Impure

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She was a busy woman. Her youth and impeccable looks made sure she never went out of business. She had been initiated into the flesh trade by her mother when she was barely twelve, when all she had wanted to do was fly kites and feast on flavoured ice. But five years into the business, she was adept at fixing rates, faking her feelings and sweet talking her clients into showering her with gifts. She had even mastered the art of lying to herself about the pain, the disgust, the helplessness and the anger that she felt.

During the initial years her mother had warned her, “Never fall in love with a client. They are not here to give us what we want but to take from us what they want.”  She had believed every word of it until she was swept away from her feet by a man who visited her every Friday. He was in his thirties, fairly good looking, with a streak of gold encircling his ring finger. They spent many nights enjoying each other’s company, talking endlessly until dawn snatched him away from her embrace. She realized that she was deeply in love with this man. She felt trapped between two worlds that could never meet and decided to confess her love to him, convinced that he too felt the same. He was different from the other men she had been with.

His words echoed within her, filling her eyes with grief. “How can an impure one like you even dream of a life with a gentleman like me?” She thought it strange that it was always the woman who was made to feel impure and not the man who was equally involved, even after having betrayed his wife.





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Disgust

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Around her the crew members were buzzing with activity fixing lights, testing the sound system, shouting, giving and receiving instructions. The choreographer ran up to her panting “Let’s try the new moves for today’s song Ma’am. She sipped some juice, swept up her hair in a ponytail and took her position. She watched the steps being demoed. Now it was her turn.

All eyes were on her, the beautiful supermodel tuned actress. “One, two three….” Loud Hindi music filled the entire set. The lyrics and notes blared into the cool morning air. The song went on to describe the heroine as a piece of tandoori chicken, one whose snap was worthy of being glued to one’s chest. The crowd that had gathered to watch whistled and hooted, pleased with the flowing words that objectified women, depicting them as just an easy means of pleasure.

She was horrified upon seeing people laughing and cheering at the cheap lyrics. She didn't find it amusing at all. In fact, she found it disgusting. For the first time in her acting career, she found herself reflecting about the roles she had portrayed so far. What was it about the twists and turns of her hip, songs with repulsive lyrics and women in arm candy roles that attracted such a fan following?

She was in a fix. But ultimately she decided to bow out of the assignment. She knew of the risks. The labels that would be slapped onto her. Betrayer. Arrogant. There could even be legal issues. Worse, offers to do films would dwindle. But she was sure she didn't want to be a piece of chicken or jalebi anymore.







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Content

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Her wardrobe was an explosion of colour and glitz. Radhika was spoilt for choice when it came to clothes, accessories and almost everything else she wanted. She was the pampered wife of a millionaire who went on endless business trips around the globe in search of better deals and more money. They owned a lot wealth and lead a lavish life; an outsider could never find any flaws in their life.

Yet, as she stood in front of her cupboard trying to decide what to wear to the party that night, she felt a strange sense of emptiness. She couldn't fathom what it was. Maybe it was time to shop for new clothes and bags. Maybe the diamonds had been worn too many times and it was time for a new set. Or could it be because it had been long since a holiday in an exotic resort in a faraway land?

What was it she lacked? Why did she feel empty? Her thoughts were disturbed as she looked down from her window at the adjoining slum. Where did these people come from? She watched with shock and disgust as two urchins sifted through the garbage, picking bottles and jars. When their sacks fattened up with objects of glass and plastic, they exchanged them with a man, for some money.

The children dashed to the nearby shop that sold fly infested samosas, pastries and snacks dripping with oil. Radhika watched them munch hungrily on the samosas. Their faces burst into smiles as they wiped their oily hands on their knickers and prepared for a nap near the stinking pile of garbage. She then realised what was wrong. She had never once felt content.





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Brave

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Her heart swelled with pride as she watched her daughter picking vegetables from their small but well-kept garden. She thought of the little one as the greatest blessing in her life, her sole companion. They lived in a very small house amidst the lush greenery of a small village in the Western Ghats, but even with the limited resources, they lived a life of happiness and endless love.

