LIFE AS IT IS

We witnessed blatant rivalries among school friends in the months of June and July. No, they were not participating in any competition, rather their favorite teams were. It was the 2010 FIFA World Cup, which turned our friends into foes. It was one occasion when two close pals did not necessarily support the same team. Arch rivalry sparked among the Brazilian and Argentine supporters. An Argentine fan wrote on his college friend’s Facebook wall about the rage that engulfed him upon learning that his friend, who was once an Argentine fan, is now a die-hard Brazilian supporter. The Argentine fan clearly felt betrayed by his friend - this happens only in football. We witnessed taunting of friends. I remember a friend jeering an Argentine fan, saying “Could you properly digest the ek haali goal (or, the four goals)?” Another friend promised that he would donate money to the poor if his team made it to the finals. Statuses were updated even at the darkest hours of the night. The wor

Imagine being brought up in the filthiest alleys of a red light district, where days begin with lurid screams from drunken men and women. Imagine a childhood where you toiled from dawn to dusk, filled buckets with water, scrubbed dirty pots and pans, and watched your family fight and curse at each other. On some days you carried booze bottles to your mother’s guests, on other days you clasped your ears to shun the sounds that came from a room next door. For most of us, who have lived a secure life, it is difficult to imagine a childhood smeared with obscenity, fear and a lot of anguish. The Daily Star link  July 13, 2010 But there are children out there whose first day into this world marks the beginning of a tormented life. “Born into Brothels” is a bold attempt to bring into light the lives of children growing up in the notorious Sonagachi brothel of Kolkata. Some of the shots are heart-breaking; some of the scenes make you contemplate what it would be like to grow up in an env

It’s a rainy day today. Here I am in a midsized city in Minnesota, sitting on my bed with a laptop, scribbling words to pour out many an emotion that the damp day has aroused. On the roads, cars are whooshing along, splashing the rainwater that collected in puddles. A lone red Chevrolet is standing in our apartment building's parking lot, its windshield dripping drops of the summer rain. The Southwest metro bus just left the street corner. A middle-aged lady is walking down the street - her one hand holding a bag of groceries, the other a yellow umbrella. Gloom is hanging over the whole city. It's a small city and the gloom makes it appear even smaller. Is there a connection between the apparent size of a city and its weather? I believe not. But then why does a city seem bigger and merrier on a sunny day? There is not much difference between the Dhaka skies and skies here in Minnesota. I can only see the differences when I gaze down - the differences become vivid in the mo