Snippets

Time is speeding these days in Cocoville. The lazy woman is literally juggling a multitude of activities and loving it all! Add the festive season to the scene and watch her going crazy multitasking. 

1. Celebrating the wintry festivals which arrive like a train, beginning way back at Dussehra and going on till Makar Sankranti in January. To us, festive season also means all our birthdays and anniversaries. Both Coco and 'Bringing Up Coco' became 4 year olds, one a naughty preschooler and the other a creative outlet, both of them bringing oodles of happiness to me.

2. Going dizzy receiving orders at 'Pink Pitari', making stuff and delivering them. It is hugely satisfying to watch my craft dream grow. 

3. Creating marvels like 'Chinese Chilli Idli', an absolute makeover of these desi delicacies into something unrecognizable. These turned out well.

4. Receiving such pictures from delighted customers and feeling great that my absolutely rustic work is actually finding place into people's nicely decorated living rooms.  

 5. Doing Zumba, getting fitter by the day and enjoying the company of amazing army wives full of energy, inspiration and good vibes. Seen above is my incredibly motivated and awesome Zumba instructor who by the way is also an army wife. 

6. Completing craft courses one after another and crafting to my heart's content. This place has a dedicated hobby centre and most of us are making the most of it. Last week it was candle making which I did with a close friend and we totally rocked at it. Before candles, it was decoupage and mural art is lined up to be the next. Not only did we make all the candles in the course package, we also shared a lot of new ideas from the internet and the very talented instructor herself learned a thing or two from our brainstorming! She is a local woman who does not have much access to the internet for ideas, learning new skills or selling her handmade stuff, but she still has a room full of amazing crafts, a lot of which has been picked from army wives like us during instructing them, I think. The above candle is one of almost a dozen candles and all those flowers are handmade with wax. Reminds me of my wild roses!

7. Learning to take good pictures with my new digital camera, highly inspired by the friend who did 'Pink Pitari's' first photo shoot. In the above picture, I have tried to go artsy by using one of my candles as a flower vase. I hope to learn soon!

8. Exploring an amazing craft outlet in the neighborhood and amazed to find great stuff and superb yarns in a place where it is difficult to find even the basic craft supplies. Bought a few supplies and made a wishlist of the gorgeous yarns that Pony craft store have at their factory outlet in the Nilgiris.

9. Visiting beautiful places and getting lost in the amazement. Visited a tea factory last month and saw the journey of teeny tiny tea leaves from gardens to tea cups. Truly mesmerizing...

10. Meeting talented army wives and getting surprised to find that there are many like me. This Diwali, I made these two handmade purchases, a paper lamp by an army wife who is also a Madhubani painter and sells her work through Facebook; and a tea-light holder candle, also by an army wife who shared my stall and goes by the name Candle CRAFT on Facebook. Not only this, my surroundings are buzzing with creative energy from other entrepreneurs like chocolatiers, bakers, painters... you name it, I have them here!

Love You Mom!

Coco and mommy in Lansdowne

It was a chaotic morning as usual this Friday, like all school day mornings. To add to my stress, Coco was in a bad mood, sleepy, whiny and not ready to go to school. Somehow, we got ready and reached school. But he refused to get down from the car and insisted that the school was closed today. I gathered up my last fragments of waning patience and asked him if we could just go and check whether it was open or not. If it was closed, he could come back with me. If it was open, well, we shall see then! Nope, not ready to come!

Chef Coco on Labor Day 

Thereafter, I tried to convince him by telling him that Mother's day was around the corner, so there might be some card making today, it will be so much fun and he will give mommy a card today. Nada! Not charming enough. At last I picked him up and deposited him inside the school gate where one of the teachers received him. As it is, we are always five minutes late, no matter how fast we get ready. But it is still acceptable because a lot of kids are coming around that time. Any later than five minutes, and the school gates look abandoned. Everything suddenly seems to grow eyes, looking at me accusingly, 'you're late!'

The whining turned into wailing that I could hear from far away, but kept walking to my car. Mornings are sometimes tough like that. 

When I went back at noon to pick him up, it was a happy sight to see the children coming out and handing a colorful flowery card to their respective moms, with the teachers reminding them of how they taught them to say 'I  love you mom.' I waited for my turn as I saw smiling, glowing mothers walking out with their kids. So, my prediction this morning was correct. Though there was some more activity scheduled solely for mothers the next day, a card was a must today. However, 'I love you' is something that Coco and I say all the time to each other. Expressions of love need not be restricted to special days.

