metro ki chehal pehal mein..

metro ki chehal pehal mein

tumhare kad ke ladkon mein

tumhein dhundte paya hai maine

dil se ladte jhagte

paao patakte

khud se naraaz

khudi ko manaya hai maine

Ankhon ki nazar se paar

jahan andhera hai aur ujala bhi

us sifar mein jaha kuch nahi

ek sapna sajaya hai maine

Jahan bheed hui

wahan tum bhi hoge

isi udher-bun mein

bheed ko apnaya hai maine

ye jaanti hu tum ho nahi

par tab bhi tumhari tasveero ko

mujhe dekhte, aankh milaate

hilte-dulte paya hai maine

Sab jaan kar bhi

jhooth ko maan kar bhi

hosh mein hosh ko kho kar

jhooth se dil lagaya hai maine

Itne saalon ke baad bhi

purani yaadon mein

aaj ko dubaya hai maine


metro ki chehal pehal mein
tumhare kad ke ladko mein
tumhein dhundta paya hai maine

Untitled

the skies wore a purple hue

hatching memories along the way

back I traverse to lonesome times

the days of me and you.

it was a painting 

our love

with the boldest strokes

and bewitched contours.

Without a mercy

heedless of prayer

the beauty of cold dark love

the pleasure of sin

On a tranquil lake

we sat deported

our bare feet dangling

over a road unknown.

There! in the waters

interspersing the ripples

a silhouette formed

But still, it wasn't you

a very boring post

Dear Diary,

I turned 23 this tuesday.. seems like a joke to me. I never felt more un-twentythree my whole life. I also realised 23 sounds older than say, 24. My theory being that 23 sounds post-22 while 24 sounds pre-25. I hope u got what i mean. I am in mood for serious nonsensical babble with you.

I had a nice time on 2nd.. quite contrary to my plans, (which involved some serious lazing around the house.. singing songs while going up and down the staircase, lying low and munching away to glory) I ended up having the whole day out with my family. It couldn't get any better, especially with a mid-night surprise pulled off so nicely by my best friend and family. 

I had been feeling quite low on the eve of my birthday, so decided to sleep it off. Happily unmindful of the barrage of phone calls and messages that were to come my way, I dozed off after taking a pill at 10pm, only to be woken up by H at midnight, with a dark chocolate truffle cake laden with lighted little candles standing atop. It was so sweet - the cake and the gesture both. Mum, Papa, S and Panther were all there and we cut the cake. Apparently, H had been in hiding in some other room for 2 hours before midnight..and the only word that I kept saying repeatedly as she materialised in my room was a repeated avowal of "shit! shit! shit!" That was before I scrambled for my spectacles and could see straight. I was then presented with gifts and gifts and gifts.. all of which I loved.

The whole day was spent replying to messages and taking phone calls from everyone..along with a 2 hour long trip to Gurgaon and back.

The next day , ie. yesterday I took my college friends out for a treat. It was nice and cosy at a Model Town eatery where we digged into mughlai dishes and got packed the rest.

It was nice and unplanned. That's the way I like things. 

There is much that has been going on in my mind. Some troublesome shoots and some happy notes. A lot needs to be done and it is no reprieve that we celebrate Diwali tomorrow. I love the festival. But diyas make me feel sad and philosophical. I just wanna lay back and relax.. most probably i'll cook something interesting tomorrow.

But I do wanna enjoy Diwali. And I know I should shut the hell up, this post is getting more and more aimless. But i like it naaa. Pleeeej.

Today I watched The Prestige and loved it. Usually magic shows and circus are the things I don't feel very comfortable seeing..for different reasons. The magicians absurd outfits and the clowns at the circus make me feel suffocated. But the movie is a must-watch. It is brilliantly crafted and edited..the music is superb. imdb gives it 8.4 out of 10 so thats pretty neat. Besides, I learnt a trick or two.

I also later googled about Telsa, who is also there in the movie... a physicist/scientist who lived at the same time as Edison did but devoted his life to electromagnetism, nuclear science and electricity. 

The movie is realistic and based on a book. Engaging.

I am sick and tired of Garima.. i am sick and tired of playing ludo with her just to keep her happy. Why should I keep our house-help happy? I really don't know. I despise ludo now. I need a strong cup of tea.

