Being a pseudo-feminist

For those who don't know, I have been working as an intern in the Media and Communication division at an organization called Centre for Social Research, for the past (almost) 3 months. Needless to say, its been an incredible journey so far, and I know for a fact, that the next 3 months at CSR will add to this (oh by the way, the reason for not updating this blog for ages, is that I write for the CSR blog now. Just saying.)

But this post isn't about CSR (although I am definitely going to do that some time...maybe when I leave in August?). No this post is rather about how working among gender activists, and being surrounded by issues facing/plaguing women, has slighttttly altered the way I look at things.

Take for example what happened today. I was having lunch with my aunt, and while switching channels, we stopped at Sony TV and started watching Kya Hua Tera Vadaa. Till date I hadn't seen a single episode, but knew vaguely that it was about extra marital relationships. Anyway, as is habit, I asked my aunt the story (I LOVE listening to stories), got a brief synopsis, and started watching the episode. So the story is essentially about a much married couple with three kids, and how the husband starts an affair with his ex girlfriend turned boss. Now the wife finds out, and along with the mother in law, concocts a plan, wherein she leaves the house. The 'catch' is that she leaves alone, leaving the husband to fend for himself and the kids, along with the other woman, who has moved in to the house, to make merry since the wife is gone. So apparently this is a plan, so as to show how effortlessly the wife managed the house and the kids, and how the husband doesn't know a single thing about the house, and how the 'other woman' is a spoilt rich woman, who can't lift a finger around the house. It is supposed to show the husband (and us apparently) how nice the wife was, and how stupid he was to leave such a 'sarvgunn sampann' wife for a 'witchy' other woman.

The story is uncannily similar to David Dhawan's Biwi No.1, although Ekta Kapoor would like to believe that hers is a sensitive tale of adult relationships, far removed from the slapstick which David Dhawan's brand of cinema is. For the record, when I saw it, I absolutely louved Biwi No.1. In my defence, I was barely 12, and definitely not a pseudo feminist.

My problem with Kya Hua Tera Vadaa (or for that matter even Biwi No.1), is that it treats the complex issue of extra marital relationships with naivete and insensitivity. Why should the resolution of the problem which has arisen between a married couple, involve teaching a lesson, let alone such a stupid one? And what is with making a villain, sorry vamp, of the other woman? I mean yes being involved with a married man was probably not the best thing to do, but where was the married man's brain? Why do movies/tv serials and even common people portray the man as a stupid being, who has no mind or will of his own, whose need for sex outside marriage rises above all rationality? I mean sure men can be stupid some times, but give them some credit! And why is a woman's worth as a wife, defined by her ability to successfully run a house and taking care of the kids? Since when is marriage only about these things? Why do we, as a society, portray extra marital relationships only in light of one woman stealing another woman's man? Whereas if a married woman is involved with a man (a concept utterly alien to all it seems) we never say that one man stole another's woman...even then the blame is placed on the woman, and she is called immoral and whatnot. Gender bias anyone?

Yes I know expecting sensitivity and subtlety in Indian television is my fault. And I also know that most people, save a few hard core feminists, and some pseudo feminists like yours truly, wouldn't even bat an eyelid at such serials/movies. Perhaps they would even cheer for the wife, and curse the other woman, but always, always, forgive the man. But for once, it would be nice to see something which is inspiring, instead of perpetuating illogical ideas and stereotypes.

The year that was

Yes, it's 31st December again. Time to reminisce, recollect, revise the past 364 days. Before I started writing this post, I went over this one from last year, and I was struck by how different 'I' seem. It seems as if eons have passed, and the 'me' of today, is a mere shadow of the 'me' of 2010.

2011- OMG. What.A.Year. If 2010 could be classified in one word as a kickass year, 2011 can only be classified as a life changing year. It was a year of heartbreak, disappointments, failures, unexpected sorrows. It was a year of travelling alone- the mindblowing Bombay trip, and the gorgeous trip to Vaishno Devi. It was the year where the BlackBerry entered my life, cemented old friendships, rekindled others, and changed life, along with playing a key role in the most important relationship of the year (and now, of life). It was, hands down, a year of friends- their presence and involvement in every single small and big event of the year is undisputed. It was a year of coincidences, of worlds being small, of chance encounters, and of destiny reiterating its strong presence over and over again. It was the year where life changed forever, and I can safely say, nothing will ever be the same again- in a good way of course :)

It was a year where highs and lows walked hand in hand, perhaps to remind me at every step, that this is what life is all about. As the year ends, I am at a personal high- it's a good time to be me. But some of the people I love are going through personal lows, and somewhere, their pain keeps me from being uninhibitedly happy.

