Faces...

(1)

She was the New Generation girl. She was taught to dream big and accomplish bigger. She didn't believe that she ever faced any prejudice. Everything that came her way was an opportunity; Equal and unbiased. Not to mean that she was unaware of the reality of being her, but she had become immune to the fixed gazes and the indecent advances. She could easily look through the chauvinism masquerading as chivalry. She had learnt to think beyond her gender. Neither did it make her feel bound nor did she feel unduly rewarded.

She was an asset. The one that parents invest into. The one that goes to far off shores to pursue her dreams. The one that could raise a family all by herself. The one that heads big corporations. The one that could run shiver down anyone's spine by a mere look. The one that could disarm everyone by just a smile.

And most importantly, she could do all this better than her natural counterpart.

She was the face of the 21st century Indian woman.

Educated. Empowered. Emancipated. Elegant

(2)

He was humiliated like many of his clan. His birthright of being the more important cog in Nature's balance, had been painfully snatched away. His beliefs were shattered, and with all the machismo on display, he was terrified underneath. He felt orphaned. His perceptions had the backing of seeing his mother being insulted, chastised and dishonored and her accepting it all as fate. He was sure that the her black eye and swollen cheeks were a result of something consensual. He saw his father deriving pleasure in showcasing him as the trophy while his sisters were raised in oblivion. He was brought up in a way that him being born was obliging enough. But now, he was stunned. He was no longer the obvious winner. He had to compete, and more often than naught, he lost, to her. He was baffled at her eloquence, etiquette, and dignity.

She couldn't be equal. She represented everything that needed to be reformed in the society. She couldn't be in the same league. She couldn't surpass him. She was the aberration to the Culture, the Tradition, and most of all, the Equilibrium. He had to stop this shift. Somehow.

He thought he was the face of all the suffering for Indian men .

Disgruntled. Disturbed. Disgraced. Defeated.

And when he attacked her, he taught her a lesson. And when he punched her in the gut, his masculinity triumphed. And when he attempted to outrage her modesty, he settled scores for his sustained endurance. And when he laughed menacingly at her cries for help, his manhood exulted.

A force suddenly hit him between his eyes. All he could fathom was that it was probably a punch. Before he could even see his assailant, a kick to his abdomen, knocked the winds out of him. This was followed by a frantic barrage of blows to which he could neither respond, nor recover from.

His bravado laid there unconscious, probably dead, but definitely infertile.

(3)

He lived a routine life. Irrespective of his socioeconomic standing, it was his ordinary methodical life, that defined him. He usually went unnoticed which did frustrate him a little. Here, you have to be either famous or infamous or rich or extraordinary, just to be seen. Or being a woman in a voyeuristic country would do. He was none.

But even his mundane life style had educated him enough about the significance of his Natural mate. He discarded the notion of singularity; Instead he celebrated their differences. He was not from Mars. He firmly believed that both were created to be indispensable. The society did push him to the brink of objectifying her, but he successfully resisted the temptation, at least, most of the time. And when he couldn't, he had the sense of not letting it go overboard. He did what he deemed was rightful, made periodic errors in judgment and befittingly repented. However, this tussle of his, did not, for once, belittle her value. He didn't materialize her sexuality, rather, appreciated her sensuality. 

For him, they were complementary and frequently exchanged roles.

Passion and Calm. Adventure and Inertia. Emotion and Pragmatism. Audacity and Caution.

And when he defended her, he acknowledged her worth. And when he fought for her, he reiterated his beliefs.  And when he went berserk, he restored the balance. And when he left quietly, he reinstated the faith.

He was a common Indian man.

Faceless. Reluctant. Survivor. Soldier   

Image courtesy- http://www.vday.org/~assets/images/obrulogo.gif

Misfit!

The compartment was packed.

Full.

Full of suit clad, gadget loving, bespectacled Educated class. These were the men and women of character, or synonymously, the ones with the money. Those who walked the talk, thought out of the box and were always on the same page. These were the people that had kept the dream of a Utopian world alive-the Dream Merchants. Simply put, they were the ones with the greener grass on their side; Always. They were lost in their own world.

Pleasing. Beautiful. Cultured. Powerful. Sharp.

He was a misfit; an Anomaly, if you will. Despite being an octogenarian, he was oblivious to the pace of this world, or at least he was made to believe so. He was everything that could be wrong. He was the tragedy that though never happened, yet was remembered by all. He was the reason for disruption of world peace, recession and most of all, global warming. No one knew exactly why they hated him but he definitely was the biggest nemesis.

Too slow. Too old. Too weak. Disturbing. Unkempt. Smelly.

His very presence in the compartment was enough to invite stares. He was unwanted and uninvited despite being a law abiding ticket holder.

He looked around in anticipation of a vacant seat. There were a few, but they were swiftly taken by the expensive backpacks and coats. The whole compartment worked in perfect harmony to deny him a seat. Once again, humiliated by his own destiny, he looked down, dejected.

“Sir! Come, you can sit here”-someone called in a loud rustic voice

Suddenly his eyes saw someone who looked awfully similar- another Misfit, albeit younger, who somehow had managed to infiltrate the aristocrat class, and was sitting. His neediness found an unexpected reassured look. Although, he got some stern looks, he ignored. He too was lost in his own world.

He gathered his belongings to get up.

It’s only when he pulled out crutches from under his seat that a sizeable number of eyes dropped in shame.

Photo Courtesy- Google Images

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