When Winter Comes

  • Sometimes it’s just that wind, a cold icy wind that freezes every single hair on your body, though it’s covered by a blanket of warm clothes and penetrates your skin to touch the bones. You feel the air, still you are happy. Why? Because you are reminded of your home, a home, a place where you were born, a place where you grew up, a place where even during summer, you feel the cold winter wind and what you need is warm woolen clothes to wrap up your skin.
  • I remember our skin drying up as we are now made aware by the weather that Winter is on the way. We are ready to welcome her. Every home now make a space for room heaters, new technologies. Before it was hand made mud and tin hearth where coal would be lighted and fanned for hours. It’s embers warming the whole house…

The Uninvited Guests

source: google/Pinterest

Where on earth am I safe? Where? Those eyes staring at me constantly as if I am walking naked. I think their mind has become a dress scanner. Such is their looks. Girls its high time we visit a smithy and construct an Iron Woman outfit or Is this the reason why many girls choose to wear men’s attire? Well may be.   

We are little kids until our periods visits us. Our bodily transformation begins. Period days and  the stomach aches that lasts for hours. Your breast begins to develop and gets perky and the initial phase of course is painful. We start getting conscious and we are taught to be careful.

While we are on this transformative phase, even the neighbourhood and the street eyes looks at us differently. Officially no more kids. Those sanitary napkins inside your mothers’ secret lockers,bras,now occupies your space.

When walking down the street. I heard for the first time the special sound, they made with their tongue. They whistled while carefully speculating our back. We now meet eve teasers and we are taught to ignore.

source: PinterestWhile   walking down the usual path, the sound of a motorbike, two guys, one grabs my boobs and shooo the bike vanishes. The society remembers me.

I reject someone and the psychopath comes throws acid on my face, shooo the criminals vanishes. The society will never forget me.

Again this is not enough, one day they grabbed me; a hundred licentious eyes and hands their mouth salivating as they clenched my arms and thighs; their claws tearing my soft clothes and flesh, one by one they raped me, inserted foreign objects inside my vagina. My body bruised and blood dripping. But shooo the rapists vanishes. The country will never forget my name.

But does anyone remember any assualters,molesters, rapists? Their names? The place where they belong? 

Yes! I am afraid of the dark, of those nocturnal eyes and hands ,of those ghastly beasts who haunts our bodies and enjoy our pain.Where on Earth are we safe? Very recently I received a message from an unknown person in Facebook asking me to indulge in a sex chat with him. Very instantly I had to block that person.

Even in the virtual world these dirty minds craves for sex.

A few months back. We were inside a three wheeled vehicle and an old man who was seated in front of us. He looked at us and after a while put his hand inside his pant. At first we thought may be he was uncomfortable but no he kept on repeating that a couple of times touching his private part and putting his fingers inside his mouth. That was gross and we were about to get out from the vehicle but fortunately he left .

Thousands of cyber crimes, rapes take place every single day and many cases are not even reported.

Source: Pinterest
 Sometimes it is outside your home and sometimes it is inside your home and neighbourhood. It is usually the victims who are blamed by the society. Her dress was short, she was alone, she walked during night, she had a bad character, she had many past relationships, may be she was a call girl, she was friendly and open with guys and so on.

source: google
Thousands fingers pointing towards the victim and the voice crying for help is just silenced. But the fault lies not in the girls or in her dress or in her character but in those shameless eyes that are naked and distorted ,that lacks good food and nutrition. Thereby effecting the entire mind making their body abnormal. If we are proud to be the  citizens of a land that is rich with temples and cultures we have much more reason to be ashamed of because thousand minds are getting distorted in a peculiar way thus defaming the whole nation and the human civilisation.

These uninvited guests are present in every street corners and the very recent Bengaluru Molestation incident baffled the whole country. How long! How long! Will the girls have  to live their life in fear? How long will they have to stay indoors? How long!

Our country India is blessed with rich cultures, the land of Gods and Goddesses. In every house we have these miniature Goddesses- Parvati,Laxmi,Saraswati,Durga,Kali and so many that we can hardly remember each names and every year we celebrate the festivals, Kali Puja, Sarasvati Puja (prayers offering to these special Goddesses or Mothers/Ma).

