Saturday, November 23, 2013


She was a social worker.  She, and a few other helpful and passionate citizens, were working for the past year and a half in rescuing children from forced prostitution and rehabilitating them.

She sat in the balcony of her apartment, her legs propped up on a stool the held a cushion to support her ankle, while her mother brought her soup.

"Why do you have to do this? can't you get someone to help? the police? I understand the importance and gravity of the situation. I am proud of what you do. But must you go yourself every time?"

This was a regular dialogue between the two of them. This time she was beaten up when she tried to escape with two girls she had tried to rescue from the clutches of those "animals"!! A sprained ankle, a few bruises and a painful back. Nothing serious. The girls were safe. That was all that mattered.

But then mothers will be mothers. Concern written all over her face, she leaves the soup and walks away.

Two days later. She sat at the hospital, waiting for her check up, talking on the phone.

One of her regular informers had found out that 15 girls were going to be sold abroad sometime in the next week.  There were a few big names involved. Lot of pressure. Lots of money involved. Quite risky, was the informer's warning. She was not going to tell her mom. not yet. She would unnecessarily worry.

She stepped out of the hospital after collecting her reports of the complete master check up that her mother had insisted on.

It was drizzling. She shivered slightly as the cold wind hit her and mild droplets of water fell on her face. She was more determined than ever.

This time, she raised the bar...

She was going to save those lives before they stepped out of Indian soil. Come what may. she had nothing to lose.

She had just found out she did not have much time to live. She was going to make it count.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.  This time your entry must contain, ‘This time, she raised the bar…

When I Figured Out What This Girl Is Doing, I Felt Sick To My Stomach
Damn. We all know statistics are supposed to provide insight, but sometimes numbers just make problems more abstract. That's not the case with this video. It feels so real that I wish it wasn't.

Friday, November 15, 2013


She had just got back from work. She worked with a women's organisation. They provide opportunities for self employment and employ women. Women and children who have been rescued from brothels and bonded labour.

It was around 4.00 pm. She heard voices. She lookef out her window that overlooked the slum in their area.

"I will come back at 11.00 tonight. I will give you an advance and the rest after the hand over." a voice said.

She ran out and hid behind the compound wall to get a closer look. He was leaving. As he turned she saw a tattoo on his neck.

She had seen thst tattoo before! If only she could remember where.

As she racked her brains trying to figure it out, she saw the innocent 12 year old playing outside with her brother.

There was something amiss. She felt that familiar throbbing in her forehead as she lay on her bed. Thinking.  she closed her eyes. A few minutes passed.

Her eyes flew open as beads of perspiration formed on her forehead. Ofcourse!! How could she forget!!

She was 15. Sold by her parents who were tea pickers in assam. A shiver ran down her spine as she thought of how he had raped her several times as she begged for mercy. After 3 years of sexual slavery and violence, she was rescued by the organisation she currently worked for.

After months of counselling and help she had only now settled in her new found life.

She did not think twice. She picked up the phone and called.

The next morning she woke up and looked out the window. She smiled as she saw the girl playing with her brother. She would never let what happened to her,  happen to anyone else.

He was behind bars.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.
This time your entry must contain, ‘He/She had seen that tattoo before! If only he/she could remember where.’

Human trafficking is the trade in humans, most commonly for the purpose of sexual slavery, forced labor or for the extraction of organs
or tissues,[1][2] including surrogacy and ova removal.
In India BBC reports that police records from 2011 show kidnappings and abductions of women were up 19.4 per cent, so too women being killed in disputes over dowry payments by 2.7 per cent, torture by 5.4 per cent, molestation by 5.8 per cent and trafficking by 122 per cent over the last one year.

Sunday, November 10, 2013


He drove fast and rash. He was livid.

It was not new. He got angry pretty often. What he was, what his life is and why he behaved the way he did was all her fault!! He smiled to himself. Yes...all her fault.

She was in pain. Lying on the floor. Clutching her stomach. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder as she bit her lips to stop herself from screaming. This was not new. He saw her talking to the milkman. She tried to explain it was nothing. But he would not believe her.

He laughed loudly. He would plan better tomorrow. He would apologize tonight as usual, have his way...but tomorrow is another day.

The pain was getting worse. But she was scared. She was scared of what he would do if she told someone. He even threatened to hurt her only companion,  her labrador whom she adored. She had kept this a secret for too long. He would not allow her to keep in touch with her family and friends.

He was the only important person in his world. And so should he be in her life. And why not? Everything has to happen just the way he wants it when he wants It. He will go to any lengths to get what he wants. Emotional blackmail, shameless begging, apologizing, getting her gifts, belittling,  shaming, threatening or even violence.

