Stigmatized identity…?? A pursued perspective!!

Stigma can be transformed….


While scrolling through my Facebook’s home wall, I glanced at a post themed ‘honor of woman resembles a glass, which is once scratched, cannot be mended’.

This was not the first time when I read this, neither a new thing at all!! We being women, have had already this idea… somewhere in our minds, fed as an essential ingredient of our brought up-recipes. We always heard all sorts of precautionary steps, to save our dignity and nobility.  

Absurd cases…

There are many cases, we witness in our day-to-day lives…when there is a dishonour brought to the woman, only she is biasedly defamed…. Acid attacks, honour killings, Sexual abuses, violence and most of all staring-chase!!Why people are allowed to intrigue in women’s lives?? Where these social stings come from? Who affirm such demotion? Being women, do we need to depend on our fates to…

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Stigmatized identity…?? A pursued perspective!!

While scrolling through my Facebook’s home wall, I glanced at a post themed ‘honor of woman resembles a glass, which is once scratched, cannot be mended’.

This was not the first time when I read this, neither a new thing at all!! We being women, have had already this idea… somewhere in our minds, fed as an essential ingredient of our brought up-recipes. We always heard all sorts of precautionary steps, to save our dignity and nobility.  

Absurd cases…

There are many cases, we witness in our day-to-day lives…when there is a dishonour brought to the woman, only she is biasedly defamed…. Acid attacks, honour killings, Sexual abuses, violence and most of all staring-chase!! Why people are allowed to intrigue in women’s lives?? Where these social stings come from? Who affirm such demotion? Being women, do we need to depend on our fates to rescue ourselves? No… never.

Being at home, we patiently bare everything on the name of ‘compromise’, even then we are beaten. Veiled girls are sexually abused and if not, dirt of gazes approach them, I wonder what do they look into their veils and hijabs?? But apparent.  An eye of evil does not require the definition of any sort of standard, to prevent them from penetrating into. I found, that this lapse has simply nothing to do with literacy or illiteracy, but it’s a common-street talent …..

Questions that are not answered…

What I question the folks around me, is the brought up!! Why girls are being taught about ethics and men learnt nothing but freedom of being powerfully-dominant? Why a woman in the name of ‘mother’, ignores in making her male-offspring, to respect other women? Why a ‘father’ never thinks of bringing honour to his own wife and mother, so as to exemplify his gratitude with other women on this earth?

There are certain other questions, which hammer my mind, my perspectives and at the end I withdraw, by considering myself as a victimized-gender. I proceed to think in a way, so as to get ready, to be sacrificed with everything unseen and this is how we are expected to be in our in-laws. The reason is, frantically we hide our questions, from explicit expressions. We never ask, why being at the comprised-stage from a daughter to a sister, from a wife to a mother… who draws this line, to declare stigmas on our identities?? And why these stay?? Why blames retain throughout lives?? Intentional or unintentional deeds would be asked by Him …. Why people on earth are judgemental on our identities, with no shame?? Why others extend such labels to women??……

Questions can be my answers too…

From my questions, I thought to search my answers. Being a blessed gender, we never try to bring honour and respect to other women like us. And basically it reflects, how much we respect our dignity… why we never try to put down the labels, pasted by others! Why we do not work to make them wrong about us! Why we celebrate our failures! Why we curse our fates! Why we stay with our circumstances! Why do not we try to find answers…! Why do not we look for our needs! Why we never ask our souls for its peace! Why we just keep following the customs! Why not think as a changer! It’s not impossible… think before you are marked by yourself, with their words.

A transforming thought…

And in very simple words… its nothing but a matter of perspective, you pursue from others and never recognize yours…

A scratch in a glass can be transformed to beautiful pattern….believe it!

The longest Ride (Review)

Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get-

Only with whatever you are expecting to give-

Which is everything.

Katherine Hepburn

The intensity of a feeling is immeasurable when multiplied with submission. A kind of submission that has no reluctance towards regression of pleasing your soul with the soul one loves.  The choices are not made by the soul itself, yet its found in the destiny. When mutual fates combine, give birth to the intensity of bowing heart one the basis of faith and acceptance. The acceptance dwells in the imagination of withdrawal to rejection to the facts that reality brings to segregate the hearts.