:( 

Nea

The Sunscreen Song

Wear Sunscreen or the Sunscreen Speech are the common names of an essay titled "Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young" written by Mary Schmich and published in the Chicago Tribune as a column in 1997, but often erroneously attributed to a commencement speech by author Kurt Vonnegut.

An awkward letter to Mr. G.O.D

Dear God,

Hi! Would have asked 'how do you do' but since you are the Almighty you must be doing well. I am sure this letter will find you in the best of forms and idols and books and hearts. I have much to discuss with you, but I think some introduction is owed, since you deal with so many people and I can think of no reason why you'd suddenly recollect which 'child' of yours I am. So, in a bid to save you from any rummaging through the shelves – I am Neha. I'm someone who seeks peace and is ready to pray. I think that's enough because other things do not really matter.

I must also make a confession here, for to confide in you or to pray to you, I have to say a few odd things even if you are the Hon'ble know-it-all. (no offence.. all reverence). I must also admit that till sometime back I never really believed in you.  No, it was not a mark of rebellion or a feat to feel proud of. It was merely an honest answer to a basic question – an honest assessment of my natural beliefs and inclination of psyche. It was not that I didn't think about you. I pondered about you quite a lot and after lot of subconscious thinking during my childhood days I had came to the conclusion that try as I might, I would not be able to believe in you. No offence meant. But I had the belief that you are more of a 'need' than a reality... a 'need-based' entity for those who had nothing else to hold on to. So, I categorized myself as being an atheist and for many years you really didn't figure much in my life. I was a happy atheist albeit not a loyal one. I remember a time when I used to be late to school and the huge iron gates were about to be banged shut - I would throw open the challenge and say, "God, if you exist, you will not let me get punished today for arriving late to school." It was hardly a prayer-- rather more of a selfish dare for you to bite the bait. Needless to say, once I'd escape the punishment, you would slip my mind. And I'd be in my happy world again. Kids do that, you know.

As I grew up some more and as the natural apprehensions in the latter part of my adolescence showed up, which also encompassed more of reading, learning and interpretation (thereby inculcating in me better intellect), I was tempted to subscribe to the notion that there has to be, after all, a method to this madness. The thought was pacific to me. Also because by then I had already challenged you in hundreds of frivolous ways and each time you had come out victorious. (I don't know if that was a sign, I for one never really took it seriously). And thereby I realised that I was turning into an agnostic.

You see, it was not for me to choose what stand I took when it came to you. It was about rubbernecking inside of me and asking the abyss of my core, 'Hey you, do you now believe?"; which, I must admit sometimes echoed back and asked me instead, "Hey you, are you in need?"

I've found myself there a few times these couple of years. In need. Writing – nay, praying to you. It took me a while to trust the whole concept of praying. I am like a kid who has been coaxed into trying something, but when he finds people are staring at him, gets shy and hides behind the curtains.

I do want some things to remain cryptic, so I don't seek to seek. What exactly I wish for, I know not. But I do wish to be peaceful. I want my paranoia about letting people come close subside. I want to be healed. I come to you not with specifics; I am not ready for that as yet. But I am ready to pray. Is it a good beginning?

Love,

Me.

PS: to be continued..if need be.

Le love

Blog: http://leloveimage.blogspot.com/

Wasn't sure of posting it here. But this is a blog that has touched my heart. Thanks to Sidharth for introducing it to me. :) I sincerely wish you 'that' what you wish for!

Picture Courtesy: http://leloveimage.blogspot.com/

This is just another blog in the blogosphere, but it weighs much more and holds more love than anyone could handle in one go. You go through it once and you have to HAVE to stop reading, for your heart begins to dream or weep or *gulp* beat once again. But, then again you visit the blog. Clandestinely. Tip toeing to the webpage for yet another picture or graphic or yet another read. You don't really want to feel what they have felt! Hell no! My troubles are enough for me. TYVM. But when you see so many people pouring out their heart in acceptance, so overtaken by that one feeling -- bowing to the only thing one should readily bow down to -- that you realise there's a ground beneath your feet. You are not the only one.

I have found myself (strangely enough) gazing at the pictures more than the text.. perhaps because the text I sometimes found too personal. It is so personal that I am sure that people who have posted here have not posted for others to read.. they don't care if you read or rubbish it. They write because that's all they find peace in. And they post it onto this blog because they find acceptance here. There is no one here to outsmart them or tell them to go have a life. Its an unabashed, tormented, tortured lover's haven. It is beautiful.