In a few minutes, Coco came out smiling, holding a paper poppy flower and ran straight to me saying, 'See, ma'm gave me caad.' His 'Ma'm' interfered, asking, 'Coco, how should you say it?' Coco thought for a moment and held the card to me, saying, 'Ye lo, Mother Day.'

His mam asked, 'And?' He racked his brains, then mam hinted, 'Love you?'

His eyes lit up as he remembered and jumped, 'Love you mom!' 

'Aww, I love you too baby!' I said and hugged him, picking him up instantly. Though I knew I was going to get a card and hear 'love you mom,' it still made my heart skip a beat. I smiled at the teacher, wishing her good day, thankful for my dark sunglasses which didn't show my misty eyes. All of a sudden, I was missing my mom.

The Unsung Heroes: Indian Army Wives

Once, Yama, the ruler of hell, heard a large group of women laughing and talking, enjoying a party in hell. He asked his assistant to find out who these women were, and how were they so happy even in hell! Yama's assistant instantly answered his query, 'Sir, these are Indian Army Wives. They enjoy wherever they go.'

That might sound like a joke to many. But to my ears and eyes, it is the absolute truth. I walk among hundreds of heroes as a part of my daily routine. Someone might come across an inspiring story once in a while. I have hundreds of such stories happening around me, which I witness, feel and live. I see my heroes, I am proud to be in their company, we smile at each other and nod a 'good evening' or 'good morning', even when we don't know each other's names. We know that it does not matter much, we are friends anyways. Such is the spirit of our Army, our officers, and naturally, their better halves. Yes, my heroes are none other than Indian Army Wives!

Indian Army wives constitute a little army by themselves. This little army is a storehouse of talent and fun, a cache of songs and laughter and a beacon of hope in dark times of loss and turmoil. Among this group, one can meet women from all walks of life. Doctors, engineers, army officers, civil servants, lawyers, journalists, air hostesses, teachers, entrepreneurs, authors, poets, actors, classical dancers, corporate trainers, singers, artistes, you name it, we have her! How they manage to be everything that they are is nothing short of magic! At times, they leave me star-struck with their wit, their beauty, their panache, their elegance, their rich taste and class. But these qualities can be easily seen by anyone. Indian Army wives are much more than that. They are an ocean of beautiful hearts and minds, come together drop by drop, handpicked by destiny, to be paired with the bravest on earth.

I read somewhere, that we should not judge others, as we do not know their story. But I have seen people judging army wives many times. You see them partying daily, but you do not see the uncertainty of tomorrow clawing at their nerves. You see their glamour and style, you do not see the struggle that they go through in moving between one mossy old house to another, every alternate year, or even before that. You think that they do not lift a finger, but actually, the amount of back-breaking work that they do goes unnoticed, well hidden behind their charm. You can spot her driving away in a sedan, but you are conveniently unaware of the fact that she is running from pillar to post, to keep everything in place in the absence of her husband. You think that they enjoy too many 'freebies', you never try to understand their pain that is darker than those 30 odd black boxes in which they carry their entire life.

Staying away from her husband for a while is a part of any army wife's life. During these tough times, while the officer is braving the challenges of glaciers and super low temperatures, the wife has her own glaciers to climb. In that duration, she doubles up as a father to her kids, a son to her in laws, and does everything that the man of the house is supposed to do, that too with elan. Did you know that army wives compare their separation length with each other and someone who has been away 'only' for three years in a marriage of seven years feels luckier than the one who had to spend three years and one month away. Isn't that a fancy yardstick? 

Life, in itself is not easy. Life as a woman is more difficult. Women have the fighter's instinct and they are tough from within. Army wives are a lot tougher. They live in the present and enjoy thoroughly while keeping in mind that tomorrow might be different. The past year went like a slideshow, leaving me scared and saddened many times. Every now and then, an unfortunate news comes and wakes me up from my sweet dreams to the harsh truth. The reason of my not writing much this September and October was not sheer laziness or any kind of fancy army-wife-partying spree, it was a rather low and heartbroken phase for me. We lost Maj Dhruv Yadav, an officer who I met very briefly, and had the chance to find out how much he loved kids. He used to ask Coco, 'Who am I?', and when Coco replied 'Dhu uncle' in recognition, his face beamed with joy. Proud to be in Coco's good book, he did this again and again, just for the fun of it. 

