. The point is, it's a very old story.

A friend of mine was working in Allahabad at the time. The atmosphere around her was such that people insisted on calling it 'Prayagraj' instead of 'Allahabad.' She was working full-time for an organization. I had worked full-time with the same organization for six and a half years and had left a couple of years earlier. However, there was no animosity between my former colleagues and me, or if there was, I wasn't perceptive enough to notice it.

This friend, let's call her Meena (I've changed her name since we're not in touch anymore), was eagerly inviting me to visit Prayagraj. I was drifting through life at the time. Having a clear direction and I never really got along, so whenever something new caught my eye, I'd take a peek. (Not that things are any different today!)

So, I went to Prayagraj. Meena was busy with her work, surrounded by a group of activists, all of them enthusiastic and young. Some of them I had met earlier during my time with the organization, and some knew of me from stories they'd heard. So, whenever Meena wasn't free, one of them would keep me company, take me around, chat with me, make me eat local dishes, and gift me things.

But one day, no one was available to keep me company. They were busy planning an important event and would be in a meeting for half a day. I found a book on Meena's desk and said, "You all go ahead with your meeting. I'll read this book in the meantime." They felt reassured and got back to their work.

I had (probably?) never read a Hindi book before, so I hesitated a bit at first, but that novel captivated me. The flowing language, the unique subject matter, the blend of worldly life and spirituality... it was delightful. I enjoyed it. The three or three and a half hours flew by unnoticed. It felt like I had been transported to another world. I made sure to write down the name of the book and the author on a piece of paper and carefully tucked it into my bag. I decided that whenever I have a home of my own, this book must be in my collection. This thought made me smile since it was somewhat contrary to the message of the novel.

The next few days were busy. Eventually, I returned to Mumbai (I was living in Mumbai at the time). Later, I moved out of Mumbai and settled in another city. I worked as a volunteer for a year in the earthquake-affected areas of Latur. Then, I worked full-time for another organization for four years. My work took me to various parts of Maharashtra. Amidst all this, the memory of that novel would surface occasionally. But the piece of paper with the book and author's name, carefully tucked away in my bag, had vanished. I remembered some characters, dialogues, and events from the novel, but I couldn't recall the name of the book or the author, no matter how hard I tried.

When I met Meena, I asked her about the book, but she had no recollection of such a book being on her desk. So, there was no point in asking further.

Ten years after this visit to Allahabad, I began to visit the city regularly again. By then, I had stopped working as a full-time volunteer and had started working for a social organization as a salaried employee. During each visit to Allahabad, the memory of that novel would inevitably resurface. I thought of asking my new colleagues about the novel, but the details I could provide were so vague that even a well-read person might not recognize it. Moreover, there weren't many book lovers around me, and the few who were didn't read Hindi. As a result, I found myself reading more and more English books.

As life settled down, the urge to recall the name of that novel grew stronger. Meanwhile, I had become quite familiar with the internet, but I couldn't figure out what keywords to use for the search. I couldn't remember the author's name. I remembered a few specific words from the book, like "Rishikumar," "Princess," "Bullock Cart," "Life," and "Brahma." I was struggling to type in Devanagari. Whenever I found some free time, I tried searching for the book using these words, but I couldn't find anything. I just couldn't remember the right keywords.

Then, I searched for a list of famous Hindi authors, but none of the names seemed familiar in the context of that novel. Thus began another restless search in the dark—a growing frustration at not remembering the name of a book I loved, the annoyance at not having anyone (who reads Hindi) in my circle who could provide the right information, the self-reproach for losing the piece of paper with the book and author's name twenty years ago, and the repeated attempts to convince myself that "If I can't remember it, maybe it wasn't that important a book for me." But these efforts would only lead to a sense of helplessness. There were countless things happening outside, I didn't have time for them... yet, within me, the struggle to recall the name of that book continued relentlessly.

Meanwhile, in 2010, I moved to Delhi. During that time, I focused on reading Hindi books. I bought a lot of Hindi books, which took me years to read, but that's another story. I read classics like "Kathasaritsagara," "Sant Kavi Ke Pramukh Dohe," Premchand's "Mansarovar," "Shrikant," Ismat Chughtai's "Tedhi Lakeer," Shrilal Shukla's "Raag Darbari"... one after another, But I did not find  the novel I was searching for. 