She ran a small tailoring unit where she sat for hours together, cutting up cloth and making garments along with two other women she had employed. She grew vegetables, kept a few hens and taught neighbouring children in the evenings. Her daughter too pitched in to help though she was all but twelve.

It had been brave of her to stick to her decision of keeping her baby knowing that the journey of an unwed mother was going to be an arduous one. Her parents had cajoled, threatened and finally disowned her to save themselves from embarrassment and public disgrace. Her boyfriend had asked her to be practical. But she knew she was a fighter who would never give up. Not even if it meant the end of her education, luxurious life and the comfort of loving relationships.

She never regretted her choice. In fact she was even more determined to build a new life from scratch with her daughter. Her mind never once wavered even upon being tortured by wagging tongues. She fought her way through life like a brave warrior, without doubts, never turning back.

As her girl came in with a basket full of freshly picked greens, they shared a hug and headed to the kitchen. There was work to be done.

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The Vigilante

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Here they come, the vigilante
to steal glances at our shared kiss
as they spray together in public
gallons of consecrated piss.

Here they are at a gathering
airing an endless roll
of senseless codes and conduct
which in life, is their only goal.

Even in a game of tennis
unsure of where to look
they ultimately settle for a skirt-
upon it a cover story they cook.

The vigilante never spares
a couple that holds hands
or ventures out on Valentine's;
love exists only in alien lands.

With not an ounce of shame left
they are here, there, everywhere
spend their miserable lives policing
preaching what to feel, think and wear.

Delusional custodians of culture;
much beyond their comprehension
is to tolerate, to include to accept
a peaceful amalgamation.




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A Name for Keeps

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A name is a word by which things, people, places and animals are known. It helps us to identify them from a group with ease. Well, when it comes to names of people, it is a little more complicated, given the socio-cultural set up we live in. So it is common to find people with two names, a given name and a surname. The surname could be the name of a parent (mostly the father), family or even caste. So a name can reveal quite a lot about a person!

I wouldn't say that one’s identity is tied to a name but I do believe that a name, over the years becomes a part (however small) of one’s identity. We grow up being known by a particular name. Some people choose to keep them; some change them of their own accord or under pressure. Ultimately it is just a matter of choice. However, it is more common among women than men to change their surname after marriage. Some of the reasons given by people who prefer to change their names post marriage are:

1. Everyone in the family will have the same surname, creating a sense of belonging and it is easier to identify members of a family.
2. It avoids hassles especially while travelling abroad, inheriting property etc.
3. It helps the new daughter in law adjust easily and accept the new family as hers.

I’m accepting of the fact that everyone has a right to choose what they want for themselves. But I would definitely want to keep my original name. It is a name I have grown to like over two decades and a half. Everyone knows me by this name. I have been Vidya Subramanian for my friends, teachers, family, employers, colleagues, students and many others. Even my husband and his family got introduced to me and even liked me while I sported this name. My certificates of birth, my achievements in academics, sports and art have been inked with my maiden name. Why would I want to change that? Is there any pressing reason? Not that I know of.

About blending into the new family, I have accepted my husband’s family even without a surname change. I am as much a daughter as I am a daughter-in-law. And a xerox copy of our marriage certificate is enough to convince authorities that we are married (whenever there is a need), so there is nothing to spoil our plans of going abroad. So what if surnames differ within a family? It doesn't make a person a stranger at all. My mom has kept her name since birth, but we still are a loving family. Isn't it strange that the same is not expected of men? Don’t they too have to accept the girl’s parents?

And having said that, why should anyone change a part of themselves for any relationship? Two individuals willingly sharing their lives, love and family without compromising on their identities - that’s marriage for me. It is bad enough that my name is tagged with my father’s, when I would have preferred just “Vidya”. I’m too lazy to take the arduous journey to Indian government offices to add, subtract, replace and modify my name. So I let it be. Vidya Subramanian it is, from birth to death and even after!!