2012 was always going to be an important year. It's the year I will turn silver, the year I complete a decade of being in Delhi. Now, along with these things, it will be the year where the biggest life event is going to take place- something which was nowhere in the life plans at the beginning of the year. Just goes to show that life actually does happen, while you're busy planning it.

Good bye 2011- you have been difficult, disastrous, disappointing at times, and immensely joyous and surprising at others. You will always be remembered, with tears for the rough patches, and a huge smile for the happy events.

Welcome 2012- let's see what you've got in hold for us.

Happy New Year people!

Do naina, aur ek kahani

My first eye test happened when I was barely 10 years old, the reason behind which is subject to some debate. As far as I was concerned, I went to the eye doctor because I had a small cyst in my right eye. Many years later, the mother told me that my dance teacher had told my father to get my eyes checked, because apparently I was exhibiting signs of less-than-normal vision during classes. I remember howling after coming home post the eye-exam, and instantly picking up a book and shouting"Hey I can read just fine!"

My first pair of glasses was a quintessentially nerdy pair- big brown plastic frames, which covered my whole face in a sense. I loved that pair, and somehow believed that they were the coolest thing existing on the planet (once a nerd-at-heart, always a nerd-at-heart). I remember walking into school on the first day of 6th grade wearing them, nervous about what my friends would say. And I distinctly remember one girl saying "Really? You never had glasses before? I always thought you wore them!" I just had one of those faces I was told. I hated removing my glasses even for a few minutes, which I was subjected to often, being a dancer and having to perform on stage ever so often (and a mother who was baffled that her daughter was bespectacled).

I got contact lenses when I was 15. The first time I wore lenses, I kept thinking that they would fall off! Initially wearing them would be a herculean task (umm...not that they got any better, but I just got more used to the process). And for the first two years, I was very irregular with them. Contact lenses scored over glasses on some counts- you had a holistic vision, they didn't fog up when you got out of an air-conditioned car, and you could actually see the rain. Not to mention, the whole aesthetics of it. But you couldn't sleep with your contacts (without getting a headache that is), and god save you if you got something in your eye. Actually, my worst contact lens experience involved me cutting green chillies, washing my hands over and over again, and still having burning eyes when wearing the lenses hourssss later.
Bottom line: I was never much of a contact lens person. I never wore them unless absolutely necessary, and most certainly never while loitering around home. I was never the kind of girl who would balk at the idea of people seeing her with glasses.

So life continued, between the glasses and the lenses. Many people suggested laser eye surgery, and while the idea was very appealing, I never really put much thought into it. Primarily because I was always studying, I always had exams, and basically never had much time at my disposal to go through a surgery, and follow the myriad of precautions which I was told the surgery entails.
That was until a few months ago. After much pondering (and procrastinating) I finally got an appointment with an eye institute two weeks ago, just to see what the fuss was all about. After three hours of testing, and dilated pupils, the doctor told me that my eyes were perfect for the surgery- when would I like to have it? An appointment was scheduled for the week after, and the countdown began. I kept harping about my 'surgery', freaking out only hours before the event when I saw how nervous the parents were.

I wont go into the details of the actual surgery- which are actually imprinted in my brain for life- coz its difficult to put into words the intense fear, and nervousness I experienced for those 25 minutes (the most nerve-wracking time frame of my life). I was numb when I was taken out of the operation room, partly because of the fact that strange things had been done to my eyes- but more so because despite those strange things, my vision was perfect, albeit a tad hazy. It was like I was suddenly wearing a pair of dirty contact lenses. When the parents came to see me with solemn faces, and a pair of dark glasses, I was trembling when narrating what had happened inside that dreaded operation theatre, all the while saying "You know, I can see you both clearly". It was all very surreal- especially for someone whose longest time in a hospital has been the root canal the day after the 24th bday, and the cavity filling at age 10.