I liked the blog.. but then I find it too overbearing .. too alcoholic.. too stirring..i am not ready for that yet. So again I choose to close it.

PS: I got lost looking at the picture on the top. You will too. :)

http://www.countercurrents.org/rathi220910.htm

A story of mine on maternal mortality got published in countercurrents.com a month back.. (a brilliant portal for those interested in socio-politico-economic issues).. i stumbled upon the story by chance today.


http://www.countercurrents.org/rathi220910.htm


And... I am down and out. Three weeks of nonstop work with weekends spent out of town -- leads neha to a feverish, washed-out saturday.
Wanna write more.. maybe later

lele udaanein meri, le mere par bhi le :)

Yuhuu

I have never felt like this before.

One part of me is hilariously happy – it is deliriously swaying in the kind of happiness that one feels deep inside. It is one of those things which are so precious that you don't even need to share it to complete it.

A part of me is suddenly hopeful. Very very hopeful. Like a quivery flame flickering to life, like a dim hope reignited.. a charged up sound you hear after an age..like a wobbly chair now sitting neat and pretty

And at this very moment, I feel fate is gonna take care of everything. That life is to be lived. And 'lived' is not just a word..it is a tapestry of all the positive energy and rightness we own, in our very veins and blood. Lived means life stayed while time may have clocked by. It is not up to me. So I am relieved of the burden. We do not need to struggle against tides all the time. Foot tapping to a music we do not naturally swing with. It is not worth rowing a rudderless boat just so you know you are alive. You can stop rowing and nothing would have passed you by. You can, sweetie, you can!

Tonight I feel something has been laid to rest. Below the engraved R.I.P, peeking from under the leaves of green-black ivy..the epitaph reads: 'it's okay, baby!".

You know what it all boils down to for me? A simple truth and acknowledgment that we are all Lessons. Lessons, yeah the kind we read in books and are expected to pick up at the end of morality plays.

Lessons wearing jackets and trousers and boots…and we walk around our silly sweet lives. Meeting people. Talking. Dreaming. Sharing. Being. We don't know but all those who we meet.. we share a part of us. They learn, we learn and then .. these lessons learn to co-exist. Give some, receive some and of course, shed some.

People come into our lives, they mess it up and then they leave. They enter as people, and those who exit, exit as lessons. Similarly, we enter people's lives, mess their lives and take a bow.

These lessons make us who we are. These lessons – right from our parents, our siblings, out crushes, our teachers, our mates and our lovers – leave their imprint. We may hate their coming, or we may love their staying, we may cherish or curse each moment spent encountering them - the fact that they leave an inimitable mark is the reality.

Otherwise why would people come and go, why would things happen, why would we need to learn? This coming and going is as good a part of life as perhaps staying.

What happens or happened may not happen for the good in this very moment. But if you see the broader picture, and take a leap two or three years down the line, you will realise, perhaps you needed that lesson.. that person to shake you or make you. I know I sound terribly like the stereotypical 'what happen happens for the good' rhetoric.. and I do realise that things like death and some other catastrophe makes this whole idea seem frivolous. I don't know if what I ramble about here makes sense to you in this day and time. But this 'lesson' thing makes me see easy.

Yuhuuuuuu!

Some More Love

It rained that night when you held me close.

Close enough to hear my fears scream

I had fluttered like a bird enchained, till

You hugged me to a lull in a thespian moment

Fear melted away, giving way to the rhapsody of pain

I loved you some more that day

I remember that winter when we hiked in snow

My fingers turned pale in the icy chill

You sat me down on a ledge and breathed me warm

Then you secured my palms deep in your pockets

And we walked a crazy walk..

I loved you some more that day

When we crossed busy streets

You'd dread an erred judgment

And with a firm clasp you would

Steer me around and manoeuvre my being

As if I was your most precious slave

I loved you some more those days

As you ate your meal, I fondly remember,

You'd plunge your fingers in the curry

My nurturer was now a child aged three,

And I'd silently smile at the sight before me.

You were adamant on your eating style

And I loved you some more those times

Once in a secluded corner, you whispered to me..

Beseeching from me an amorous kiss

I was cruel enough to torture you my love

And all I granted was a faint peck on the cheek

You sighed, were tormented - but acted gay

I loved you some more that day

I recall a time, when we had fought

Over a bitter discord on a political thought

Three days of lonely, lonesome nights had passed

Fourth day I noticed a white envelop.

