Category Archives: Human Nature

3 Recent Encounters

By now, you all know that I am bad with technology, and yet the irony is I opt for shopping online in almost all the cases. I know there is always a risk attached to buying things which I haven’t seen, and yet I voluntarily want to buy things online or in a supermarket, and evade any store shopping.

The reason is very simple, not only do I get to see innumerable products but also I get to avoid people.

Why do I want to avoid people at the small stores? The reason is simple again. I will relate to you my recent encounters.

1#
I ordered food from a nearest restaurant. We usually order from there, and there has been never a problem. But this time the delivery man seemed new in the area. (he seemed to me a person new to a job itself). Our building is being renovated and hence the apartment name was erased, so he couldn’t find the building. He instantly called the landline number, on which my mom was talking to someone. He might have asked the guard, and came upstairs, but he was already in a mood.

I had kept the door open seeing the restaurant bike downstairs, so that he didn’t have any more trouble finding the house. (And I was hungry too.) but as soon as he came in view he shouted, “Is it your parcel?” When I said yes, he literally started fighting with me. “Can’t you put up a name on your building? Even your house has no number. (That is why I kept the door open!) and then you have to keep your phone busy too. Why can’t you talk some time else. I had so difficulty finding your house. I had to talk to your guard to find out if this is the place.”

That is when I lost it, and the angry me retorted, “That is your problem!!” I took my package, paid him, and banged the door before he could finish his sarcastic ‘thank you’.

Honestly, our building is located at the centre, it is easily located, and even a blind man will find his way to it. And if asking a guard downstairs was so much of a trouble, you could have taken up some other job.

Correct me if I am wrong, don’t you think customer service is a part of any business. Okay, I agree there was a bit of a problem for him, and our phone was busy too. But what about keeping some amount of patience? How can you just shout at a customer which was equally polite to you at the beginning?

2#

I went to the market to find a matching blouse for my skirt, and there is only one shop nearby where I could get the ready-made ethnic blouse that I wanted. And as I went there and told him what I was looking for, he sat there staring at me, sipping his tea.

“What do you want?”

I repeated what I wanted.

And then without even looking at his stock, without so much as a glance behind him, he refused and ordered another cup of tea.

It could be that he really didn’t have the blouse, or the colour, or the material, but just the way he said it, was not at all professional.

3#

I needed to buy some groceries, nothing too much so I went to the shop just down the road from where I stay, instead of the superstore.

There was no customer inside, except for me. And the two staff were just sitting and chit chatting in there Monday gala time, the owner doing his prayer to the God’s to the bless him with… more customers, more money, and I don’t know what else could be in his wish-list.

I started telling them the things that I needed and one of them lazily dragged himself inside while the other one was constantly editing his picture on snapchat. It took him more than 15 minutes to grab a packet of oats, a bottle of jam, some bread, and a small packet of milk. After the long 15 minutes the owner did the billing, and swiped my card with the same lazy and mundane humour. Even tearing the slip off the machine took him more than 15 seconds.

I was just glad to grab the things and leave when the other customer came in asking for a bottle of Vaseline.

The supermarket would have been a better option, I thought.

*

I know that even small stores need to earn their share, they are also handy, but if this is the case, then I am happy browsing for some time, exploring more products and wait a little time for the delivery.

I am not sure why I am posting this here, but where I work if we had done any of the above things, or been even a little rude to our customers, I would have been simply thrown out. I am not saying that customers are always right, but there is a certain professional decorum that has to be followed.

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The jealous being!

This past week kept forcing on me only one thing repetitively, starting from Monday morning till now, the minute that I am writing it, there was only one thing that came to me over and over. It has been rubbed on my face, time and again that people aren’t jealous of you when they fail, but jealousy comes in with your success. Their failure does not seem to be the foundation of such paltry feelings, but someone else’s accomplishment is.

And honestly there is no solution to jealousy! When jealous feelings makes home inside of you, no rationale helps. There is only one question that bothers, “Why not me?”

And if by some chance there is someone who isn’t jealous of your endeavours, you are simply fortunate to have that wonderful individual in your life.

 

Human Nature? Or just a selfish trait?

I have learned one thing over time, I might be wrong, or it may depend on individuality but it has often been true for me.

People tend to not like sad stories, by stories I don’t mean plot or novels, I just mean situations. They tend to almost hate it when we talk about sad and depressing situations going on in our lives, but in return they still expect to get an ear or two when they themselves are in such gloomy circumstances.

How justifiable is this?

 

Imaginary Concept.

This might make me sound absolutely vulnerable, too emotional and to a certain extent meek and fragile, but I have to get it out, out of my head, out of my system!

So the question is- can an imaginary concept, a tale that has never happened, never going to happen, an incident which is absolutely fictional, and a plot twist which you might not even pen down make you cry? Is it really possible?