As I chose to pick this book for surfacing my thirst, I planned to watch its movie first. The movie builds the inspiration and motivation to concede with the novel too. I began watching it in the middle of the night and found it worthy enough to compliment my spent time. I already had this prevailed idea that Nicholas Spark never disappoints and yes it was achieved in the movie.

The novel begins with the moment when ninety-year old Ira Levinson had subconscious eyes while unconsciously lying on the steering wheel in a car crash. Within his broken string of breath and fluctuation, he reels on the memories right from the childhood in the hands of amenable and docile parents. His father had a great influence over his life where he had been taught about ethics. His adulthood is restored in the remains of his life, with the name of Ruth. Ruth died nine years ago. But at each choking his breath was threaded with the association with her. Her memories were oxygenating his existence. He did not want to breathe after her, but his life was imprisoned in this world.

In North-Carolina, Ira and Ruth meets and falls in love. Infinite many beautifully spent moments enriched their togetherness. Then there held some blockages to their mutual fates. There were hurdles before their marital match, signifying no upgradation of their designation into becoming parents. Ruth sacrifices her happiness of having a flock of kids over the happiness in him. Learning her withdrawal for him, he distances himself. But the distance results in blossoming their desperation with each passing span. It becomes really hard for both of them to remain apart. And sooner they got married.

Their marital life welcomes the ups and downs. Initial times went smoother in the arms of embracing love. But a hole infuses into this relation with silence. The longing of having an own child began prevailing Ruth’s mind just as she starts teaching in a local-town school. She was a dedicated teacher who sees her own child in every other child. The thirst of motherhood in Ruth’s eyes was read by Ira though he never forgets her resignation hidden behind the affection. He was arrested in a guilt of producing no happiness to her . He tries to cater her soggy wish with bits and pieces of joy bringing beneath her feet. Studying him, she was never ungrateful and never complained.

The story turns to a phase when a naïve and disobedient yet a wayward child named Daniel who grabs her motherly instinct. He makes her think of him for extra care and attention after school. She began bringing him home to coach and nourish him with knowledge. Daniel deep inside begins to be an obeying being to her. She showed her faith in him and caused betterment in himself. He witnessed the glitter in her eyes, when she depicted the art entangled into the strands of colors. She was an art lover and embellished each wall of the home with the artistic passion. Silently he was admiring her interest. In those days, Ira was much relieved by Daniel’s arrival in their lives. He was more sufficed than happy to see the fulfillment of her ardent appetite. When they plan to adopt Daniel under legal terms, who was an orphan and step- younger brother of a married person. Daniel shuts the door of his presence in their lives, which aborts the hope of cherishing future with a child. They return to two again. Daniel left no sign of return and resulted to deserted relations between Ruth and Ira.

Ira celebrates second honeymoon to rejuvenate his concern in his wife Ruth again. Life flies higher in grating each moment. Each of the two learnt to enjoy their two-ship again. But Ruth’s heart always asked for Daniel…. She was looking for him in her thoughts. They loved to be at exhibition places where appealing art was displayed. Ira always appreciated her in finding herself translating and interpreting famous art works and artists though he was never interested in it. He always loves to read through her eyes. This way they collected world class pieces of art work. The period went on… and their adulthood brought them to silver strikes on their heads…till Ira meets a day when he awakes his soul-met and she was never awaken ever. Dark was the world around him, drought spread all along his throat when he realized his head resting over steering.

The second half belongs to the young couple Sophia Danko and Luke Collins. Sophia is shown as a senior at Wake Forest University and Luke as a cowboy and Champion bull-rider in PBR. Both meet at an after-ride party and their chemistry slowly, in fact pretty slower gears. Sophia having had broken up with Brian was focusing towards studies when Marcia, her roommate asked to come with her at rodeo. For Sophia learning about Luke remained an exciting experience… his decency, simplicity and charm attracted her. Inside somewhere she felt her comfort level demands to be with him. On the other hand Luke found the company of city-girl as appealing to him. He introduces his ranch life along with bull-riding to her and feels the same magnitude of acceptance from her side. A longer span took them to confess their affection. Maybe Sophia was not looking after his shoulder just after Brian, which was assumed by Marcia.