When his news came, all I could remember was Coco's beloved 'Dhu uncle' and his radiant smile and cried at the sheer injustice of fate. I have never spoken to his wife, but all I could think of was her, and their unborn child.  I bless his son with all my might, and wish him all the happiness of the world. Even today, not a day goes without remembering Maj Yadav, though I barely knew him. I do not know anyone stronger than his wife, and salute her for being so brave. She, and many others like her have proved time and again, that as long as we have such iron willed women, our frontiers will stay safe.

I must let you in on a little secret now. I am an army wife myself, and consider myself quite strong. A senior officer once jokingly said that I should be awarded 'Paramveer Chakra' for my bravery of staying alone in this 'forest resort' like house for a few months. But I think my bravery ends there. Inside, I am scared. When I was about to get married, my colleagues sometimes played 'ae jaate huye lamhon' for me, not knowing that inside I died a thousand deaths. Can you believe, I run away whenever the movie Border is being aired on tv? I haven't watched it, and do not have the courage to watch it ever either. My bucket list has bungee jumping though! I pray to God for peace and harmony, because no one else's life depends on it but my own. Whereas, my magnanimous heroes promise to stand by each other, come rain or sunshine. They do not know defeat, and quitting is not an option for them. They stand proudly by their faujis and  that my friends is all the more reason why I worship my heroes, these soldiers without uniforms, the Indian Army Wives.  

http://www.youthkiawaaz.com/

Chocoderella

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 53; the fifty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Soulmates: Love without ownership by Vinit K Bansal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. 

Once upon a time there lived a chocolatier. Moulding chocolates was his passion more than profession. He used to make chocolates in all shapes and sizes. Once he moulded a batch of chocolate babies on order. When he packed his shop away for the night, he forgot one chocolate baby out on his counter. That night when the chocolate fairy visited his shop, she saw the little chocolate baby and spun her magic wand thrice and lo and behold! The baby came alive. The next morning when the chocolatier came to open his shop, he found a beautiful baby girl crying on his counter, in a pool of chocolate sauce. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and dried into chocolate chips. He named her Chocoderella and brought her home to his wife and two daughters. In the beginning everything was alright, but the chocolatier died after a few years and the wife started giving Chocoderella a step-motherly treatment, though she was a loving and caring mother to her own daughters. 

Chocoderella used to work hard all day long, wearing rags but would hardly get anything to eat. Her sisters dressed up in gorgeous dresses and ate gourmet food all day. As a result, they grew up into lumpy and lazy girls while Chocoderella was a lovely girl who smelled of hot chocolate.

Once, her sisters went to the royal ball, all decked up in jewels and pretty dresses, leaving Chocoderella home to keep their beds ready when they came back home from the ball, tired after all the dance and fun. Chocoderella sat down in a corner, crying tears of chocolate chips. As she kept crying, the floor got covered with chocolate chips and when there was no more room, the chocolate fairy appeared, and with a flick of her magic wand, turned all the chocolate into a grand coach, driven by six white horses and a uniformed coachman crisply holding a whip. She then turned Chocoderella’s rags into a beautiful gown, decorated with lace made of spun sugar and a necklace of candy gems adorned her neck. Lovely as she was, Chocoderella now looked like the goddess of temptation and desire with her golden tresses of molten caramel and her creamy skin reminding of milk chocolate that she was actually made of. 

The fairy smiled and said, ‘You are all set to go to the royal ball now, Chocoderella. But you should be back before midnight for that is when my spell ends. Your coach, horses and coachman will all become chocolate chips again and your clothes will turn to rags.’

‘All right,’ said Chocoderella happily.

Chocoderella had a gala time at the ball with the prince, and when she heard the first stroke of the midnight, she was shocked to find how quickly the hours had gone by! She was suddenly reminded of the bitter truth and reluctantly pulled herself away from the prince’s arms. As he saw her slipping away, the prince wanted to pull her back but all he could get hold of was the little finger of her right hand. In her hurry, Chocoderella pulled her hand hard and her chocolate finger snapped. Startled and shocked, she ran away. The prince stared at a vanishing Chocoderella, his jaw dropped, her little finger in his hand, smelling divine and looking tempting. In a trance like state, he took a bite of the finger. Never in his princely life had he ever had a chocolate so delicious. Without thinking, he hurriedly ate the whole finger and licked his palms crazily which had held Chocoderella and were now fragrant with her hot chocolate sweat. He had fallen madly in love with her.

