I believe..

"Men are masters of their own fates. Their faults
Does not lie in their stars..."- Cassius in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

WE have brought this upon ourselves. Now that the world looks down upon us, a country which boasts of its superpower status and then cannot even ensure the safety of its women. WE have brought this upon ourselves, that we have elected to power some jokers of politicians, a vast majority of them being convicts, and we shall have to depend on them and their empty promises that rape shall be punishable by death, no less. It will be, for quite a few lawmakers, an endorsement of their own death warrant, isn't it? It is WE who are responsible for the girl's death, because the girl and her friend, after being thrown off the bus, were lying on the road for close to an hour, but none came forward to help. Maybe all backed off fearing 'harassment by the police', because all seem to have retired in their own little and sweet worlds. And ultimately, it is WE who are responsible for crimes against women reaching what our Prime Minister says, "is at an epidemic stage". Because we have been keeping quiet, trivializing, and sweeping these offences under the carpet for too long. Why? Is it indecent? A social taboo to discuss so? Who knows?

But as my blog title says, I am an optimist. I like to hope, I like to believe, that all will take a turn for the better. So I believe that one day, that men and women can travel in the same mode of public transport and in the same compartment and seats, without any uneasiness. I believe that one day the Indian society shall eliminate the 'second-class citizens' tag from women, and they can enter Parliament having fought a battle on their own, and not via backdoors of reservations and political families. I believe that men shall, one day, start  viewing women as human beings, not commodities. I believe that contrary to popular belief that India is rotten and down the gutter, someone will, as the Colonial Cousins say, "Come back as Jesus/...Come back as Rama/...Come back as Allah/Come back as anyone" and save the world. I also believe, that 'anyone' is no heavenly creature, but someone amongst us. And I STILL believe, we can change and shape our future, our governance, our society, and our outlook. Not through the suggestions of some know-it-all people who scream "military rule!", but through the moment when you press a certain button on an electronic voting machine every five years.

I believe...

Cities do breathe with life as well!

The other day, I was flipping through the November issue of the newly-launched Nat-Geo Traveller India. An extremely unique story, an article about the amount of life and soul that exist in cities- notwithstanding all the 'squalor' and 'corruption' people complain of- really caught my fancy. I wondered, indeed so. I was born and have lived in a city all my life, but I never came to realize this. Maybe because a city- especially an Indian one- doesn't have all the Switzerland-esque qualities that makes all the world's tourists and film crews rush to those spots. But these 'spots of life and soul' in cities not-so-beautiful do exist- in pockets that is. It may be a lake, an open parkland, a promenade, a coffee shop- but you always end up finding one of such spots, no matter wherever you are.

In the aforementioned issue, there was a mention of Bhopal's Iqbal Maidan, named after the Urdu poet Allama Iqbal. A small square in one of the more congested areas of Bhopal. The level of activity out there really caught my fancy. Chessboards are kept spread out- anyone interested may sit down for a game with a local resident, discuss about the game and other worldly affairs, enjoy a cup of tea provided by your host, meet people, talk, discuss, interact, laugh- all of which reminded me of a Bengali phrase, 'manusher milonmela' (a congregation of humanity), no less. Plus the lanes around the square with a perennial aroma of betel leaves and Biriyani- irresistible!

All of which takes me back to my hometown- Calcutta. A city where the British colonial culture rings aloud to this day, perhaps more than anywhere else in India. Where the bourgeoisie still prefer to call taxis as 'cabs', keeping with British traditions. A walk down the Park Street is a perfect testimony to the fact. It still is one of my favourite haunts in the whole of Calcutta. Not that the colonial air attracted me, but the food did, considering the glutton I am. Walking down the left side of the street, at first you shall encounter the modest looking facade of the Park Hotel, the ground floor of which hosts a phenomenal amount of activity. The Trincas, almost a century old restaurant, with its pool tables, where, never mind the cops sniffing around, matches at high stakes are played out almost everyday, and the jazz and blues played live surely shall take one back to the 60s and 70s, where you can almost imagine a young Anjan Dutt or a fledgling Usha Uthup enthralling audiences. Then there exists the iconic Indian Coffee House at College Street- albeit notorious for an underbelly of Left-wing extremism since the 1960s- where people would sit around square-shaped tables and discuss and argue for hours, with a cup of tea or coffee for company. Never mind the topics of discussion, though. They may range anything from Sachin Tendulkar's footwork to a recent political hot potato. But be rest assured of one thing- all arguments will end on an amicable note.

When we the city dwellers learn to discover this sweet focus of energy, the warmth, and ultimately, a sweet fragrance amongst all the squalor, we shall feel connected to this huge urban organism, and shall instinctively understand the giddy and amazing joyfulness of being in a city..