Breathlessly Luke was competing and wining against the deadly roaring bulls. His mother petted a fear in her heart and wanted her son to quit with riding. Luke overlooks this matters and concentrates on his riding and taking care of the ranch and selling, forgetting that he had a metallic plate placed in his skull. At one-end he was also afraid of his life on a bull like ugly crater which actually put a sting on his heart co-relating to his mother’s stated fear. Spending his wonderful moments with Sophia became his ritual. Later his fear surpasses his head and in that he fought with Sophia, his puzzlement was easily understood by Sophia. On coming to know the fact, she announces her break up in favor to his quittance from the riding. She wanted to make him realize the care she had for him. Conceding later he quit. One day, on their way they found a bursting car struck and inside was an old man unconsciously bled and slumbered. Taking him to emergency, Sophia took care of the letter box which was a kind of treasure for the man. On attaining his conscious, his linger moving words asked Sophia to read a letter. Tears ruled everyone’s eye and there his remaining moments of life vanished away.

Reading to the stories I was more towards Ira and Ruth. I wonder the love that ruled between them was much appealing apart from the fairy tales and witch stories. Reading to each Ira’s times, I was living the moments. I did not feel differently from the reality. The ups and downs moved parallel into their lives, it showed no idealism. I remained desperate for each alternate chapter of Ira. The degree of empathy between them amazes me, melts my heart into fragments. With the start of each chapter I hold my concentration to rebirth into the Ira’s early 90s era. The attraction passively drove me, when it brought satisfaction on their reconciliation and worried over their arguments and loss. Nicholas really knows the art of wining hearts through his words and tales. But I was partially interested in Luke and Sophia’s because it might not be that catchy. It seemed more active than penetrating. There were very few whiles when I felt for Luke, specifically the point when he was nervous for last battle with Ugly Crater in mind. And Sophia when alarmed by Marcia of Brian’s presence as a sign of danger for Luke. She hurried to cope with a buzzing head due to the video that she watched on you-tube of Luke.

I personally recommend this book to all folks who are sensitive towards empathizing. Its thick magnitude never discourages a reader. Yet the height of interest boosts up at each alternate chapter. I think if I could have imagined Ira in my life…it would have been everything in my life.

Enjoy reading-cum experiencing ….


The greyish-darkened sky, filled with countless prismatic droplets of water, making the puffy clouds. The clouds shadowing the long-spread draughtiness of land. The draughtiness which was going to be wetted with the excitement of the crazily sliding water drop by drop, turning the dusty-greenery to a lush green. The drizzling set off to brighten the canvas of absurd nature. The cool breeze gets along to pass through the murmurings of lively nature. The vibrancy of the nature enhances the depiction of a new portray.

The watery pearls when drop down, fertile the souls of beings. The immense pleasure, thus claims the instinctive satisfaction.   As I feel the drops falling gradually over my face, I find everything speaking in the language of their glory, interacting in their own ways. Playing and dancing as the drizzling lowers, embraced by chilled and cool air. Seeing the purification of my inner being with that all around, my emotions freshens. The environment condenses to host the happiness and merriness in the form of droplets everywhere.


Coming out of the classes, rushing to the school gate, children were following their lines perfectly assembled by the volunteers (prefects) to maintain the disciplinary rules of the school. There were children with different ages, heights, masses and one thing in common was their uniform.  Uniform was ensuring the recognition and motto of a well-known learning organisation. All the students have had the learning span in the outfit suggested by the school management. We all have the precious memories of our learning-hood in the soberly designed outfit meeting the uniformity of each and every financial status.

The prime purpose of the uniform is to smooth the class-gaps so as to promote the knowledge equally irrespective of the religion or nationality or sect or complexion or cast or financial reasons. To avoid any sort of discrimination, uniform played a role of justified medium where a child of poor loaf-earner was sufficed to the acknowledgment which was in the Similar way acquired by the child of superior-money earner.

Apart from the learning reasons, students are cherished at the moments, when they are freed to dress except their uniform like the sports-hour, celebrations of specific festivals… there is a convenience and confidence, sparkling and laughing expressions, spirit to compete and sensibility of learning, challenging and grasping emotions, capabilities to inspire, help and build the series of approaches were the key aspects, exposed on a peculiar day or two. As I was watching the television, I came across this idea that many foreign schooling agencies have adapted not to impose the uniformity in terms of uniforms to the children and to let them emerge out in the comfort and ease.

Children can behave to the full extent, when they are freed from the restrictive boundaries. They love and enchant their performances on the basis of self-motivation being centred in the classroom. With least possible consent, they try to achieve on their own. Their team work collaboration speak aloud to be figured as one of their leading capacities. The impact of colours also reflect the rarefaction in their growing quench of exploration.