Yesterday, in the night when everyone around me was dead to the world, I opened my laptop and was just trying to write something, anything that my mind would be willing to work on. I ditched the laptop soon and adapted the notebook and a pen. I had just started to scribble something, when my mind started racing, the thoughts started flowing. And I lost track, and swam with the thoughts. I had completely stopped writing and was simply thinking about how the plot could go.

I was blind with tears just in a couple of minutes, I was not writing, I was not even taking notes. My own plot; my own construction made me cry!!!!

I remained still for a while; I did not stir but eventually in a mixed emotional state of fury and guilt, rage and helplessness, I erased everything, tore the sheets, and shut the laptop.

I don’t understand what happened. I don’t know how I could cry at own plot, how a fictional story which was not even written down could make me so exposed and defenceless. But it happened and all I felt like doing was to erase that memory from my mind. Simply remove it.

It felt like could I be so cruel? Really, me?

I don’t know what was it that made me cry, the wretched circumstance, or the fact that I imagined myself as the protagonist of the same.

A year passed by!

How hard is blogging according to you?

Of course I’d expect various answers; one among them would most certainly be that it is extremely time consuming. I agree to it. I wouldn’t lie and most of the times there isn’t enough time really. And that is the first and foremost reason that I failed at blogging!

Yeah, if you consider this site as ‘not failed’ then I would like to tell you that this is not my only try at being in the blogging community. I started my very first blog when I was in my first year of college, absolutely the wrong time for me. I scribbled there for a whole year, where basically no one read what I wrote, apart from a couple of friends who knew me already. Eventually, it became a personal diary for me when I hid my site from public, making it a private site. And now it’s no longer there. I completely deleted it. So that was my first fail!

Then came this site, yes, you heard it right! I opened this site last year, somewhere around March or April; I did a few posts, and tried a little something about being heard. Post two months, I deleted this site too but I kept the domain, and never really removed the entire account. So that was my second fail.

I was really worried at the fail. I mean I don’t like failure, honestly who does? I have tried a lot of things and except for mathematics and Accounts I have never been a failure, and that’s when it struck me that I really couldn’t deal with it.

So that’s how I started this blog which I am writing on today, last August. Today I complete a whole year of blogging. I don’t know about failing or not, I think I certainly didn’t let this one go. As of now I  have 230 posts and more than 22000 views, 11000 visitors and a set of followers who really appreciate my work and motivate me.  I don’t know, you tell me how have I been doing? I do not believe in numbers and yet here I am putting forward the numbers. Why? Because I have been trained to do so, we need marks everywhere to pass exams, we need a certain cut off to enter a competitive exams. Intelligence isn’t important, marks and numbers are. But please don’t judge me by the marks. Tell me honestly.

Since the last year that I wrote “I am still finding myself”, there have been some changes.  I wouldn’t say that the questions have disappeared altogether but I have some answers now. But I am yet to find the rest.

Also, just so I don’t lose hope, and don’t start fading away just when I realised that I am here since a year, I put myself in a zone. I tried it last month too, but I couldn’t complete it due to network issues in my area (no excuses), so now may be August is my month. I tried to scribble something every single day, not to increase my stats, not for the number of posts, not for anything else, just for myself. Might as well help me in some way. I don’t know what I was trying to prove to myself, but I did it is a challenge and so far I have not missed a day this month.

And yes, thank you to all you lovely people for joining me in the journey, without you all, every single one of you; this wouldn’t even be a journey.

That Evening

 

I was running on an empty lane outside my house, without any shoes, without a dupatta at 7:30 in the evening. My salwar being stained by the puddles caused due to heavy rain an hour ago. My kurta too was a bit torn around my high collared neck design. My hands were stained of turmeric and flour, which I had used to wipe my forehead twice. Blood was dripping from the cut on my cheek, neck and hand. And to top it all I was getting cuts on my legs too. My hair was not made properly and I had nothing with myself, not a penny nor a phone, only a hope and energy to run to my husband’s shop. My condition was such that I would not mind if someone would interpret me as a beggar.

The dark night and the empty lane did not scare me that day. It was too late for any woman to saunter around alone as expected by our esteemed husbands. However that day I was least bothered about anything except me. So I got myself a place to sit for a while and relax. I sat on a huge stone beside a locked house, the only safe place where no one would bother me for a while.

As soon as I sat my thoughts went back seven years ago, to the day I got married to my prince charming who was exactly the opposite to what I had thought in my dream, tall (just three inches than me), dark (actually too dark for me) and handsome (fairly less than me, even a bit bald). He was eight years older to me and I ignored even this. I am not boasting of myself but actually telling you the truth. I was never forced for this marriage but I knew how my parents worried about me not getting married till the age of 24. I bargained with his looks in the hope that everything else would turn to be perfect. And in actuality it was too perfect for the first two years.

I loved my husband, mother in law, father in law, two sisters in law and my dear brother in law (my favourite among everyone). We were almost of the same age so we used to jell up best. We used to bully each other, crack jokes on each other, spend time gossiping, he even took me outside when my husband did not have time for me even on Sundays. They all cared for me, loved me, and had no issues with me. How perfect my life was with them. It was just a blessing. I used to think that all the compromises, a sacrifice of leaving my house, parents, two brothers, three sisters and even my carrier proved fruitful. The happiness, the romance that filled my life was worth it.