The day after the surgery, was the first time in 14 years that I reached for my glasses first thing in the morning, and realized that I no longer needed them. It was the first time that I woke up with clear vision. Surreal? Check.
No its not all hunky dory. The first week, I had to wear a pair of dark glasses 24/7- yes, even while sleeping, which was just the biggest pain e.v.e.r. Not to mention the endless eye drops I was (and still am) subjected to. And the fact that I can't wash my eyes/face, or that my vision is still stabilizing (I'm always nervous about less than perfect sight- aren't we all?!)

But it's still not sunk in that I don't have to wear glasses or lenses anymore. For the latter, I would just say "good riddance". I guess I will miss the former in a strange way. Glasses always worked to make me look more intelligent than I am (!) But more than that, it's like letting go of a part of my identity.

Thus, here goes, a pictorial ode to the tools of vision I was so dependent on for the past 14 years.

Through exams, dissertations, projects. Through performances and parties. In sadness and in joy, in sickness and in health. Good bye old friends. In a way befitting your place in my life, I will forever be grateful to you.

And finally, a few words from the song from which I lifted the title of this post. Perhaps these define the thin line between my old vision and my new vision best.

थोड़ी सी है जानी हुयी थोड़ी सी नयी।  
जहा रुके आंसू वही पूरी हो गयी।  
है तो नयी
फिर भी हैं पुरानी।  
दो नैना और एक कहानी 
थोडा सा बादल
थोडा सा पानी
और एक कहानी। 

Bombay times!

I first visited Bombay at the age of 16, for a cousin's wedding, way back in 2003. Up until then, I was somewhat fascinated by the city, owing to my love affair with Bollywood (Yes I was weird back then- still am actually- but I grew up abroad, gimme some leeway!). I had also heard that Bombay was a lot like New York City, and I l.o.v.e NYC, like l.o.v.e. So in a sense, I was always prepared to love the city. And it didn't disappoint me. We did very touristy things back then, did the usual darshan of Siddhi Vinayak and Mahalakshmi, went to the beaches, had vada pao, did the open bus ride around Gateway in the night (lovely btw), saw the Queen's necklace, went by the local train even.

Last week, I visited Bombay for the third time (my second trip was a brief transit visit) I had been planning this trip for a long time, as a break from the insanity which my life had come to represent for the past so many months. For a long time, it was just a hypothetical situation, existing only in my head. But as all the madness in my life (weddings, thesis, exams) started to diminish, I knew I deserved and needed a break. And Bombay was perfect. Plus I got to see two of my closest friends in the world, who I usually don't get to see very often. So after much deliberation, much planning, many doubts ("what if this happens while I'm gone?") and a not-very-happy set of parents later, my tickets to Mumbai were booked.

I didn't go to Bombay with any expectations, all I wanted was a break from Delhi, from the usual monotony of life. But whatever little expectations I might have had, they were surpassed- and HOW. In every which way. Like the Bandra-Worli sea link. I fell so deeply in love with the sea link that I insisted on going on it regardless of whether it was required or not, which led to some pretty pricey cab rides- but so totally worth it. The fact that it was raining like all-the-time while I was there, resulted in the sea being a tad rough, and thus an absolute beauty to see from the sea link.

Oh-so-gorgeous :)

I stayed at Carter Road, which I was told, and later saw, was one of the posh-est areas in all of Bombay. My dear friend P, has a beautiful cosy flat there, and it was a privilege to stay there with her for four whole days (she's written a lovely blog post about her house, which can be read here) The post doesn't do justice to the loveliness of the house, home rather, but she has done a better job than I ever could. The bestest thing about P's house was that the Carter Road promenade, a sort of a walking track along the sea-side (seriously, how awesome is that?) is a stone's throw away. My first morning, we went for a walk, and came back all drenched- fantasy experience for me, since the only thing I had been getting drenched in in recent times was sweat. During my stay, I was a regular at the place, and spent hours just walking, looking at the sea.

Imagine seeing that every morning *sigh*

And then there was my most favourite part of Bombay, Marine Drive. Oh, how I could kill for an hour at Marine Drive, every time that I want some 'me-time'. The first time I went to Marine Drive was during a very heavy downpour, and P made me get out of the cab with a measly umbrella and made me stand there looking at the sea, so I could 'enjoy' it. I was drenched by the end of it, but how totally I had fallen for the place. So much so, that I went back to Marine Drive on my remaining two days, just to sit there, looking at the vast expanse of the sea. The experience of just staring at the sea, of the waves crashing and hitting you with droplets of water was something which I can probably never ever put in words. It was magic- truly magic.