P.S: I understand that people have their own reasons for keeping/changing/modifying their names. To each one his own! I'm thankful that my husband finds the idea of my name change equally absurd.

This post was written for the IndiSpire topic Should a woman change her maiden surname after marriage?
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The Final Call

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She failed to understand the unexpected shift in her parents’ priorities after having nurtured her dreams, fuelled her ambitions and prided in her achievements all these years. With the wedding fast approaching, everyone including her future in-laws seemed to be coaxing her to be more forgiving and less adamant about pursuing her career as they thought it was only through compromise that a marriage could last forever.

She recalled that just a few weeks back during the bride seeing ceremony, everyone seemed to be impressed with her qualifications, her talents and the well-deserved promotion she was offered at work. Wasn't it hypocritical that people wanted brides to be highly educated and knowledgeable yet homely, willing to replace her dreams with someone else’s? “I won’t let anything spoil my dreams” she thought as she picked up the phone to make that final call which she knew would change her life for the better.

P.S: I'm on top of the world now, having written my first guest post for Shanx who blogs at Embark With My Thoughts. You can read my blogging journey here.

This piece of Five Sentence Fiction was penned for the topic Spoiled at Lillie McFerrin Writes

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Matchmaking

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Parents frantic, seek a match

people applaud as a good catch,

squeamish about qualifications essential

probing if incomes are substantial.

Essential is a job quite decent,

 with no stage in life quiescent

height and weight just perfect

complexion that doesn't deject.

Family name, fame and wealth,

education, hobbies and health

supersede matters of the heart

for a secure married life to start.

With the essentials in place

man and woman see face to face,

the best of them they showcase

lest they fall behind in the race.

In lightning speed vows are made

elaborate plans are then laid;

a game of luck has just begun

hope it turns out to be some fun.

P.S: This poem is written in lighter vein about the Arranged Marriage Market in India. It is in no way intended to hurt any one’s feelings. The debate over Arranged vs Love marriages is never ending. It works differently for different people. Ultimately all that matters is one’s happiness in life. Happy Holi!

Written for the prompt "Essential" at B-A-R
 Linking to http://www.writetribe.com/write-tribe-pro-blogger-challenge/

Poisoned Pleasantries

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Any social gathering, be it a wedding, a party or even a small family get together has a dangerous tendency to turn into a buzzing hive of gossip as long as there are enough people and delicious food to fuel stray sparks caused by snide remarks and incessantly wagging tongues that seem to have snapped free from the wiring that links them to the brain respectively. These meetings are the perfect times for people to catch up on each other’s lives, being “busy” at all other times. So it is quite natural that questions that prod, pry and probe into others’ lives are shot off at random, amidst the zillion interactions that happen over food and drink.

What I find absolutely amusing, is the ability of people to spice up even mono syllable answers and comments of others into emotional epics of melodrama and serve it to others. For example, a “well-wisher” asked me if I was pregnant, to which I answered in the negative. News spread that we as a couple had decided not to have kids and soon every other person in the crowd wanted my mother to “speak to me (and my generation of selfish youngsters)” to throw light on the folly of our decision. Talk about (bungee) jumping into conclusions!

At another function, someone passed a “well meaning” remark that my husband and I were saving money by eating less (both of us happen to be thin). Some others went to the extent of judging my culinary skills. Such remarks filled with malice defeat the whole purpose of getting together. Instead of going home with pleasant memories, one is often left wondering whether theses forced relations hold any meaning at all. Why make an attempt to keep in touch with people who eagerly try to bring you down all the time, no matter what you do or say?