When the king saw the prince’s condition, he announced on the spot, ‘Go and find the girl with caramel hair and milk chocolate face who smells like hot chocolate. The prince will get married to her.’

The king’s men now searched the whole kingdom for the chocolate girl with a missing little finger and finally reached Chocoderella’s home. Chocoderella’s sisters, in order to impress them, bathed in hot chocolate that morning. But when they came in front of king’s men, they were covered in blisters. As they were leaving, one of the men spotted Chocoderella standing in a corner, covering her right hand with a cloth.

When she saw the king’s men bringing forth Chocoderella for examination, her mother sniggered, ’Oh, but she is only a maid. She could not have gone to the royal ball.’ But it was too late. One of the men had removed the cloth from her hand and it was missing the little finger. Her hot chocolate fragrance confirmed further that she was indeed the chocolate girl that they had been looking for. At that moment, the chocolate fairy appeared and waved her magic wand. Chocoderella’s clothes changed into a royal gown, but surprisingly her hand remained unhealed.

As the sisters and the mother looked on wide-eyed, the fairy said, ‘The missing finger cannot grow again, but if you find it, I can attach it to your hand.’ As Chocoderella nodded, the fairy disappeared. The king’s men took Chocoderella to the palace where the prince was eagerly waiting for her.

One would think that Chocoderella married the prince and they lived happily ever after. But since this is a new age fairy tale, what happened next is written in golden caramel letters in the history of chocolates.

Chocoderella asked the prince about her little finger. The embarrassed prince admitted that he ate it in a crazy rush of greed and excitement, and now he wanted to marry her because he could not forget that divine taste and all he could think of was her hot chocolate fragrance. Chocoderella replied dryly to this proposition saying, ‘If you cannot resist eating a little chocolate finger, I am afraid you would eat me alive if you get the opportunity. You are not in love with me, but only lusting over chocolate. And no one can deny, chocolate can heal a broken heart, and it can almost replace love!’ Holding her head high, Chocoderella stomped out of the palace. She restarted her father’s closed chocolaterie and lived happily ever after. Only, every once in a while, Chocoderella cried for her missing little finger and there never was a dearth of chocolate chips in her chocolaterie.  

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: 03

To The New Horizons..

Every journey has a story behind it. Why else would anyone leave the warmth and comfort of their home behind to travel across the length and breadth of continents, braving the elements, getting scorched in sun and drenched in rain? Especially someone like me, who was cocooned in the love and affection of my parents  in a small town home would have never thought of a journey which would take me from North to South and then some more places. 

It was a time when none of my efforts of bringing my life on a desired path were giving any results. All I had were wasted opportunities and shattered dreams. It was as if darkness was attacking me from all directions and I could see nothing but gloom ahead. But I was not ready to give up. I had to get out of that place and chase my dreams. I was not born to be dominated by the smallness of social boundaries drawn for girls, I was born to break them and find new horizons for myself, so I thought. The life that several other small town girls had was not meant for me. And I never ever thought any different from this.

There was a time when I could see girls younger than me getting married and having children, going about their lives in a run-of-the-mill fashion. Friendly neighborhood uncles and aunts would keep talking to my parents in hushed voices, while I tried to ignore them. I knew in my heart of hearts that that kind of life was never going to be my life. Thankfully, my parents never tried to decide for me and heard me out.

The next step was to change lanes and press the accelerator hard. I took the bold decision of moving to Delhi for higher studies and make an altogether different career than what I had originally thought. While my mother cried her eyes out and my father was worried sick, they still supported my choice. Delhi has not been in the news for all the right reasons, and especially for a lonely girl from a small town and an even smaller exposure to the ways of the world, it was like trying to conquer Mount Everest. 

After my first couple of journeys when my father accompanied me forth and back from Delhi during holidays, I insisted that I travel alone, as I could not bear the thought of troubling my parents, and I knew travelling was a huge source of anxiety for my father. After that, as if I had grown a pair of wings. I completed my management course and got placed in a reputed IT company in Hyderabad. I flew to Hyderabad with my parents and joined my company, and gained the reputation of a lighthouse in my small town circle.