Favouritest e.v.e.r

Bombay had one other thing which I absolutely loved, especially because I had never ever experienced it in my life- safety. I have spent 9 years in Delhi, and a majority of these years have been spent travelling about the city on my own, at all kinds of hours, in all modes of transportation. And I have never ever felt as safe in my own city in all these years, as I did during my 4 day stay in Bombay. I went around the city on my own in autos, and taxis, without a care, without a worry. It was so strange, and so awesome. I wish I lived in a city like that, I wish Delhi was half as safe as Bombay felt.

Then there were the people. P and I have been friends for 9 years. She has known me since I was 15, and has seen me through many successes, and many disappointments, and life in general. Yet, this was the first time that we were spending so much time together, since school. And it was wonderful to be able to spend that kind of time, and space with one of your closest friends. She was a fabulous host, planning my days perfectly, taking me to all her favourite places, and making sure that I cover everything there was to cover. She motivated me to get out of the house and explore the city on my own, all the while calling or BBMing every few minutes to check on me. She balanced my trip with her super-hectic office hours, and never once let the smile leave her face, except for when she made horrid faces while I was thanking her. So one last time P, thank you- you made the trip a HUGE success, and you are right, I do have a home in Bombay :)
Then there was A, who I refer to as "the sister". She's someone with whom my closeness can't really be defined, and with whom my relationship is one of the most solid things in life. She got married recently, and I wasn't there :( but luckily, I got to meet and spend some wonderful time with her- talking, listening to her words of wisdom, catching up on life, gossiping, bitching about the people we know and don't know. She came early in the morning on the day I was leaving to say good bye- and she's NOT a morning person. I even got to meet her absolutely wonderful better half, one of the few people in this whole wide world who I liked instantly (the fact that he's Tam-Brahm had nothing to do with this btw), and it was so heartwarming to see a couple who are so real, so honest and so wonderful.

The trip was one which was away from my comfort zone in many ways. It was my first ever trip alone, without family, without an itinerary, where I was in charge, I decided what I wanted to do, what I wanted to eat, where I wanted to go, or not go, or go again and again. I met people who are so unlike me, or anyone who I usually hang out with, who come from very different worlds. Maybe that's why the trip was so fabulous, and so different.

While having breakfast on my second morning with the sister and her husband, when I casually mentioned that I quite like Bombay, the sister immediately snapped back and said "Don't stay at Carter and tell me that you like this city. Go by the local train, live the Bombay life, and then tell me you like the city". It's true what she said. In my four days, I was just a tourist. And from the little I saw of life in Bombay, it's a goddamn struggle, in every which way. But despite all this, despite the fact that perhaps living in Bombay is very different, I had the time of my life.

Bombay is not the city of my birth, or the city I stay in. It is not a place where my memories are, or where my life's biggest events have happened. I don't have family there, nor any childhood experiences. I didn't study or work there. In a sense, I have no emotional connect with the city. Yet, there's something about the city which has always intrigued me. And having spent four days in the city, and a considerable amount of time exploring it on my own, my intrigue hasnt diminished. Its a city which I loved and disliked in parts, a city which fascinated me in the things I liked, and the ones I didn't.

It's difficult to verbalize what Bombay represents to me, as of this moment. But for now, lets just say that the Bombay trip of July/August 2011 was out-of-this-world awesome. In every which way :)

Re-search anyone?

I actually started writing this piece way back in july/august, but somehow never got around to finishing it. Perhaps it was meant to be posted now, which is of course the most apt time :)

Over the course of my 'higher education' career, I have had the (mis)fortune (take whichever you think would be apt) of having done three research projects. I was one of the 8 people in my undergraduate class of 30 to take up a research project as an optional, in exchange of the good ole' practicals. Mad our classmates called us then, but till date, it remains one of the most fulfilling, fun and pride-inducing experiences of my life. Perhaps, the only such experience of my life. In masters, it was compulsory. The less said about my masters thesis the better. In fact, the less said about my masters, in terms of 'academic' activities, the better. And then came M.Phil...where they taught us how to carry out research in the first year, and gave the entire second year to submit a dissertation.