In spite of women being given a goddess figure why are we turned into a mere commodity and victimised in various parts of the world? Are we really the civilised people of this modern era? Do we live in a Blessed age or a Cursed one where filthy mind goes for another such crime and craves for more.Who are to blamed for such a heinous act? And in our small hilly areas as well where girls’ safety was ensured, here to the spark of such an evil act has already ignited. When will such a thing come to an end? 

The picture below which I received in  WhatsApp perfectly describes the present scenario.

Source: google

We all have these questions- Are they people like you and us? Are they human? Are they really men of flesh and blood?

Were they born from a mother’s womb? Those boobs that they sexualise now. Were they not fed by their mothers’ breast? Were they not inside their mothers womb for nine months and were they not born out from a labour pain? Didn’t they cry for the first time as their heads came out of theirs mothers’ vagina,covered in her blood while that umbilical cord still connecting them? I doubt those people were never breast feeded by their mothers. They were never connected to Mothers’ because that female body is the first known part to every men and women when they first step into an alien world. And the same body they now sexualise and disrespect.

Yes, it is true that thinking separates us from the wild animal kingdom but this intelligence is of no use to those retarded evil minds. Its such a shame that even animals such as them do not exist. There is no such thing as Rape! in their world. Better is an animal than a human.

We have used our intelligence to such an extent that we are the most cultivated advanced being who are ruling the earth and the space. But when these ‘uninvited guests’ disturbs the peace and purity of an individual, we are in the nadir and not in the zenith of our civilisation.

Some meetings

I walked down the streets of my dear hometown, tired is she by now because time an again she is being used as an object for gambling. A few more paths and I came across the same old Wall, this time painted with a different colour. I felt a little bad because the wall looked handsome in its ancient yellow attire. 

That place is special because it was the one who had permanently adopted her and it is the same place where I first saw her. And today the same street, the same good old wall knocked the door of my memory where she still breathes.

But this is not the only place to have reminded me about her. When I was doing my masters I came across this old woman, living in one of the streets of Jalpaiguri. We often saw her, mostly while coming back from the classes. She looked old, a little hunched back, thin and dressed in an old saffron saree. She had a mixture of dry grey and few black hair that was loosely made into a bun. Her dusky face,those small smiling bright eyes,dark lips with one teeth protruding out, everything , everything was strikingly similar that she just reminded me about my old friend. Once again the long forgotten friend came back before my eyes. But the one striking difference that I noticed between them(one who was past and had become a history and the other who was present and alive)was that the unkempt,shabby appearance of my old friend made her look more attractive than the divas on the street. Compared to her this new woman was surprisingly pretty clean and tidy . She usually carried a 

Most of the time when we passed by her we would exchange glances and smiles. Like my old friend she too lived in the mercy of local food stalls, selling sweets, tea or momos. Everyday she lived the same day. Of course,we were curious to know where she slept and later we found that she used to spend her night inside an unused shop. Time passed so fast and we finally finished our masters programme. Me and my friend once made a promise to give her something with our pocket money. So when our last days in Jalpaiguri arrived we contributed whatever little amount we could and purchased a new saree for her. We gifted  her our small love and care just the day before we left. I felt immense joy like her when she received it with a soft smile. At first she could not understand because she was not a regular beggar. She did not know begging, just like my old friend. We could not understand each other’s language but we felt something. The food stall owner who was providing her with dinner told her in bengali that we were gifting a new saree for her to wear. By gifting her I felt as if I was giving​  something to my old friend. 


My ear is accustomed

Not to the hooting of the owl

Or loud chirping noises of the birds

But to the pleasant music

The roads and highway plays

Without dropping a single sweat

From sunrise to sunset,

From sunrise to sunset.

Accompanying and delighting 

every person on its way

That tring- trings of the cycle,

The Vroom Vroom of the bikes

The  honk – honk of the buses,

The different horn-tones of the cars that is preset

Like a mobile ringtone that vibrates on your way….

They are magical ,musical instruments

And music is what they play

Its pure music I say.

But in the evening

When their music fades

And silent prevails

It is the annoying sound

 of crawling reptiles- hissing, insects -buzzing,

Sometimes screaming,

Their high pitched voice,

O,that disturbing ,irritating noise

That deeply hits my brain.