Once, during a wedding someone went on and on in loudspeaker mode about how ugly the bride looked. I could only pray that she hadn't heard those rude words, for doesn't everyone want to think they look nice on their wedding? If only it is possible to press “mute” when some people talk! Now when I think of it, more instances surface to my memory. People commenting on the colour of your skin, your attire, your diet, your lifestyle choices, career (or the lack of it), how you choose to celebrate, where you go on a holiday, how you spend your wealth and so many other matters which I think are too personal to be dissected in public. People have their opinions, I know. But why air them all unnecessarily? Why is there a deliberate lack of connect between the tongue and the brain?

Of course, one way out is to shut these people out by giving them and their comments a cold shoulder. Sometimes it is not that easy, especially if the person is a close relative. Some people are sensitive and can easily get hurt by these bullets from mindless mouths. I don’t mean to say that we should be hypocrites and shower praise without meaning a word of it. But if we don’t have anything nice to say, isn't it better that we keep quiet. That’s what I do. Remembering the words of Mark Twain: If you have nothing to say, say nothing. How true- if you don’t have anything nice to say, golden is the colour of your silence.

Bitten

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I have been waiting for this night in persistent perseverance. I want the result to be spectacular, a neat job that would silence the harshest of critics. There is no one in this house but me and what the people of the house called “a kind of eeriness”, as if they were being watched.  Ha! Did they expect me to easily give up my abode for them? This has been my home for over a hundred years, the very place where I cast my mystical yellow glow, causing weird things to happen to the people of the house.

But now, I have task at hand. I wonder how this bug that normally bites just creatures like those in this house, dared to bite me. But now that I am a victim, my hands itch, my heart flutters, eyes glow and a wicked smile takes shape on my face. I really have to do it tonight and make sure everyone sees it. It has to be done in secret without feeling self-conscious, but by tomorrow I want the whole world to be spooked, to gape in astonishment, to acknowledge my presence. I will tell them in style that I have arrived. 

There is no time to waste. In utmost silence I pull it out and admire its cold metallic feel. Without further delay, I shoot myself and marvel at my very first selfie.

                                       

This post was written for the above picture prompt from Blog-A-Rhythm

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I am Able

You see me on a chair with wheels,

feeling pity, wonder how it feels

to lead a life of dreary dependence

a life you feel is a forced penance.

You see just my disability

and think I wallow in self pity,

but aren't we all the same-

agile at many, at others lame?

You see me unable to see you,

darkness being my permanent view

and think I’m nothing without my cane

living a life of perpetual bane.

You see just my disability

and think I wallow in self pity,

sadly your eyes can’t see my mind

and its painted canvas one of a kind.

You see me unable to hear or speak;

a world without words you say is bleak,

never to be spoken to, never to be heard

my company you think is just absurd.

You see just my disability

and think I wallow in self pity,

but isn't it sad you need a word

to free thoughts caged like a bird?

You see just my disability

branding me a liability,

since we are all differently abled

can’t you spare me unlabelled?

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Compare not

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When they first saw the infant,

they spotted at that very instant

a squint of the eye, a scar on the thigh,

and deeply pondered why.

“The older one was fat and fair

with flawless skin and ample hair.”

they quipped in keen observation,

summarizing their evaluation.

Ensued a long, tiring journey

dodging and ducking their baloney;

comparisons many different kinds

conjured up in crooked minds.

Adolescence, youth, middle age;

the war never ceased to wage,

mediocre minds catching up

on stories of not matching up.

Isn't each one beautifully unique?

Do they deserve your hefty critique?

Pry open the windows of your mind

to new vistas, leaving comparisons behind.

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The Goddess

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Strange are the ways of our society,

stained with sins yet preaches piety.

Women worshiped akin to God

yet for a little space, made to slog.

Daughters educated for a fine match,

confined within the matrimonial patch.

“Be ambitious competent and bold

yet meek and homely” they’re told

Widows burnt alive, paraded

their lives considered faded,

the childless with  a womb cursed

survive a living hell, lips pursed.

Glorified as an incarnation of God,

over her dreams and feelings they trod.