Its been quite a relationship I have had with the whole concept of research; very 'love-hate', for want of a more fitting term. And now, since I'm done with M.Phil (yayieee!) I consider myself somewhat of an authority on research. Yes, I am extremely immodest like that! Ok maybe not an authority, but I deem it fit that I am in a position to share my own personal experiences from the past 5 years of submitting theses/dissertations.

So here goes; my wisdom/accumulated knowledge in matters of research. Highly debatable, highly arguable. But its all true. At least for me.

#1- The first thesis is always special. Always. And it's the most honest. 'Coz you have no goddamn idea how its going to turn out- its all very 'trial by fire'. By the time you come to your second thesis, you become very practical. You formulate hypotheses, and conclusions in your head, as soon as the topic is decided. You start worrying about the tools you'll use, and subconsciously choose topics where you know data collection will not be a huge hassle. And by the time the third thesis happens, the whole process becomes somewhat mechanical. You don't put your soul as much, as you did the first time. Things don't affect you as deeply, whether the little joys or the disappointments. Very much like life, this move from the ideal to the practical.

#2- Data collection is always a test of your social/networking skills. I am not known to be much of an extrovert, and can almost border being an introvert/pseudo-snob when it comes to talking to new people. But fortunately, my three experiences with data collection have seen me surpass my own standards with flying colours. My first time, I interviewed 16 families across Bahrain. I spoke to absolutely unknown people, visited their homes, managed to give them enough confidence to have them share their personal experiences with me. My second time, I put my cousins on the job, and grilled them till they made all their friends/colleagues fill out my questionnaires. My third time, I used every bit of my facebook skills and contacted people who I perhaps would never have spoken to, save the perfunctory "happy bday!" message.

#3- Related to #2. Data collection is always a humbling experience. Always. I always feel overwhelmed when rank strangers, people I barely know, help me out. I know what a pain it is to fill out questionnaires, even if it takes 5 minutes. I mean, we've all shoo-ed away those people outside shopping centers and malls who hang around with surveys. During my first thesis, people gave me hours of their precious weekends. Many of them knew my parents personally, but to give that much time and energy to an undergrad student? And that too with smiling faces and open hearts? Big deal! During my second thesis, there were some people who were so genuinely happy to help, and even sent an "all the best" along with their filled response sheets. And my third thesis? Classmate's roommate's friend. School batchmates' friends. Random person I know's cousin. Friend's boyfriend's friend. Friend's classmates from summer school. Most of them absolute strangers, people I will probably never ever see in my life. Not just the people who filled out the questionnaires, there were those who really went out of their to help, to ensure that my data was complete. Some were my closest friends, people I expect the world of. But some were people I hadn't spoken to in ages. In a world of cynicism, if there's anything which can make one believe in the sheer goodness of human beings, it is the experience of data collection.

#4- There will always be drama. In some form or the other. Files vanishing from the cd checked a thousand times- circa 2007. the first thesis. lesson learnt- rewritable cds are rooobish. but then again, that's when I discovered pen drives. Or it could be giving data to be a 'famed' SPSS expert for analysis, only to discover the week before submission that nothing has been done about it- circa 2009. the second thesis. lesson learnt- learn SPSS! it's the easier software EVER. It could also be a multitude of things- two cousins getting married within 2 weeks of each other, 15 days before submission. Or you being over-smart and joining civil services coaching classes to kill time, not knowing that the prelims is just a month before submission. Genius that.

#5- You never feel like you have put in your 100%. The most you'll feel is "Given the circumstances, I guess this is the most I could do." But there will never ever be the satisfaction that you have given it your all. And when you go through it sometime later, many moons after you have submitted, you will notice the millions of flaws. "There was supposed to be a comma there!", "This was supposed to have a 'the', instead of an 'a'!" "What a loooong sentence!" Let alone the other two, but this happened even when I was submitting my first thesis- the one I consider my best, most honest work.

#6-There will be tantrums/outbursts/impatience/crying bouts/headaches/neckaches/backaches/eyeaches. No matter how many dissertations you do, these are a part of the package. It will always be a stressful experience. Maybe the frequency may differ. Maybe your way of getting over the little tantrums may get better. Maybe your way of understanding why you're being so impatient about silly things will get better. But these are gonna be there. Always.

#7- Talking to people who know exactly what it is that you're doing is MUCH easier than talking to those who simply ask "Kitna ho gaya?" I for one, have no patience with the second lot of people. Over the years, I have learned to avoid being around such people during dissertations, especially around submission time. It's easier telling people that you can't think of implications of your research, or that your hypothesis is messed up, than telling them "Umm...i don't know when it'll be final". I wish it weren't that way, but it is.

#8- The decision to finally print (and eventually bind) the thesis is always a tough one. Doesn't matter how sure you are that this is it, and you can't go through the entire thing again, and you really don't care how it is anymore. Doesn't matter that you just want it to be over. It's the most 'final' decision you will ever take with respect to the thesis. Because once it's done, its DONE. No going back. No turning back. Finito. *yikes*!

#9- No matter how many dissertations you do, your heart will always skip a beat or two, when you see the final result. Even though you know that you have written a lot of rubbish inside, the sight of the beautifully bound pages, with your name printed in bold letters on the front cover, is something else.

#10- There is a certain joy in deleting all the drafts from your laptop, knowing that the backups, backups of backups, will not be required anymore. All that is required is the final product, which will sit starred in your inbox, waiting to be downloaded, the next time you do a thesis.

Too long? Don't blame me- I am going to submit a 100 page M.Phil dissertation tomorrow :)

A Brief History of Time

So since I havent blogged in a while, and since now is the perfect time to break that self-imposed/writer's block imposed break, I am back! Traveller tagged me for this post, and since I loved the way the whole thing seemed to give perspective, here it is.

20 years ago I . . .
1. Became a big sister
2. Lived in Dhaka and could speak Bengali fluently
3. Thought if you break the tv screen, people would walk out.

10 years ago I . . .
1. Lived in a big house atop a mini-hill in tropical Malaysia, and wanted nothing more than to get out of the place.
2. Was a trained classical dancer.
3. Travelled across Europe with the extended family.

5 years ago I . . .
1. Read Bitter Chocolate, and truly started to believe in child sexual abuse.
2. Interviewed about 65 NRIs for my undergrad project, and had the time of my life (while driving self, family and friends c.r.a.z.y)
3. Went to Dubai, and decided that I am essentially a big city girl at heart.

3 years ago I . . .
1. Worked as a tele-counsellor for kids who were about to give their board exams
2. Was doing my internship (my first real job)
3. Travelled to Poland and Germany with the extended family

1 year ago I . . .
1. Was living in JNU
2. Gave the NET exam (happy ending!)
3. Was learning how to drive (happy ending part 2!)

So far this year I . . .
1. Turned 24 (Yuck!)
2. Feel a little smarter
3. Begged and pleaded the whole wide world, and managed to complete data collection for my M.Phil thesis in record time (brownie points to facebook, gmail and cyber space in its entirety)

Yesterday I . . .
1. Spent unhealthy amounts of time facebooking.
2. Helped decide the menu for the cousin's wedding reception.
3. Felt extremely relieved (most of you know why!)

Today I . . .
1. Watched 8 episodes of HIMYM.
2. Slept like a log.
3. Helped the sister finalize her accessories for the upcoming weddings.

Tomorrow I will . . .
1. Hopefully do some work for the dreaded dissertation.
2. Hopefully clear the mess that is my room.
3. Most probably spent unhealthy amounts of time facebooking.

In the next year I will . . .
1. Turn 25 (super yuck!)
2. Hopefully start working.
3. Update this blog more often.

So this was fun :) I tag ALL the people who keep a blog to do this...its fun guys!

कुछ ग़म सिर्फ अपने होते हैं

कुछ ग़म सिर्फ अपने होते हैं।
छल्ली हो जाती है आत्मा
दिखती है तोह सिर्फ एक मुसकुराहट।
कुछ आंसूं सिर्फ अपने होते हैं।
चेहरे पर शिकन की एक लकीर नहीं
पर दिल के सौ टुकड़े बिखर जाते हैं।
कुछ दर्द सिर्फ अपने होते हैं।
मरहम लगाती है दुनिया
पर घाव गहरे होते रहते।
कुछ ज़ख्म सिर्फ अपने होते हैं।
हर पल सदियों सा लगता है
पर घडी के कांटे रुक रुक कर चलते हैं।

कुछ ग़म सिर्फ अपने होते हैं।

(one of those pieces of my writing which entered my mind well-formed- miracle indeed! don't judge my hindi- i have officially learnt it only till 4th!)