Personally speaking I never feel appropriate to favour the imposing clothe-rule, just to ensure the implementation of the ethics and morals. There we have different ways instead of imposing the rules.

adoption’s trend


“Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.”
― Oscar Wilde

                  To begin  with this statement, one must be emphasizing over the words ‘ugliness’ and ‘intolerable’. Hey! it’s not my point of discussion, yet adoption of trending fashion is something I would like to enlighten upon. Don’t get bothered with anyone’s sayings…just feel free to carry yourself with.

                    What a classy tulip trousers are in!! See that colorful Capri..!! Short shirts with digital prints …o’ yeah m definitely gonna buy… Brandy high heels with embellishing  printed sides, look  capes are totally outclass… How would I look with this sea-green skinny pant with reddish-orange top??…  being an elite class-burger how do I look to cheap rated-replicas.. don’t even glance at those..seriously its a trash, shoppers are facilitating their clients ….aaaahhh!!! See a new mall there along side of the road, it looks fantastically huge and fascinating to my longing-branded stuff..well come on just check it out!!!won’t miss  the opportunity….

        What goes around, be it a fashion of deeds or wearing, is adopted and adapted,amplified through  media to bring into common mass’ acceptance. Promoting and selling the trendy fashion-products by leaps and bounds. People with silent sense of fashion, adopt the ostentatious taste of choices which has completely lose balance with the features whereas some carry themselves with complimentary choices of outfits but not outlets!! yeah…. appreciated being distinctive in display, everyone longs for.

               Alright…alright…How  those daring indicators are judging the selections of people!! Do they have the rights to authenticate their verdicts?? No, not any of them may have so.. listening to them is more likely to lose your instinctive appeals, which is most probably  invalid anyhow. It’s rather  better to mirror your sights to frame your selection.. giving life to your ultimate and genuine style, appeals actually. Candidly speaking it’s not the cost which matters but true signs of validation in a style (laid by chices).

“Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn”
― Orson Welles


shall beg..Him!

      Resounding azaan, was the span with nostalgic silence and soothing sensation. It was a predawn when  most people often continue  tossing and turning to remain lying and dreaming. Fewer of the believers left their comfort zone to offer the first Salah of the day, when I had already seated to my place having an  aluminium bowl with rust and dirt as the main  ingredient of impurity, stale-floral-garland around the neck, gemstone rings fitted in all ten fingers to show the proficiency of beggars along with the traditional dress made up of the cloth with joints and connections of pieces oddly colored and irregularly patterned. I used to take my place at the very right corner of  the masjid.

       I disguised myself as long-thickly-contaminated hair with  long lasting fetid to excite people’s pity over me being needy and victimized of poverty. Modified the voice, I kept seeking for materialistic help to fill in my bowl and paying them back with prayers to ensure my deserving fulfillment of needs on the regular basis.

          Listening to azaan, believers march out of their homes to align themselves in the earliest possible row, I never paid the attention to offer Salah any time… yet it was my trait to keep raising my voice so as to ask for the mercy of His people but not Him.

    People came and went, helped and cursed on me and other beggars… pointed,mocked and teased and some advised to choose a respectable profession. It was me who never put an ear feeling these as disgusts. I was an efficient professional. Yet I knew the traits to increase the profit in my daily begging. I have been perfectly physical strength with no impairment of any kind. But depending on other’s provided loaves and coins was my ultimate need. 

         I found people directing their off-springs or grand-children to help the beggars by provision of anything they could offer to help us instantly, there had been a motive  to make kids learn to help the needy. Although they came from  well-organised backgrounds, as they were witnessed doing good with poor. 

       I had been indulged into this trashy walk of life, since my fore-fathers migrated here and adopted this cheap earning of life. I used to laugh of fooling innocent people through pleading. I was never bothered by anything except when a boy of approximately 5 years came to provide me with his partial amount of pocket-money as was directed by his father. He stimulated the strings of my brain by saying on and on ‘ I will ask my Allah Almighty to help me for success in final assessment and you please pray for me too. Allah will help you too beggar uncle!! He is the best provider’.  

     The words penetrated to my thoughts making me feel suffice of His help… His provision. Within a short period of time, I sensed the shaken soul trying to plead the Almighty Lord. I got up and dusted off myself to get rid of this cursed life, so as to bow my forehead in sujood to get up in my life.