Don’t mistake her silence for weakness,

see the strength behind her meekness.





Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge

Henpecked!

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To my dear henpecked husband,

No I don’t intend to insult you, unlike our society ever ready with many tags that aim to degrade you, to question your testosterone levels and to reinforce its archaic, misogynistic beliefs on you so as to snub out the slightest glimmer of hope for change. To me the word “henpecked” brings renewed hope, and pride in having a partner who truly cares and believes in equality ignoring the rants and grunts of people around. A partner who dares to stand by his convictions least affected by society’s screwed up ideas of what makes a man “man enough”.

You are special my dear henpecked husband, a rare gem among a million “Indian men” out there. You actively share the boring house hold chores making them a fun activity. I can freely ask you to do the dishes without having to feel guilty (mama’s boys don’t do house work, it is meant for girls) or to press my legs when they ache. Of course you too seek my help with office work and other things.

I like it that you don’t sit snugly, propped up by pillows, watching T.V with other men while I prepare tea or clean up. I have never had to scream in my head “You are the host too!” when we have had guests. I feel loved, my presence in your life respected, when you never follow the “let men eat first” rule and make sure we eat together. You are the man of my dreams, for whenever there have been little sacrifices, they have been mutual.

Domestic chores thanks to you don’t get pushed into “woman’s domain” in our house. It is our home so together we work to keep it clean. We all feel hungry so we think nothing of sharing kitchen work. We are both educated having thoughts of our own, our own interests and ambitions. We defend and safe guard them for each other. I want you to know my henpecked hubby, that I love it that you don’t interfere in my career choices. You realize that beyond the umpteen roles I juggle, there is another me, just me with dreams and desires for myself. So do I. I promise you we will do what we love to.

Much to the displeasure of our society, you love to spend time with my parents as much as yours and realize how important it is for me to know that they are happy and well. And because you are special, you don’t expect to be showered with gifts and given a lot of importance by my family just because of your Y chromosome. You involve me in the decision you take and the choices you make.

I am truly blessed to be holding your hand in life knowing for sure that you’re real with all your imperfections. A real person with emotions that are not locked up in false perceptions about manhood (men don’t cry) with ambitions whose reasons stretch beyond the need to be a provider to the family. Love, this, let me say, is what I find most appealing in you.

These you may feel are too trivial to be written about, but I have no words to tell you about the solace they bring. It is not very easy to be a twenty first century- married- Indian -woman(feminist) with a career. It is like living in a pressure cooker forever. Those who yield to the pressures and live a life of conformity may seem to be happy, but the compromises they endure for the make-believe peace sets off a turbulent storm in their heads that rages for a lifetime.

So be proud of that label dear husband, go ahead and flaunt it.

Your Happy Hen ;)

Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge.

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Unscarred

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I watched you walk away jilted

your face hung low and wilted,

I chose to keep you away

setting your thoughts in disarray.

I believed I had a choice

I was polite and made no noise,

it was my life, my decision;

that upset your planned precision.

But you came back unexpected

to show me you were dejected,

with a few drops of acid you spoke

and burnt my dreams down to smoke.

Brave, the warrior in me fought,

you thought I’d give up, distraught?

I battled the bruise and the blister

unwilling to succumb to the disaster.

I am not the body you scarred

whose features you savagely charred,

survives my spirit, strong as ever

keeping me bold and beautiful forever.





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My Home away from Home

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It is difficult to tell you my story without choking on my words and wetting my eyes. Nevertheless I’ll give it a try. I am an ordinary person just like you. I dream, hope love and want to be loved, just like you. Aged twenty, I live with a group of like-minded people whose stories are different from mine, yet astonishingly similar if you care to pay a closer look.

I always knew I was different. Of course, we are all different, that’s not what I mean. I was different in a way people found unsettling and imperfect. Have you ever wondered what it is like to feel and think like a woman but to be expected to behave like a man because of a cruel, sadistic game of fate? I doubt it. Well, I was intimidated beyond measure that I wanted to shrink to the size of a speck of dust and freely fly around unnoticed.