Eventually, I left Delhi. While living in another country (other countries), the only support I had was my 'Kindle'. Along with that, I tried to learn the basics of foreign languages (other than English). I made clumsy attempts to read in those languages.

*****

While searching for Hindi authors, I ordered some Hindi books from 'Rajkamal Paperbacks' in 2021. One of them was Hazari Prasad Dwivedi's 'Punarva'. During my search for Hazari Prasad's books, I came across the name 'Anamdas Ka Potha', and it felt somewhat familiar. When I looked it up online, I found its cover, and...

...And this felt like the very novel I had been trying to remember for the past thirty years.

But Rajkamal didn’t have the book available; perhaps the edition was out of print.

In December 2023, I went to the Rajkamal stall at the Pune book fair. I had decided to buy 'Kashi Ka Assi' by Kashinath Singh, and suddenly, I spotted 'Anamdas Ka Potha'. Needless to say, I immediately bought it.

So, after thirty years, I found this book back again! 

That whole idea of "Kayanaat" (the universe conspiring to help you achieve something you truly desire) ... it’s not that, you have to make efforts yourself—that’s another truth I realized during this journey.

It felt as if I had met my past self once again. Will the novel resonate with me today as it did back then? Will I understand it now as I thought I did then? Or will I discover something new—about the novel, and about myself as well?

After getting this book, I felt an immense sense of calm. The restlessness that came from the feeling that something precious had slipped away from my hands (and memory) was gone. I experience a state of peace. I felt having a strength to completely shut out the external noise. The feeling that there’s nothing left to search for anymore... a sense of having reached the destination, with nothing more to do.

These feelings don’t seem to align with the message of the novel, I realize now. Perhaps I’ll gain more clarity when I read it again.

For some reasons, it took me six months to finally open the book.

Currently, I’m reading it, which is why all of this came back to me.

*****

Hazari Prasad Dwiwedi (1907 to 1979) was a renowned Hindi author. He taught at Shantiniketan for many years, and the influence of that experience is evident in his writing.

This novel includes the story of the sage Raikva, mentioned in the Chandogya Upanishad.

Raikva, who lost his parents at a young age, is deeply immersed in meditation and asceticism, and has come to the conclusion that Prana (life force) is indeed Brahman. During a stormy rain, he encounters Jabala, the daughter of King Janashruti. She is the first woman Raikva has ever seen. What follows is a love story, as well as a tale of the search for truth.

The characters in the novel are all remarkable. Much more could be written about them. But as mentioned at the beginning, the purpose here is not to provide a book review.

More about the novel can be found here.

238. Just Walking!

Within a day or two I would probably reach the destination!

The destination is none other than 'the Earth's Core' according to this Pedometer!

Well, this is hypothetical destination. So far human beings have not been able to travel to the Earth's Core - except for the trio Axel, Otto, and Hans - who travel to this destination in the novel ' A Journey to the Center of The Earth' by Jules Verne!

Nevertheless, it is fun to reach somewhere - even if that somewhere is actually nowhere

I always had (and still have) special affinity with 'walking'. This monitoring of walking started on 2nd September, 2018 in Nay Pyi Taw in Myanmar.

It continued in Philippines. During Covid era, home was my walking ground. Then came the Bharat Jodo Yatra. And I kept walking, meeting different people in the process.

What next? If I continue to walk straight, I might end up in a strange land or more possibly in Pacific waters

So, I will return home - walking! Or may be start walking towards another unknown corner!

226. Countdown

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 55; the fifty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Rashmi Kumar, the author of Hooked, Lined and Single and Jyoti Arora, the author of Lemon Girl.

10.

Sometimes I don’t understand my anxiety. I know you are not accountable to us and you always keep the date. However, I still check weather predictions. The news of your arrival helps me to survive the heat.

9.

It is unfair to say that summer is always horrible. The kids have vacations; ample mangoes and rounds of ice-creams. Meeting friends and traveling. However in the corner of my heart, I know I am waiting for you. I know some people around me do not bother about you. They think everything could be purchased by money power. They are wrong. I argue with them. Such arguments make me feel vacant within. I wish you come a bit earlier this year so that I can forget and forgive these people.