But things changed after we got separated from our extra large family to form a smaller joint family. We left the place of my mother in law’s mother in law, her sisters and brother in law and moved to another apartment with my parent in laws, husband and my dear brother in law. By that time both my sisters in laws were married. Even our financial status deteriorated and perhaps that was the cause of frustration among everyone in our house.

Frustration reminds me that at present hour I was frustrated. I needed to start running again and isolate the place.

I then turned towards main road, extremely lighted for me to bear, too crowded for me to walk, either run and even too decorated where as I was in a condition too tattered. To inform you, in my place it is not less than a shock to see a woman without proper dress  (in my case a missing dupatta) to be called a whore in front of everyone.

I turned around to see a bike following me, when I just started running as an athlete who would run as if reaching just too near the finish line and see a competitor reaching behind. I complained to the traffic police that the bike is following me but he showed no reaction except amazement, as he knew both of us, me and my dear stalker.

In a positive hope that the traffic police would do nothing to save me I started running again towards my husband’s shop. On reaching the outside of the block of my husband’s shop, I turned to see if he was still following. Yes he was, but as I reached there he turned back giving me a murderer smile as if saying:

You are dead my dear, going to complain about me to your husband? Go, go! No one is going to believe you.

But you believe me that your being alive is difficult from now on. I promise that to you.

I entered the block and then to the basement, shop no 17, my husband’s shop. It was already 8 o’ clock and I was in such a beautiful condition that as everyone saw me they could not conceal their surprised looks. And as I said it was half past midnight for them and a missing dupatta made me look a whore to them and not a beggar.

I did not care for them now. What I cared for now was myself and my baby in my womb. But yes in this running I had forgot my pain. The pains of the cuts in my check, neck and legs, and the pain in my womb which was due to a kick by him (my bike stalker).

As I was standing outside the shop, my father in law came outside and took me into his arms and took me straight to our shop. My husband first completed attending to his customers as if nothing unusual had happened and then came to me. Till then I was painfully sobbing in my in law’s arms and was absolutely out of breath to say anything, only hoped that I was safe now. No one would beat me; kick me or even worst think of me as a whore.

I took a sip of water and recalled today’s evening at 7:15 in my house.

I was in the kitchen preparing the dough for chapattis and my mother in law was slicing onions. My niece who had come to visit me was watching television with my son. My brother in law came out of his room and without uttering a word switched off the television and showed both the children his anger in gestures. I must say my niece is quite daring and a bit too modern for our type of society. She took the remote, switched on the television and smiled cunningly saying:

Excuse me sir don’t you have that much courtesy to ask us before switching off the television

As we were watching that. Even we have that much common sense.

My brother in law wiped his hand ruthlessly across the centre table, too hard, which broke the flower vase on it and even cracked a part of it. listening to the sound we came outside the kitchen, at first unable to fathom what had happened, and even before we could do that my dear brother in law came almost running towards us, held my neck by his left hand, snatched the knife from my mother in law, put it under my chin and almost cut it. He then kicked me on my stomach. My mother in law tried to stop him but in vain. Seeing the children screaming and crying, he got a bit diverted.

I took the opportunity, pushed him hard enough to remove him till a distance from me, to run before he could get onto them. I took the children to my room and asked for a promise that they would not open the door till I would ask them to. As I came out of the room they locked it from inside.

Without another thought I slipped through the back door and ran on the empty lane at 7:30.

By then I was completely exhausted telling my husband all this in his shop and only after completing my story did I fell unconscious and regained it after an hour, still in the shop.

After another hour passed we went home hiring an auto rick-shaw. The devil was in his room and I ran to my room, politely knocked on the door and asked the children to open the gate. I saw them still crying. My son was of course as I had known too emotional and he was expected in the same state. But I had never in my life seen my niece in such a condition. I took them in my arms, hugged them, and kissed them. Neither I nor the children ate anything that day. We locked ourselves in the room and kept close to each other for the next two days. I knew that evening had changed everything in my life.

Regaining courage I asked my husband to book the first tickets he could get and leave my niece with her parent in the town. Eventually she came out of the scary event after a month, my son after about three months but I was never allowed to come out of it. Because that was just the first time the attempt to murder was attempted on me. From then on I faced regular attempts to murder, harassment, molestation, as well as physical torture of being beaten up by my dear brother in law, for years.

Only until, finally my husband had the courage to separate our houses which was not very soon. They still work together, in the same shop but at least I don’t have to see him.

PS: I know the woman was wrong to still live with such people, to go through such trauma. But before you start judging why the woman still lived with such people, why did she not leave them? For once can we think about how ruthless and unacceptable the men’s behaviour was? Even the husband did not do much to in favour of his wife.