Hidden beneath a green potted shrub

It was a letter wrote in prose to say-

"I love you more each passing day".

---might or might not be continued.. who knows?


:)

Maternal Mortality and Morbidity

A few days ago, the media reported an incident about a woman who lay dead on a pavement in Shankar Market, at Connaught Place, the heart of the Capital. The story illustrated the pain of a woman who went into labour and gave unassisted childbirth on a sidewalk, proving to be fatal. Prior to her tragic death, she was found by the owner of a nearby shop, who, having heard the wails of the newborn, came forward to help. Lying unkempt on a watered down, slimy pavement, the woman was hardly aware of the rainwater and the stray dogs lurking about her. She lay prostrate in a sordid state, with her baby girl pressed to her chest. As the story unfolded, the mother died four days later owing to severe weakness. Reportedly, the Police removed the body and took away the baby to a foster home.

In another such case, that surfaced a year ago, Fatima, a 24-year-old destitute girl delivered a baby girl under a tree in full public view. A patient of epilepsy, she simultaneously suffered severe fits at the time of delivery, making her condition critical. Frantic calls of help by her mother and repeated visits to MCD maternity home were not paid heed by the officers. The delivery took place unassisted and miraculously Fatima survived the ordeal. Fortunately for her, an NGO came to know about her and helped file a case in the High Court citing gross violation of human rights. It was through the medium of court and lengthy litigation that Fatima was awarded due compensation. If you happen to go past Nizamuddin Basti, you will still find her inhabiting under a lone tree with her mother Jaitun (Amma) and the daughter she calls Alisha. That tree is her only roof and it is her walls.

Such cases of maternal mortality and morbidity make one's insides churn, not only because these are outrageous and gross, but also because the same could have been averted and many lives saved. Maternal Mortality originally stems from social injustice obliterating access to right to survive pregnancy and child birth. Such deaths are rooted in women's subjugation, unequal status in society and lack of decision-making power. These women die, not because of some incurable illness, disease or heredity but of neglect and absence of health care amenities. In a country where childbearing is feted as 'taking forward of the family legacy', the mother herself is exposed to a risk to her life. When it comes to the duty of the family and the State towards making sure she lives through and after childbirth, the entire palaver fast loses steam.

We still record 63,000 maternal deaths every year, making India home to highest number of women dying during childbirth across the world. If launching of government sponsored schemes were the panacea, then India would have certainly reached the annihilation of maternal mortality by now. The reality is however, that despite the laws and the plethora of schemes, we remain a country where economic boom has left out and overshadowed the plight of its women.

The Central government launched the Janani Suraksha Yojna (JSY) under the National Rural Health Mission (NRHM) in 2005 which was introduced to cater safe delivery with the help of Accredited Social Health Activist (ASHA) and Auxiliary Nurse Midwife (ANM). The scheme aimed at providing cash assistance (ranging between `600-`1400) to all BPL women opting for institutional deliveries.

The service guarantees, as per the NHRM framework, promise minimum four antenatal check ups, iron and folic acid supplementation, tetanus toxoid injection, treatment of anaemia, minimum four post-natal checkups, transport and 24-hour access to emergency obstetric care. The National Maternity Benefit Scheme, Integrated Child Development Scheme (ICDS) and Antyodaya Anna Yojana (AAY) are other such schemes sponsored by the state to cater the nutritional, health and food-based assistance to destitute households.

The Constitution of India guarantees the right to life to the citizens of India under Article 21. In the landmark case of Paschim Banga Khet Mazdoor Samity & amp; ors v State of West Bengal & anr (AIR 1996 SC 2426) the Supreme Court held that the right to life includes the right to adequate medical facilities for preserving human life as well as the right to timely treatment in Government hospital. Article 42 (d) of the Directive Principles of State Policy guarantees the right to just and humane conditions of work and maternity relief. Article 14 (right to equality), Article-15 (freedom from discrimination) and Article 51(c) (respect for international law and treaty obligations) are further torchbearers of the right of a woman to a safe delivery as well as pre and post check up and assistance. Shockingly, 1,000 women are still dying daily from pregnancy-related causes in the country.