I may have looked like a man but I always wanted to be a woman; I am a woman. My parents never understood me; I feel they never tried to. To them I was a cursed lump of flesh that grew in my mother’s cursed womb just to bring shame and ill-luck to the family. Taunted, teased, bullied and assaulted, I was the tip of many a rude joke. The wounds family and society inflicted mercilessly on me still feel fresh and the pain, searing.

Unable to bear it any longer, I fled with no particular destination in mind. I began my journey of escape. I soon found people like me and I can’t explain the relief I felt to be taken into their fold, to be seen as part of family. They took care of my needs, taught me how to earn a living and loved me for what I was. I find it strange that my own family saw me as a stranger but a group of strangers made me a part of their family. This was where I belonged, before my soul lost its way and entered the lump of flesh in my mother’s womb by a fateful error.

For the first time in my life, I felt at peace. It felt good to be back home, away from home.

This post was written for the IndiSpire prompt
Write a story ending with "..... It felt good to be back home."#MyStory

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Palette of Colours

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My white is your black

your strengths, I lack,

My fairy tale is your nightmare

about things you ignore, I care,

What I want to have, you don’t

become like you, I won’t.

The reason for my smile

brings you tears that run a mile,

What you’re proud about,

if I have in me, I doubt.

Your tastes are miles from mine

But I find no reason to whine

We'll accept each other,

in our palette add more colour.

Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge

Woman of the Night

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I am the woman of the night,

a dirty secret kept from daylight,

whose day comes alive at dusk

with a painted face and a touch of musk.

My captivating looks seek to lure

a man or two I am forced to endure

in silent pain and a lifetime of grief

so my babies sleep with some relief.

I live this life cursed and infernal

to fulfil instincts purely maternal.

The least I need is your heartless judgement,

an infliction worse than this predicament.

I am the woman of the night

erased from your life by daylight

before a fine gentleman you become

in whose life I’m most unwelcome.

Lesson 1 for the newly wed: Advertise

It was the beginning of a new academic year. The entire school was back after a refreshing (or not so refreshing) break. It was my first year at work after marriage. Many of them at school knew about this as I had invited them for the function before we broke for the holidays. As I entered the school office I found it strange that after the expected “Congrats!”, “How is married life?”, “How was the honeymoon?” and “How are your in-laws?” people started giving me deadly looks. I cringed as they scanned me from head to toe.

Head: Sindoor and Bindi missing.

Neck: Mangalsutr/Thaali missing.

Hands: Bangles missing. Ring missing.

Toes: Toe rings missing.

Too many things missing, much to their discomfort. I have always hated jewellery especially gold. So without them I felt absolutely normal and comfy. As I smiled at every one and asked them about their holidays, I got weird responses like

“At least the mangalsutr, can’t you wear it for your husband’s sake?”

(Is my husband’s fate sealed in a few grams of gold hanging from my neck?)

“Girls these days!”

(Yes girls these days at least try to think with their own head rather than the moral policemen’s)

“Your husband or at least mother-in-law didn’t say anything?”

(They have better work to do than police me)

“How will people know whether you are married or not?”

(I don’t display labels of any other relation on my body. Apart from being a wife, I am a daughter, granddaughter, sister, aunt, friend and many others. If I displayed a symbol each for the endless relations, I would collapse under their collective weight)

“People will always respect women who wear the symbols of marriage”

(People should respect others based on qualities for which he or she can take credit. One’s religion, sexuality, appearances etc. don’t qualify for that)

I dodged most of them with smiles though I had answers and better questions with me. It would just fall into deaf ears. I should have anticipated this. I was under the notion that times had changed and people were more accepting of fresh ideas and that patriarchy did not exist in educated people’s world at least. Too naïve. I was in no mood to share my ideologies with them. I headed to my class. Only to dodge similar questions repeated by gen next with an added “Your husband has allowed you to work even after marriage, so…”

(I am an adult, the constitution says I can vote someone into power in the Indian democracy, I can get a driving licence, can get married and do so many other things. But wait, someone has to allow me to work, take care of my parents or wear clothes of my choice?)