8.

In the world I live, there are multiple worlds. Women walk miles for a pot of water; farmers will be forced to either end their life or migrate. Animals are thirsty. The trees are dirty. The sky seems distant. The Sun blazes and we wait for you.

7.

The evening brings cool breeze. On the western horizon I see black clouds. Will you come today? Oh, No!  Within few moments the clouds move. May be not here but somewhere it is raining.

6.

I am away from home for a week. It was work, so I could not avoid it. And then I see you meeting my home town – on the television, in the newspapers, on FB, on social media. Everywhere. Well, what wrong have I done so that you avoid me?

5.

I am frustrated with the heat, with the work, with the world. I feel lonely. I feel like crying. I just want to go away. Problem is: I cannot go away from myself. I know I would be happy again when you come. When are you coming?

4.

They say that you have arrived in Kerala. Good to know. This means another seven days. Life ise worth of all this waiting.

3.

Where is the umbrella? Do I need to purchase raincoat? What about Floaters?

That is the problem of being a human. On one side, I wait for you like I have never longed before. On the other side I am thinking of all the things to protect me from you. Is it not ridiculous? Yes, it is. I can see you smiling on my contradictions.

2.

I feel you around. I smell you. I look at the elephant like clouds, big, black. But they keep on disappearing. Why?

1.

Will you come tomorrow or today? Will you come in the morning or in the evening?

0.

Finally you come.

You make this world beautiful. You change lives. You make lives. You bring smiles. You bring value to everything around. You bring smiles.

Thanks for coming!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 48. Image Credits: Monsoon by Yann (Wikimedia Commons). Shared with GNU Free Documentation License CC Attribution-Share Alike.

212. People and their Hero

We, the People need heroes. The word hero includes heroines – role model, idol.  

Whatever we might do when real life situation demands, ideally we like to worship a hero. That gives us weird satisfaction of being secure, of being worthy followers.

The more heroes:  the better.

In case there are more heroes, we easily establish hierarchy amongst the existing heroes – to each one his/her own is our principle. We fight on points like ‘whose hero is better’?

Mind you: “mine is always the best”

We can present arguments in favor of our hero and go to any length to criticize the non-hero.

We the People can make heroes and We the People are capable of dumping heroes. We the People are powerful than Government, Bureaucracy, Judiciary and Media imagines; or would like to imagine.

If there are no real life heroes, we take on cricketers, film stars, political leader, whosoever is available; even we choose our boss - we manage our hero worship hunger by compromising with our values.

We like heroes who are simple. We like heroes who are poor. We like heroes who are naïve. We like heroes who do not have power. We like heroes who give us a chance to shout slogans, to be on the roads with candles, to clap, to laugh, to cry, to do some kind of activity which we had hardly done in personal life. We like heroes who awaken sense of being part of ‘history making epoch’ in our life – because otherwise there is nothing exciting in our life.

We don’t like our hero to be criticized. We forget that others too have right to express, howsoever different that opinion might be. But we tend to call them traitors, we doubt their intentions, we say that they are trying to break our unity.

It is always interesting to throw stones on others. After all we have chosen them as our representatives, so we have every right to thrown stones and de-throne them. Don’t ask us why we were not aware of their weaknesses; we are emotional people and we believe a charismatic leader with the hope that s/he would make everything easy for us.

We like to be part of a process which changes others, which threatens others. There is no other joy than watching a powerful person wilt against higher power.

Now don’t ask questions like - what about my responsibility? What about changes in my life? What if tomorrow my hero invites everyone to take an oath?

For example, if my hero asks me to:

1.   Never bribe a traffic cop when my two /four wheeler is picked up from a non-parking area.

2.   Pay full taxes without hiding any income.

3.   Not to pay anyone extra amount to get train ticket, movie ticket, passport, job, and berth in train journey etc.

4.   Neither ask for nor give dowry.

5.  Not pay donation for my child’s education, if that means my child would study in poor municipal corporation school, so it be then.