It is clear from above that there is no dearth of schemes or laws when it comes to maternal mortality and morbidity, but the implementation of the same is despondent. Most maternal deaths are caused by severe bleeding after childbirth, infections soon after delivery, blood-pressure disorders during pregnancy, and obstructed labour. Apart from these medical conditions, in many areas, health workers are not present or vaccines and medicines are not available. Patients are asked to purchase medicine from private chemists, which they cannot afford. The treatment of doctors and nurses is so harsh and insulting that women prefer unassisted childbirth with the help of dai (unqualified midwife) or quacks instead of qualified medical practitioners. Denial of pregnancy related entitlements, financial as well as medical, is quite common. In the absence of regular check-ups and physical examination, a pregnant woman's health deteriorates and chances of her and the baby's survival become slimmer. Reports of misrepresentation of facts and figures as well as corruption, when it comes to vaccine and medicine delivery, have further raised a question mark over state sponsored schemes and their implementation.

Though India has seen a fall in maternal mortality rate (MMR) by 59% between 1990 and 2008, the country is still grappling with one of the highest maternal death rates globally. According to the latest report, "Trends in Maternal Mortality", released jointly by WHO, UNICEF, UNFPA and the World Bank, India's MMR stood at 570 in 1990, which fell to 470 per 100,000 live births in 1995, 390 in 2000, 280 in 2005 and 230 in 2008 (see table). In contrast, the MMR of China is 37 per 100,000 live births.

There is a need for accountability and periodic assessment of facts at the ground level with strict scrutiny and a dedicated National Health Law. As per the Millennium Development Goals of 2015, India should bring down its MMR to 109 by the year 2015. If we are to reach anywhere near the promised target, the implementers need to pull up their socks and make sure the benefits of these schemes tenaciously percolate into the bottom of the social hierarchy, so that birth of a child continues to be a celebration and not a funeral.

Table:

Year	MMR (per 100000 live births)
1990	570
1995	470
2000	390
2005	280
2008	230

Neha Rathi

16.09.2010

Veiled

For so long I have been veiling what I feel. From myself, from those around me and from that one person. I have been living in a cocoon accompanied with the knowledge that the cocoon is not my world. And today, even without any incitement I can't stand not breaking the shell.

Life has been good to me. But saying it loud like this, makes it look like a discount and sound like a haggled bargain. And I hate to bargain. Asking for more seems greedy sometimes. But like everyone else here, I accept my avarice. The more you have the more you want, the more you want, the more you want to keep, the more you get to keep the more you want to better it all. I know the vicious circle too well. It has no beginning and no conclusion, just the odyssey.

Many people carry around this ultimate gospel which doubles up as their answer to everything - "its all about perspective", they say. It makes the incoherent seem simple. The illegible starts to look decipherable. To them. The haze lifts or perhaps they never see the haze. Have I started to sound like a cynic here? I betray myself.

I know the above doesn't make sense to you. I know but still I will say it. I don't want to be in love with what I don't want. I don't want to be in love with what I can't have. I don't want to become the cynic that I am fast becoming. I don't want to learn and unlearn each time that my heart flutters. I don't want to be what I am essentially not. I just hope it's a regular upset. 

---

I don't friggin' care who reads. Nor do I care what they think. Even if I care, I don't care enough. This is my land.

The Gotra-ization of Honour

As Khap Panchayats across the spectrum face flak in the media and beyond about their draconian and unacceptable diktats with regard same-gotra marriages, a recently held India/Independent People’s Tribunal (IPT) was held to bring to fore untold stories of shock and horror that stage themselves live in many families in India today. And as it appears, it is not just the Khap-rulings in a rural backdrop that are fuelling such barbarity. And neither does it all stem from the same-gotra debate that has polarised the issue. There are many incidents of such violence being reported from middle class educated households in cities like Delhi, Jodhpur and Faridabad where such crimes are being committed irrespective of the gotra or lineage. The focal point it seems is ‘defiance’ by the couples’ and exercise of their ‘right to choose’ instead of flouting of gotra norms by them.

The IPT, organised by Shaktivahini and Human Rights Law Network in collaboration with many state-based women rights groups, brought to fore astounding and gruesome testimonies from men and women whose only crime was that they fell in love and dared to defy the mandate of the ‘honourable’ samaj. Take this example. Delhi based Nikhil married his sweetheart Himani against her family’s wishes. Eight days into the marriage, and the police barged into their home and took Himani away. Their marriage certificate was torn off and he was further slapped with charges of abduction and kept behind bars for a month. By the time Nikhil filed a habeas corpus writ petition in the High Court and got a decree in his favour, he was informed that Himani was already dead. He was casually handed over Himani’s death certificate on the day he was to see her. While her family asserts she died from severe Pneumonia, the doctors concerned rubbish the same. His case remains pending in the courts.