She sobbed. She wad well educated.  but he did not trust her enough to let her work. Why did she take such crap? She thought. She always tried to calm him, trying to keep him happy by doing things he likes and the way he wants. She thought of her parents who have 2 more daughters to wed. She can make this work. She has to make it work.

He knew power was everything. And fear. He had to be in control. He had to keep the fear alive. She was but his slave and servant who has to do his bidding. Why could she not understand this simple concept?

She was bleeding now...never before was it so bad. She had never gone to a doctor. Covered her bruises and wounds by wearing clothes that conceal them. She thought for a second.

He wondered why she did not call him and apologize.  he always left a phone there just so she could. And she always called.  and he would let it ring and ring till she calls him many times over.

She picked up the phone and made one last phone call. "amma" she said.

As he was wondering why she had not called, his phone started ringing. It was an unfamiliar number. He realized he had been out of range for few minutes. It stopped ringing. He parked the car at the side of the road and checked his phone.

38 missed calls in 10 mins! He wondered what was going on.

All different numbers. Not one call from her. He called the last number. A female voice answered. "I am your wife's lawyer. She has lodged a complaint against you. In the beating you gave her today she is not only injured but had a miscarriage. Any communications from now on will be routed through me." He cut the line.

She sat in the hospital surrounded by her family.  she cried and cried as she was comforted by her loved ones. She felt the burden ease from her shoulders. The loss was irreparable but there was hope.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Panic struck. They knew. They all knew. He started driving weighing his options. He could think of none. He could not think anymore. Tears rolled down.  He did not see the bus in front of him as he made the turn.

So this is what pain and fear feel like...he his eyes closed involuntarily.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAddaThis time your entry must contain, ’38 missed calls in 10 mins! He/She wondered what was going on.’

Domestic violence need not be only physical or sexual in nature. Emotional violence also exists.  it may cause far more harm than just physical injuries. It need not be essentially against women. It could be against old residents in a home, mentally or physically challenged, people of different sexual orientation,  and even men. Please check out the following links for more information on such violence and spread the word. A little knowledge can can save a life.

Saturday, November 2, 2013


Its diwali morning!!! The house is filled with the delicious aroma of sweets and the amazing spread of diwali lunch that was being prepared. 

They hurriedly had their bath and and yelled, "come on, lets burst crackers!!."

They picked up the large assortment of crackers that included atom bombs, 100 walas, 1000 walas and many more. "Lets start with the smaller crackers" dad said.

For almost an hour they burst crackers and laugh and jump in joy. BANG BANG BANG....the place is filled with smoke and the street full of papers from the burst crackers.

"Lets burst  the 10000 wala daddy...please..." the little one said.

One thing they did'nt know that they were being watched.

By a pair of scared beady black eyes from under the sofa on the verandah.. His tail between his legs. Shivering at every sound. "What are these sounds?" he wondered. He was petrified of them. It had been going on and on for a long time now. "I don't think I will go out anymore!!" he thinks.

They start to burst their 10000 wala with loud cheers and applause from neighbors and onlookers. The loud noise of the crackers drown the barks and whines of their one year old pet german sheperd.

A PLEA TO FELLOW HUMANS: pet dogs are not the only ones who need to be cared for. Stray dogs also need the same consideration. Let us try to celebrate a nice diwali and try to minimize loud crackers. If not able to stop it completely. Before turning vegetarian for the cause of prevention of animal cruelty, let us not burst crackers and help the animals right in front of our eyes. A small sacrifice for these poor creatures who we share our planet with.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.This time your entry must contain, ‘One thing he/she/they didn’t know they were being watched.

Friday, November 1, 2013


She sat alone in the room, on the floor, legs crossed as her back rested on the wall, straight.

The music player was playing Beethovin's fifth symphony.

She breathed and shifted uncomfortably.

Around the music player lay scattered several cd's.

Suprabatham to the Gayathri mantra.

A.R.Rahman and Illayaraja.

Billy joel, kenny G and the carpenters.

Kishore kumar and R.D.Burman.

An array of Disney classics.

She streached her legs and relaxed a bit, humming the tune.

As Beethovin came to an end, she asked "what would you like to listen to next sweetheart? "

"Hmmm...come on...we listened to
Rahman yesterday too. How about Billy Joel?"

"no?" she said with a frown.

"Fine. about some good Disney classics. I am sure you will love the lion king."

"ok?...that's great. Next time its my choice."

She leaned over to change the CD.

One thing she din't know was that she was being watched.

He walked into the room as he smiled at his 8 months pregnant wife and said, "here...let me do that for you".

She smiled at him her face radiant and happy as she felt a little kick and tumble in her tummy.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.This time your entry must contain, ‘One thing he/she/they didn’t know they were being watched.