I am Amanat.

One girl and six men. She was raped and murdered in a moving bus in Delhi in December. The nation watched as Amanat (not her real name) fought to fight death - a battle she eventually lost. She made world news. She stirred a nation.

We, as women, mourn Amanat. But we must mourn not just her. You're Amanat; and so am I. And so is every woman. Why just a woman? Men get raped too.

Amanats death started a movement in India. People all over put up a united front against sexual abuse. Cynics say the movement will fizzle out. "This is just going to be like the Anna issue; or the Kony 2012 deal. It's India and people will forget the entire story as soon as the media stops shining all this light on it", says a friend. So this maybe true; but cynics never got us anywhere. So, it may not be true too. I'm going to go with option two.

But forget this whole upheaval and forget Amanat. Start small; make your neighbourhood safe. Get the police involved, the local authorities, schools, colleges and anyplace that can garner public. Get street lights put in dark places, make sure girls and women know where to call if they are eve-teased or abused. Get the bastards arrested.

This isn't about Amanat anymore. It's a bigger deal. Don't let the anger die. 

Vagabond

I want to travel. See all of the splendor I can lay my eyes on. Touch the Statue of Liberty. Wake up in a strange hotel room as the sun streams in through a crack in the tinted window. Maybe even walk across the Golden Bridge.

I want to feel the snow on my skin. To gaze into the distance as the sun sets in Greece. Jump into a river and be swept away by the current. I want to stare at the Buckingham Guard; see if he winks. Get tattooed in LA. Ride a bike with the wind billowing. Maybe even chase a storm.

There's places to see and things to do. I want to do it all.

Wanderlust.

For you, Amanda.

"My name is Amanda Todd", she said. "I'm all alone and I need someone", she added. And then she killed herself. One person existing in one tiny part of the world and yet, no one could stand up for her. One living, breathing person bullied into suicide. That’s almost like cold-blooded murder.

Amanda Todd is a name; a name in the forefront today because of the revolution that we call ‘social media’. But what about those who haven’t yet spoken about their ordeal? And those who live each day being tormented and bullied; and bear this torment in silence? Amanda spoke; not that it helped, but she did. There could be a gazillion out there who haven’t. What about them?

Bullying is a sick SICK practice (is that the right word for it?). It is a depraved mind that bullies for the want of the thrill and the sense of power. If you’re a bully, you should be hung upside down by the hair on your head while 9289 spiders crawl all over you (Spiders are evil). If you’re a bully, you need to know you’re deranged. And if you’re a bully, you need to stop – you have absolutely no justification. STOP.

You made a girl hate herself. You made her weak and you made her lose sense of being. And then you made her kill herself. Stop bullying. 

RIP Amanda

Watch her video here. 

Forevermore

21 years seems like forever now and yet, it feels like I have so much more to go; so much more to be. Yes, I sound like I'm forty but being 21 puts you on this thinking-plane. Maybe it's in the number; or maybe it's this relentless Bombay rain that makes my head spin.
I've been wanting to get inked for a while now; it's been an year if I do recall. I swung between the ideas of a tiny dream-catcher on the nape or a written tattoo on the shoulder. But somehow I always ended up not actually getting it done. And then it was the day of the birthday. Birthday money; two bestfriends; hippie tattoo studio with a mad-whack tattoo artist whom I fell in love with; 10 minutes of a needle and black ink; a million photographs; mad grins and voila. I was inked.

Doris Day, you've helped me get through a lot of tough times. And what makes this all the more special is that J wrote it - it's her handwriting. I love you, J and I love the fact that everytime I look at this now, it reminds me of a mad birthday and of you. N, thank you for being there and for posing near my butt while the scary needle poked me a million times. No, I mean it. I love you. 

P.S It's funny how my previous post, which was a hundred years ago, says I'm not a fan of body art. Turns out I am, after all. 

Inked?

I'm not a very big fan of body art. 

It's too permanent; too final. 

But;

On pinterest, I sighted a few I wouldn't mind having.

Don't ask me why almost all of them have birds.

I think I may be in my Alfred Hitchcock phase of life. 

P.S Thank you Rach (So, hi)  for the post-inspiration. 

Carpe diem-ing

It's Friday today; it's difficult not being happy on a Friday. 

Infact,

it's difficult not being happy at all when you have people like I do around me.

Burry, thank you for always being there. And for always making me rationalize things out in my head.
Life without you would be pretty dreary and cupcake-less. I wouldn't want that.

S, thank you for being my mad mad bestie whose hugs make everything bad disappear. I love you.

H, your happy smiling face every morning makes my day so much better. You're my star.

On my to-do this weekend

#1: Click lots of mad-happy pictures

#2: Read LOADS

#3: Learn 54 new words. 

And that's about it

Sunday musings

No, I don't watch 'House' and I couldn't tell one character apart from the other. 

But, truer words were never said.