6.   Not join any tuition or coaching classes - because this is another way of spoiling education system.

7.   Not approach any politician to help me from punishment for breaking laws.

8.  Not accept money for voting a particular candidate or not voting in any elections – even my residential society elections.

9.   Not use office telephone for my personal calls/ I will not use office computer for personal work like searching new job or playing games.

10.  …………………

11.  ……………………….

I am sure, the moment our hero starts putting such demands; we will turn and find another hero.

There is no dearth of heroes around.

"We the People" are Powerful!

200. Color

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 42; the forty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "COLOR"

Every evening Grandpa holds my hand and takes me to the garden.

I like it.

Today children are playing some new game.

“Tipi Tipi Tip Top”, one girl shouts.

“What color you want?” responds the chorus.

“Blue” the girl says and everybody rushes around.

They catch something and laugh.

The laughter is joyful and clear like a sea wave.

Now it is another girl, her voice is different.

“Tipi Tipi Tip Top,” she shouts.

“What color you want?” the chorus.

“Grandpa, what is color” I ask with curiosity.

Grandpa sighs. He holds me close.

His tears fall on my face. 

(This is a Drabble) 

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: XX

196. Translators

Some jobs needs more than what they mean.
Look at the translators; for example.
Apparently it is about a set of skills but it is also about what kind of human being you are.

People have different ideas - not  only about others but also about themselves.
The personality exhibits salient features more in certain professions.
And I have come to believe that "translation" is one such profession.

Being born and brought up and working in a multi-lingual society like India has its advantages. However it also means that most of the times I have to depend on translators. I have done "translation" tasks a number of times and know how difficult it is. I keep on wondering why translators think that 'knowing two languages makes them automatically eligible for the job of translation."

Once I had a translator who had opinion on each and everything under the sky. Each time he would translate very briefly what other person had said and elaborate on how he disagreed with that opinion. I had hard time in separating his opinions and the opinions of the people. I had to assure him that I would interview him later and at length.

There was another translator who made it look so easy for himself. The tribal women spoke for about ten minutes and he translated it in one minute. When I protested that the woman had spoken many points, he shrugged shoulders and bravely said that he was helping me by filtering the talk. I had to remind him that it was for these tribal women that I had come so far.

Once I was asking few questions and the translator kept on answering those without consulting local people. When I reminded her that I needed to get those answers from local communities, she simple said, "Oh! But I know those answers. What is there to ask? In fact you should be thankful that I am saving lot of your time."

One translator always forgot to translate the response. After listening to the response, she would keep on asking her own questions (totally irrelevant and misleading the whole process) until my interference.

Once I provided an example of how the lack of quality assurance destroyed the enterprise of one Self Help Group of women. The idea was that the participants should pay more attention to quality assurance. What I spoke for five minutes, the translator told them in one sentence. I asked  what he had told them. He had plainly told that "don't go into this enterprise, you will fail."

Do you see a pattern? Translation is not only about skills, they are highly important. It is also about what kind of person you are. Are you ready to hide yourself? Are you ready to forget your likes and dislikes for a little time? Are you ready to treat yourself insignificant in the whole process? Are you ready to communicate what you have been told without adding spice in it? Are you ready to help others? Are you willing to learn?

We need good translators; not only linguistic translators but also those who can translate ideas into actions.
For that one needs to treat her/himself as an instrument - are we ready for that?

I look back at my experience and realize that half of the work gets spoiled due to bad translators!
Both idea-action translators and language translators.

192. Painting

I am visiting his office after a long time.

The room looks cleaner and beautiful.

There is a new painting on the wall.

It is enchanting.

He is happy to note that it has attracted my attention. 

I ask him about the painting.

For half an hour he elaborates – the artist, the other paintings, and the exhibition.        

With love, with enthusiasm that is uncharacteristic of him.

I keep on wondering.

If he likes the painting so much, why is it at his back?

Is it a process that helps to show him in a different light?

Is he ‘Painting’ himself?  

(This is a Drabble.)

191. Twinning

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 37; the thirty-seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "and then there were none"

The twins come from that indescribable core,

Beyond darkness and light.