As for those uncles and aunts, they are making their girls study professional courses and have ditched the plans of getting them married soon after their high school.

   

Written as a post for the prompt 'start a new life' for housing

One Word : Shopping!

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 51; the fifty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Red Ink Publishers and "Curse Of The Red Soil" by Durgesh Shastri. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. 

Multicolored dreams in a material world...

A self-confessed shopaholic friend of mine says that she cannot live without shopping. Shopping is not only a proven stress buster for her and many more of us, it is also a drug to induce a zen like state of mind, wherein a person basks in the glory of their previous day's trip to the mall and crosses all the hurdles of their common routine without ever a crease on their forehead. Some people are also notorious of shopping during the end of season sale with the seriousness of an IIT-JEE aspirant. 

We also know as the dwellers of the internet era, that a lot of our shopping has changed hands and now it resides on Mount Internet, it's glorious image shimmering in the sunshine of end of season sales. Window shopping is now giving way to screen shopping, where sleepless nights are spent on browsing through categories and 'saving items for later'. All around the off sale time, we dream of owning that special pair of shoes or that gorgeous dress, but wait for the sale season to arrive, where, strangely, we spend more than we save. So, we can safely assume that hopes and dreams keep the human race alive, where shoppers hope for getting the item that they always dream of at a dreamlike price, while merchants hope to sell their wares and dream of making a killing.

As the winter arrived, I checked my shoe-stock packed away in a trunk (oh, those famous army trunks!), and found my old footwear in really bad shape. Sale season had also arrived by then. So many excuses to go shopping. Yay!

When I consulted my husband on the matter, he suggested that I shop online because

 A) He was too busy to accompany me to shopping.

 B) I was not willing to drive. 

 C) He had some discount coupons I could use. 

 D) Sale season was on. 

 E) All of the above. 

Correct answer: E

I do not really trust shopping online, especially for footwear. But after the above conversation, I found myself pulled into the vacuum of online shopping and hopelessly so. One fine morning I realized all I dreamt of last night was shopping for shoes online, when, after looking for and 'saving' footwear online, I had gone to sleep in the wee hours. In my dream, I ordered dozens of pairs of shoes from a fashion site, to compare and select a couple of pairs of footwear and return all the others. As it happens in dreams, the shoes were delivered to me while I was sitting in a shoe shop, probably shopping for more shoes. I took the shoes out of their boxes, one by one and tried them, liked quite a few and was thinking of a second round of the selection procedure, when to my horror, I saw a faithful salesman packing all my shoes and keeping them away. 

In doing so, he mixed up my shoes with the shoes in his shop. Though they were an honest shop and as soon as they realized their mistake, they started to separate my shoes from theirs. But again, since it was a dream , all the shoes now looked similar and it became really difficult to find out. I also did not have an exact count of my shoes, and was worried that now I will have to pay for so many shoes! (Imagine, they were delivered to me free of cost :D ). As I was frantically looking through the shelves to find out my shoes, I found that their shoes were as good or even better than the ordered ones, and priced to my liking. 

Suddenly, an idea struck me. As I had ordered them online, there must be a list of my order on the site, along with pictures of shoes. I can refer to them and find them out from this mess. Then I will return them and buy shoes from this shop itself, since they have such a good collection. Praising myself for being so smart, I whipped out my smartphone, and before I could even touch the screen to unlock, someone poked me in the arm. I opened my eyes and saw my husband standing by the bedside, waking me up. I sighed with relief that he had saved me from such great efforts of matching and sorting shoes. I was actually neck deep in shoes in my dream and woke up tired. As I told this to him, he gave one of his hearty laughs and said, 'Oh dear, you really need to shop.' 

So, thanks to this dream, I deleted all the shoes from my 'saved for later' list, went out shoe shopping, saw, touched, felt and tried as many shoes in as many shops as I wanted and bought footwear to my heart's content, including that elusive 'perfect' pair of peep toes. 

 

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

A Message For Indian Women: Break Those Rules...One At A Time!

Hi there,

My blog is mainly about how I go about my life, doing whatever, taking pictures along the way. I tend to have clear views about society and its absurdities, but I normally keep them to myself. As long as I am the queen of my own home and world, I am at peace, trying to make you see how little things add most value to life while you girls are searching the internet for answers on small issues like 'can girls wash their hair on amavasya?' (because that makes this My most popular post). Nah, do not feel bad. I have been there too! So I know these small issues can really add up to become a huge problem in our lives. 