Of course, I don’t intend to blame the children who said that. Their words reflect the society we live in. Children imbibe ideas and notions from adults around them. It is a different story if women did these things of their own free will, but most often there is an invisible but undeniably present mental filter in our heads (especially after marriage) that doesn't allow our values and ideals to permeate into our consciousness, instead lets them fade into the past as distant memories that would soon be forgotten. In the struggle to get into the good books of others, we become a new person, living someone else’s dreams, thinking like someone else, one’s identity inseparably tagged to someone else’s.

 I am myself first. I love the person I am. Happy the way I am. I have many dreams for myself. Without having to feel guilty. Only then I am ready to don the role of daughter, sister, friend and wife without losing myself.

P.S: Many people have argued with me saying that these are part of our culture, so we should accept them without questioning. I believe culture changes, it evolves. Otherwise we wouldn't have been able to get rid of many social evils and malpractices like sati. Some others tried to give me scientific reasons behind sindoor, toe ring, bangles and thaali associating it with reproduction and sexual life. Just a gentle reminder that people from other cultures too have been there, done that!

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Bringing in more sensitivity in celebrations

We Indians boast of an unparalleled rich and diverse culture with great pride. The infinite festivals celebrated across the length and breadth of the country all through the year are vibrant manifestations of this cultural richness and diversity. Festivals break the monotony of the mundane chores we get engaged with in daily life. So aptly they are a treat to the senses- the bright colours, lights and shimmer, the sounds, smells and tastes.

However they have an ugly side too, that stealthily but definitely threatens our environment and fellow beings on this planet. The copious amount of waste generated, noise, smoke generated during such celebrations poison our environment often culminating in irreparable damage. Taking a closer look at our activities during such occasions will help us identify  potential threats and adopt an alternative strategy that is eco-friendly and at the same time maintains the festive spirit.

·         Bursting of crackers

In India, most festivals are celebrated by bursting crackers, lighting sparklers, flower pots etc. Though they look magnificent against the night sky, they pollute the air with smoke and soot. Many metal salts are added during their making to give various colours. The noise produced disturbs children, the elderly and animals. It disturbs sleep and even causes hypertension and respiratory disorders. After the festival, streets are strewn with the harmful trash generated by crackers. Apart from the pollution they cause, many firework factories employ children who face many occupational hazards.

Alternative: Families can resolve to stop the use of crackers and fireworks. Children will surely understand, most often it is adults who need convincing. Instead, families and neighbourhoods can get together and enjoy a night of singing and dancing. Older people too can be involved in sharing stories and traditions with the young.

·         Use of artificial colours and dyes

Who can enjoy Holi without colours? Diwali too is incomplete without colourful rangolis. But what if those colours were deceptive masks worn by deadly chemicals hazardous to humans, capable of triggering a host of health issues? At the end of a Holi celebration we get bathed in harmful dyes that can even cause cancer. A huge quantity of water gets wasted and the water balloons amount to non-biodegradable waste that pollutes the soil.

Alternative:  Use natural and organic colours like haldi, henna etc. Tone down the excitement to use buckets of water to mix colours. Be creative and dye your clothes with plant extracts for a change.

·         Immersion of idols in water bodies

During festivals like Durga Puja and Ganesh Chaturthi thousands of  painted idols of deities are immersed in ponds, lakes and rivers along with flowers, plastic garlands, glittering decorations and even food items. Idols made of plaster of Paris pollute the water and alter its chemical properties. The colours from these idols leach out harmful chemicals, dyes and even heavy metal salts. Plastic waste is non-biodegradable and chokes aquatic life. The flowers, leaves and other puja items rot in the water and serve as ideal breeding grounds for microbes that either spread diseases or reduce the oxygen content of the water body. Needless to say the lake/pond or river chokes to death.