One  moves amongst people;

Covers itself with different passions;

It wears colors, masks, sips the emotions;

Takes positions, assumes thoughts;

It presents itself in an exciting manner;

People are more comfortable with It.

The other observes relentlessly.

It does all that the first one does.

It flows and maintains its identity.

It is naked.  It stares calmly.

So it never attracts human beings.

 It frightens.

One always feels strange to face it.

For ages they say: truth is stranger than fiction.

Indeed it is.

The Twinning seems ridiculously insane.

****

(This is a Drabble.)

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188. Fear

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 35; the thirty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "...and the world was silent again"

16 December 2012.

New Delhi. India

News spreads

Helplessness, Agony, Outcry, Anger,

Protests, Street March, Slogans, Candles, Fasts

Debates, Discussions, Editorials, Media coverage

Tweets, Facebook updates, Blogs

Poems, Articles

Commitments, Oaths, Schemes, Improvements

Calls for life punishment.

Calls for changes in the system.

Calls for changes in law.

Will history repeat itself?

That is the question.

Mathura. Suryanelli. Soumya

Helplessness, Agony, Outcry, Anger,

Protests, Street March, Slogans,

Debates, Discussions, Editorials,

Calls for changes in the system.

Calls for changes in law.

And the world was silent again.

Tulasa Thapa, Thangiam Manorama

Helplessness, Agony, Outcry, Anger,

Protests, Street March, Slogans,

Debates, Discussions, Editorials,

Calls for changes in the system.

Calls for changes in law.

And the world was silent again.

Jalagaon, Khairlanjee, Ajmer

Helplessness, Agony, Outcry, Anger,

Protests, Street March, Slogans,

Debates, Discussions, Editorials, Media coverage

Calls for changes in the system.

Calls for changes in law.

And the world was silent again.

Anjana Mishra, Bhanvari Devi,

Helplessness, Agony, Outcry, Anger,

Protests, Street March, Slogans,

Debates, Discussions, Editorials, Media coverage

Calls for changes in the system.

Calls for changes in law.

And the world was silent again.

Soni Sori, Nayana Pujari, Jyoti Kumari Chaudhari
and so many others,

Helplessness, Agony, Outcry, Anger,

Protests, Street March, Slogans,

Debates, Discussions, Editorials, Media coverage

Calls for changes in the system.

Calls for changes in law.

And the world was silent again.

Aruna Shanbhag?

Who was she?

Oh..right. Unfortunate indeed.

And the world was silent again.

Jammu and Kashmir.

Hmm! It is easy to talk about it,

But you know,

Our soldiers are doing a good job there.

Don’t discuss.

Aren’t you patriotic?

Someone has to pay the price. Keep quiet.

And the world was silent again.

North East?

What happened there?

Oh! It must be some foreign hand.

Who knows what the fact is!

The media has no other story

Let it be, who cares?

And the world was silent again.

Thousands, nay millions of

'Nameless' and 'Faceless'

Go through the agony.

Four year young and seventy year old,

Poor and Middle class and Wealthy,
Dalit and tribal and the upper caste,
Educated and uneducated,
Working in the public sector, private sector, unorganized sector, domestic workers.

Everyday. Every moment.

Some have courage to say it loudly.

Many die a silent death.

Pending cases.

Conviction rate?

Social taboo.

Police attitude,

No help from passers by ....

Well, it is still a concern. 

And the newspaper writes about one more rape.

From somewhere, around the corner.

“Women! “

“You know, it is not actually rape.”

“When they are caught red-handed, they want to save their skin by framing the man.”

“Why do they wear such provocative clothes?”

“Why do they move out in the evening?”

“Don’t they understand the world around is not good.”

“Women – they want independence!! These are the fruits of their independence.”

“This is all impact of westernization.”

“This is not our culture. We need to go back to our culture.”

“It does not happen to us because we are good.”

“Rape happens to only those who are ‘characterless’”

“Leave it. It is not our problem.”

And the world becomes silent

Again and again.

16 December 2012.

New Delhi. India

Agony, Outcry, Anger

Continue to grow.

29 December, Singapore.

The last breath.

I wish; we all wish that

At least now

The world would not remain silent!

However, I fear that the world will be silent again! 

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: Vipul Grover, Participation Count: 30