If you are an Indian woman who is resourceful enough to find a computer with an internet connection, educated enough to type those words in English and smart enough to look for the answer on the internet, please understand that you are very fortunate, a gazillion times more than the average Indian( including all genders) to have all these resources, i.e. money, brains and time. Now the responsibility lies on you girl, to use them to do something worthwhile and productive. 

Yes, of course you can wash your hair on any day if you want to. It is your own hair. Believe me, the sky is not going to fall. God has better things to do than punishing someone for being hygienic, and if He (or She, who knows!)  is ever in a bad mood, the world has no dearth of criminals roaming on the streets. 

If you still have doubts (which you have, i know), here I am. I have done it all. I have experimented with my own hair and washed them on every single day of the week, and bam! nothing happened. I put to risk my own jars of homemade pickles and touched them with my bare hands, during my periods. Those jars are doing just fine. I also touched my plants and they are still green and flourishing.

By the way, I can be almost sure, if you have typed this question to reach here, you are a woman. I have never seen any guy who is ever bothered about this. Getting my point? You cannot go backwards and forwards at the same time. So set your priorities, whether you want to move ahead with everyone else, or let such ridiculous stuff pull you back.

And just chill. Shake off the notion that the gears of the universe run upon the amount of grease in your hair. If you really have to ask, ask correct questions which we all can be proud of. All the best to you.

Cheers!

Ye Saali Gaali...

How many 'Gaalis' (Expletives, abuses) do you know? What do they mean? How many of them do not speak about a woman's dignity (or lack of it)? Do you think you ever mean what you say in a gaali?

Many years ago, while we were enjoying the new freedom of  a job after studies, I used to be the flatmate of a girl who started taking pride in using abuses while talking, courtesy her new friends at work. Accustomed to the much polite Lucknowi Tehzeeb(?), I used to cringe listening to her gaalis in brash Punjabi style, which were more derogatory and hurtful to her own kind (i.e. women) rather than being amusing and uplifting. The girl refused to let go of her gaalis as she thought they made her sound cool. NOT!

Of late, Hindi movies have glorified gaalis via movies like Ishqiya and Delhi Belly. Sadly, expletives are actually ingrained in daily lingo of UP (The land of Lucknowi Tehzeeb) and Bihar as the writers/directors of these movies claim. Here, gaalis are so much a part of the tongue that two fast friends cannot meet without  addressing each other as 'Saale' which sounds casual and harmless, (but is it?).  We even have Gaali songs in weddings and other functions, and they are pure pornography in lyrics, potent enough to make one's ears bleed, mind it!

The structure and nomenclature of Hindi gaalis is such that they are almost always directed at an innocent, unsuspecting mother or sister somewhere. Gaalis from foreign lands, when used in India, become insipid in comparison to our desi abuses. Imagine calling someone an 'asshole' in Hindi. Would it be as effective and satisfying as a Hindi gaali of the nature of 'mother-sister'? Some people use one or two 'mother-sister' type abuses in every sentence that they speak. They are not bad people. I have personally heard them dish out such smelly, vulgar words without ever giving it a thought. More careful and sophisticated people avoid using expletives in front of women, but among men, they are all the same. Someone in this category, once uttered out a gaali in front of me, and as soon as he realized, he said ' Oh, so sorry!'.

The most cultured, educated men do not refrain from dishing out choicest gaalis once the matter comes to it. I am yet to come across a man who claims otherwise. What is it that urges someone to use gaalis of this nature? Is it the helplessness of not being able to harm the other person physically or in any other way that a word picture of the possible harm is created? Is it about harming a person or a woman (Mother/Sister/Daughter of the person)? Why does a person need to use crude language in order to fight? How does it help? How does committing an act of sexual nature against someone's mother or sister compensate for the loss/ harm/suffering of the abuser?  Are we not propagating 'Rape Culture'? After all, words become thoughts and thoughts become actions.

Its been probably centuries since women have been targeted in this indirect way. Is this the prize that we receive for being a good sister/mother/daughter? The icing on the cake is that we cannot even vent out our frustration by hurling a gaali because it will most likely boomerang.