In another case of the kind, Seema, a Delhi-based woman married one Satish in an Arya Samaj Mandir against the wishes of her family. Since after the marriage they were forcibly separated and she has not been allowed to meet her husband. Though her own family has taken her in, but her brothers wash their hands off her saying that she has brought this fate upon her self by choosing to marry of her freewill.

For Rajasthan Police staffer like Tannu, who fell in love with and married a boy belonging Scheduled Tribe, her marriage has taken a dramatic turn. Though the families have accepted the couple, it is the societal and self-styled guardians of Hindu dharma who have ostracised and threatened the couple to the extent that the duo has been keeping their marriage under wraps since two and a half years. One look at her and you understand why this girl is not wearing any bangles in her wrists and is bereft of the quintessential vermilion which is otherwise considered quite the hallmark of a married woman here. Her family is now concerned about the fate of her younger sister who is facing trouble getting married owing to Tannu’s ‘choice marriage’. Hence, the concealment. “The moment the groom’s side gets to know that I got married by my choice, they reject my sister and break the alliance. I have been trying to hide my marital status but how does one hide a five-month-old baby? The attitude of police officers who work with me is the same as they discourage me from any kind of advice that I may give to people who come to the police station seeking help. So many times I have been sent on duties away from jail on trivial pretexts so I may not be allowed to inform prisoners about their rights,” she says.

24-year-old Kailash tied the knot with Babita (23) in August this year. The couple did not inform her family as they knew their reaction would be inimical. After the marriage ceremony, Babita went home to talk to her parents who, furious with her marriage, have kept her under confinement at her home. Attempts made by Kailash to take his wife home have failed time and again. He fears Babita’s life and waits for Dalit Foundation, an NGO which has come for his aid, to help him get his wife back.

The gotra issue is only hogwash in order to push the underlying agenda of caste-based politics. The more a political organisation is seen as a preserver of societal norms, the more votes it aims to garner, oblivious of the fact that their harsh views spiral down to crimes and cause social banishment of the worst kind. The self-appointed custodians of this ambiguous entity have become so mighty that a daily mockery of ‘rule of law’ is being played out in the name of honour.

These tales of shock and horror smack of the urgency with a new legislation with regard such crimes needs to be formulated and implemented in the country. Hopefully, the law with regard honour crimes - in line with the provision of murder, hurt and illegal detention of the Indian Penal Code (IPC)- would take into account the issue of compensation to the victims and envisage proper record keeping of such crimes so that region specific action can be taken by the Government and NGOs. According to Haryana State All India Democratic Women's Association (AIDWA) president Jagmati Sangwan, honour crimes are such that unless a separate law is articulated and aggressively implemented, more and more people will fall victims to its hypocritical fangs. “Till now the police have not been maintaining any separate record for such crimes. AIDWA’s three month recording and survey has shown that within the 6000 odd villages in Haryana itself, five to six incidents of honour crimes are recorded in one village in a year.” 

What is really being penalised by Khaps is the right of individuals to choose their marriage-partners and the same is being portrayed under the subterfuge of incestuous relationships in order to seek majority support. Otherwise what is to answer the spate of cases where the girl and the boy belonging to different gotra are also killed or put through torture? Besides, Khap Panchayats primarily exist only in some parts of Haryana, Punjab, Rajasthan and western Uttar Pradesh although such cases are reported from all over the country. The need is to separate the gotra-issue from the issue of defiance viz-a-viz the reaction of families and community. According to data collected by HRLN, in most of the cases where diktats have been issued by the Khap, the couple in question was not from the same gotra but was punished nevertheless.

Though Khap and political satraps are to blame for this social bigotry but to hold them singularly responsible for all crime that takes place in the name of honour would be missing the woods for the trees. Right from forceful confinement, to beating up, to starvation and forcible separation of couples, honour crimes are being perpetrated even in average, educated middleclass households, away from realm of Khap. The need is to depoliticise the issue and sensitise people about the evils of the same and to help them broaden their outlook by way of progressive laws and proactive campaigning.

(Names of victims have been changed for privacy and security concerns)


-- Neha Rathi