Alternative: Encourage children and others in the family to make unbaked clay idols (as DIY craft projects) that can be immersed in a pail of water or nearby water body without causing pollution. Idols can even be reused every year. It also teaches children to be environment conscious individuals.

·         Wastage of electricity

Festivals and fairs witness indiscriminate use of electricity to light up homes, streets, halls etc. Loud music throughout the day has become the norm. To compensate for the overuse, power cuts become frequent after a festival.

Alternative: Use a small number of oil lamps, candles or energy saving LEDs for lighting. Use lighting only when necessary.

Generation of trash

The clean up after a festival, be it in a home, street or locality yields piles of mixed wastes that cannot be recycled or reused. The waste piles contain leftover food, flowers and leaves from pujas, paper and plastic cups, plates and spoons, decoration, cardboard boxes of sweets, clothes and gifts, gift wraps etc. Even during national festivals, plastic flags and sweet wrappers litter schools and offices.

Alternative: A little thought on what is really needed and what can be avoided prior to the festival will reduce a lot of waste. Reusable plates and glasses or eco-friendly plates can be used. Puja thalis can be reused. Decorations can be made from materials available at home. If we take that extra step to segregate the wastes, it will be easier to recycle them. Wastage of food can be avoided by taking and serving small helpings. Flowers, leaves and vegetable wastes can be composted. Involving children is the best way to spread the idea of Reducing, Reusing and Recycling.

Meaningless usage of edible items in rituals

Be it turmeric smeared rice used as akshate ( for blessing) or ash gourds filled with red dye that are smashed during Ayudh Puja, many rituals make use of food items that later get wasted. At a time when the world population and declining agriculture is driving us towards food crisis, it is certainly not acceptable to continue following such traditions where precious food gets wasted.

Alternative: Revisit ancient customs and rituals instead of mindlessly following them. May be they were relevant in olden days. Find out their relevance in the present scenario.

Useless gifts

Gifting is very common during festivals. Gifts are purchased thoughtlessly and exchanged during Navarathri, Diwali, Christmas etc. Most of them lie unused or tucked away in a cupboard only to be trashed later. 

Alternative: Meaningful gifts that encourage environment friendly thought and behaviour can be given like books, plants or saplings. These need not be wrapped in plastic or paper, reducing the burden on or planet. Donate old clothes to the needy. Refrain from buying new clothes unless absolutely necessary.

Unhealthy eating

Festivals are inevitably linked to feasting. A great number of delicacies are cooked at home or bought from outside. Sweets with artificial colours, deep fried snacks and dishes bathed in oil and ghee look very tempting and inviting. In a country that is on its way to being the capital of all lifestyle disorders, this is an unhealthy trend.

Alternative: Healthy and tasty meals can be prepared at home. People should eat keeping in mind their lifestyle and health. Instead of sharing sweets, healthy recipes can be tried out and shared.

Unnecessary splurging

During festivals, people compete with others in the apartment/locality for putting up the best display/decoration/ meal. In the process a lot of money and material gets wasted. A lot of money gets wasted in buying new clothes, home decor and a list of not so necessary items. People often indulge in impulsive buying due to discount sales and offers during festival time.

Alternative: Get together as a group to celebrate festivals. Families can together make a single display (be it a christmas tree, golu, pookalam or rangoli) that will save time, money and materials. It will also foster friendships and spread the message of sharing. Plan a visit with loved ones to a nearby shelter or orphanage. Spread the spirit of the festival by sharing your time and gifts with them. Such humanitarian acts are the best ways to inculcate in children and youngsters important values which adults often complain are lacking.

So this festive season, let your creative juices flow. Reduce, reuse recycle, compost, donate, share and do just about everything you can to have a safe, eco-friendly and above all, a more meaningful celebration.