It digs my brain

It is not the view of the tall trees,

But the mountain high skyscrapers

That I enjoy.

This is me

Yes me

My body 



More towards superficiality

More towards artificiality

My body so much latched to it

Locked and I have already lost the key…

As I go far, more far from nature

And come close, more close

Towards this ‘madding croud’

More close to this ‘mad-adding crowd’

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/brave/”>Brave</a&gt;Brave“>Brave

Voices -reborn.

​Our Century old tattered hopes are in rags

Enchanted dreams still hangs on every green cliffs

Confused among the conspiracies that hatched without a sound

As the twenty four hour channel portrayed the scenario like in a daily soap

Where the writers head winds up like our hilly roads

Conjuring up stories after stories

Leaving the hills muted left only to talk in wispers, even when she is the queen

She is the imprisoned and forced to gulp venom

Darjeeling being poisened is growing purple bit a bit

The land has been raided once again

Sounds of boots, thuds,thuds,thudding every corner of the streets

Voilence making remedy to suppress the voice of the masses

Simple common citizens just asking a big hearted country for their rights which they swiftly denies

As the state sends forces after forces to shut the mouth of the million gorkha voices

That’s not enough

Terrorist! Who? We

They label you for free

Yes, for free

When your brothers are in borders

 As country’s respected army men

 But where is that respect?

 Lost ? Gone,tossed aside, inside that dirty bin.

 Dirty,Oh very dirty dictatorship prevails in the heated hilly air

 O! Wait was Hitler born twice?

 Banning internet was such a clever move

 The rest is left dark, blank,that fear of revealing the truth.

 But we the Gorkhas are spread worldwide

 So suppressing a few will not stop our fight,our birth right.
We forgot when last we enjoyed the thunder, the lightening and the glistening monsoon rain

A sip of a coffee or the Darjeeling tea who is now quiet and in pains

Because what showered in the hills and gardens were rains of gunshots and thunders from rifles

Deafening the mountains, leaving her with bloody bloodstains, 

Erasing the faces of the three Gorkha voices, martyred men as the soil drenched.

Drenched with tears from a mother, a father, a daughter, a son, a wife, a sister, or a brother, friends or the entire Gorkha generation.

This is what you wanted. Right?

When will your tyranny end?

When will we breathe the free air?

When will your rule end?

Yes the art of Colonisation painted the hills even after the coloniser’s end

Your wrath may have fell upon us

Like a meaningless curse

But do not worry

Weapons we do not carry

With only a thread and a needle

We will March forward in solidarity

Sewing and stitching broken wounds that are still fresh

Sewing all that you ripped apart

Your attack on language was indeed a blessing in disguise. Yes

 I don’t wanna lose my mother

 I don’t wanna cut her tongue

 I don’t wanna stay forever dumb.

 Together we stand and voice more clearly, our demands

 Now do you hear?

 The hills of Darjeeling have come alive

 Echoing the Voices of its people

 Without a land

 Their never ending chorus

‘ Gorkhaland, Gorkhaland’

Their song





But even after many deaths

Our voice have risen- reborn and revitalised

As we sing that old song

“we want Gorkhaland

Gorkhaland, Gorkhaland”

More louder,more fiercer than ever.


Hear my poem in the video below.







I watched that blue,deep blue ocean
As it’s waves twirled and move forward
I felt at once to swipe myself off and leave with it’s to and fro motion, without a trace.
Until my body,tired of holding the weight gets exhausted
My existence becomes extinct
As the ocean slowly swallows me in.

So deeply did I delve in the thought
That I found no difference between you and that vast ocean.
It’s color resembled your eyes.
Yes, your blue eyes where I had so long sailed
Didn’t realize that the weather change
be it in your eyes or that Ocean,it’s same.
And at last I became that old Titanic
Sinking, gradually sinking in the pains
That left me all broken and paralysed

But you are too unworthy to be called an ocean
That harbours thousand different lives.
Never does it abuse or leave others bruised.
As I viewed the blue universe
It taught me lessons in silence
So letting everything go
I stand before it, peeling off that paralysed self,in an outfit,
That mirrors its color.
My mind and my heart all blue
Resembling the powerful
Blue,Yes,deep blue ocean.


Post by :pr_timeandreflections

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"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect"