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5.BEYOND BORDERS MAR 17

Beyond Borders March issue on Celebrating Womanhood

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BEYOND<br />

<strong>BORDERS</strong><br />

A BIGG PUSH INITIATIVE<br />

<strong>MAR</strong>CH | 20<strong>17</strong><br />

A N I N T E R N A T I O N A L O N L I N E M A G A Z I N E<br />

VENUE PARTNER<br />

TV PARTNER<br />

Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

STYLING<br />

CONSULTANT


Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

Photograph by<br />

Sujil Chandra Bose<br />

Dubai, UAE<br />

sujilchandrabose@gmail.com


CONTENTS<br />

Patron Council<br />

Ralph Tabberer<br />

J Rajmohan Pillai<br />

Musthafa Zafeer<br />

Ranjit Kumar<br />

Chief Editor & Publisher<br />

Sujil Chandra Bose<br />

Editorial Board<br />

Rajshekher Garikapati<br />

Kris Iyer<br />

Laxmi Menon<br />

Anil George<br />

Ken Brian<br />

Vigil Bose<br />

Sub Editor<br />

Pallavi Manoj<br />

Photography<br />

Enjo Mathew<br />

Lal TD<br />

Partners<br />

Worldon HD TV<br />

M Business Center<br />

LB Styling<br />

Calicut Note Book<br />

Bloombloom<br />

Readers Club<br />

Design & Marketed by<br />

BIGG PUSH<br />

Copyrights reserved by<br />

BIGG PUSH<br />

India, USA, UAE<br />

All complaints and<br />

communications regarding<br />

the content shall be sent to<br />

bigpushconsulting@gmail.com<br />

ARTICLES<br />

International Women's day<br />

Alice Motieri<br />

Women of history<br />

By Sarah Marie Emerton<br />

The Colisieum and the Girl<br />

By Yeshasvi Mahadev<br />

Touche Touche<br />

By Seema Lal<br />

Death Roll<br />

By Balram C.<br />

A mirror unto myself<br />

By Mariana Klinke<br />

Celebrating womanhood<br />

By Dr. Liza Raj<br />

Nariman's Journal<br />

By Pallavi Manoj<br />

The many roles she play<br />

By Dr. J Rajmohan Pillai<br />

When did I celebrate myself<br />

By Gilu Joseph<br />

Silence<br />

By Kris Iyer<br />

But like what<br />

by Kushal Menghrajani<br />

Breathing doll of clay<br />

By Joy Huang Stoffers<br />

Respect for a lady<br />

by Dr.Rajshekhar G<br />

To love yourself<br />

By Naseema Razak<br />

Paintings<br />

Nisar Ibrahim<br />

Jesno Renji<br />

Photographs<br />

Shazeen Anwer<br />

Abhilash Chemmannur<br />

Shaji S Panicker<br />

Sujil Chandra Bose<br />

Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

<strong>MAR</strong>CH | 20<strong>17</strong><br />

BEYOND<br />

<strong>BORDERS</strong><br />

A BIGGPUSH SOCIAL INITIATIVE


E D I T O R ' S N O T E<br />

“The strength of a woman is<br />

not measured by the impact<br />

that all her hardships in life<br />

have had on her; but the<br />

strength of a woman is<br />

measured by the extent of<br />

her refusal to allow those<br />

hardships to dictate her and<br />

who she becomes.”<br />

― C. JoyBell C.<br />

She is not just a companion, a<br />

gender, or someone sentenced<br />

by birth and custom to follow,<br />

not to lead. She is not an eye<br />

candy for the man or a<br />

backdrop for the family to fall<br />

back on.<br />

As a lady of the house, she is<br />

made to believe she is the<br />

center pillar that carries the<br />

roof. She doesn't realize it is a<br />

plot to make her standing all<br />

her life, so that the rest of the<br />

family can play wanton in<br />

leisure. As a daughter, we teach<br />

her to be quiet, subservient,<br />

and servile and train her to be<br />

tomorrow’s maid servant in a<br />

strange family. As a mother, we<br />

expect her to resolve all the<br />

issues that come falleth on the<br />

planet. As a colleague, she is a<br />

dumb pretty gal, when she gets<br />

a raise, she has earned the<br />

Boss’s personal expectations!<br />

Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

Issue 05 | March. 20<strong>17</strong><br />

BEYOND<br />

<strong>BORDERS</strong><br />

It is time. We should know that<br />

she is the very core of our<br />

being. The fulcrum, on which,<br />

we lead our lives. If we succeed,<br />

it is because she didn’t let us<br />

know the hard truth and if we<br />

fail, it is because she could<br />

longer hold onto her failing<br />

strength.<br />

She is the best thing that has<br />

happened to mankind.<br />

Celebrate woman, celebrate<br />

womanhood.<br />

Sujil Chandra Bose


Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

Painting by<br />

Nisar Ibrahim<br />

Dubai, UAE<br />

nizararc@gmail.com


INTERNATIONAL<br />

WOMEN'S DAY<br />

B Y A L I C E M O T I E R I<br />

8th March - I am very proud to be part of this amazing sisterhood that extends<br />

beyond boarders, race, color and age.<br />

Why it’s called international women’s day? It commemorates the struggle for women’s<br />

rights not for just being a woman as many people think. It was a political revolution<br />

fighting for women’s rights to vote, and hold public offices, suffrage of women, sex<br />

discrimination, abuse and harassment in the work place etc.<br />

Celebrating womanhood in any age, a woman should not be judged, not to be toyed,<br />

not to belittled but to be cherished, to be admired and to be loved. This focuses the<br />

spotlight on female heroes who are inspirational leaders in the true sense<br />

from different walks of life stood up and created a niche for themselves. It’s no longer<br />

a man’s world what a man can do a woman can do better.<br />

Alice B.Motieri is a filmmaker by profession with passion to empower and educate the world<br />

throughfilms/movies. Unlike other women in the media industry, she is more drawn into technical<br />

work which is popularly believed to be men territory.<br />

Alice is a DOP/videographer, video editor, D.I.T as well as B.T.S.<br />

N O M A D I C | 2 4


WOMEN OF<br />

HISTORY<br />

BY SARAH <strong>MAR</strong>IE EMERTON, UK<br />

The definition of empowerment:<br />

"To give somebody control over their own life<br />

or the situation they are in".<br />

(Oxfordlearning.com.) In 2000, the United<br />

Nations made 8 millennium goals. The third of<br />

which was to promote gender equality and<br />

empower women. Given that, many groups<br />

and organizations around the world have<br />

fought for the equal right to control their<br />

livelihood so women can actively make<br />

personal and meaningful decisions without<br />

the discrimination towards tradition.<br />

Gandhi once said "To call a woman the weaker<br />

sex is a libel; it is man’s injustice to a woman"<br />

This speech of his was a pathway to empower young girls<br />

of India. To eliminate the representation of women that<br />

they are the poorer and powerless of both genders.<br />

Like Gandhi’s wise words, for years, many amazing<br />

women have shown us that they are not the weaker sex.<br />

History has marked incredible women such as Eleanor<br />

Roosevelt. Roosevelt lead women into the workforce<br />

replacing soldiers to keep the businesses and the country<br />

running while men fought in WW2. Madame C.J Walker,<br />

who became the wealthiest self-made millionaire in 1919.<br />

Walker employed over 30,000 African American women<br />

to help her develop and market her line of hair and<br />

beauty products. Marie Curie, who was the only and first<br />

woman to win the Nobel prize in two sciences. And we<br />

can't forget Mother Teresa, who was declared a saint.<br />

Yet, there’s more miles to go. We have not completely<br />

perpetuated the motion of a "kept women" or even<br />

diminished that fact that men are represented as the<br />

superior gender in some cultures. In developing<br />

countries, women are still being paid 23% less that men<br />

in the workplace. (Unwomen.org) In America, roughly<br />

52% of American women take up professional-level jobs,<br />

and yet women subside in the representation of<br />

leadership roles. With much of 14% in executive/ officer<br />

roles, 8.1% are top earners and 4.6% of CEOs are women.<br />

(Americanprogress.org/issues/women)<br />

There are many factors to these numbers, either out of<br />

fear and self-confidence or purely an inferior<br />

conditioning, that men can achieve better. Yet, as the<br />

fight continues women are in the battle together to build<br />

stronger relationships and a representation to empower<br />

and educate young women and children to believe they<br />

are equal.<br />

For me, as a woman, my education starts with my mother<br />

and older sisters. Avidly watching them craft their own<br />

path, building a better life themselves. You definitely<br />

don’t have to be well known to empower someone. Just<br />

be yourself.<br />

Let’s not just leave it to the United Nations!


Painting by<br />

Jesno Renji, Dubai, UAE<br />

Radha & Krishna


Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

THE COLISEUM AND THE GIRL<br />

Y E S H A S V I M A H A D E V , C A L I F O R N I A , U S A<br />

She marches, miles away from home,<br />

Yet holding her own, wading further away, fighting the currents.<br />

Yearning for friendships long rusted by distance and time zones,<br />

The belief in belonging nearly withered, but not.<br />

Mild intoxication is all it takes to scratch the surface:<br />

Oozing insecurities, fatal inexperience, grave misdeeds.<br />

Faltering her steps, while on a bright summer’s day, they’d vanish.<br />

One wrong turn, one overshoot train ride away,<br />

She finds herself enveloped in a world,<br />

Whole, flawed, a spectrum of everything in between,<br />

More alluring than its glitzy, clandestine sisters,<br />

Boasting of colors, some of which have never seen the light of day,<br />

Fierce and proud in its unapologetic<br />

Yet self-aware display of grit and resilient humanity.<br />

In it she finds a sliver of herself,<br />

Driven by exciting possibilities,<br />

Doggedly evolving to protect her innumerable chinks.<br />

Destroying her fiends while holding love near,<br />

Watching her back while inching closer to the unattainable.<br />

Will she survive without having to raise her katana?<br />

Will she go down with naught a mention in history books?<br />

Someday, she promises,<br />

She’ll indulge in treasure-seeking.<br />

Someday, she promises,<br />

She’ll find contentment in life.<br />

Someday, she promises<br />

She’ll find her way back home.<br />

Until then, she accepts, she won’t sleep much at all.


FEATURE<br />

TOUCHE TOUCHE<br />

SEEMA LAL, COCHIN, INDIA<br />

When is the last time you felt the need to be hugged tight with no questions asked<br />

or answers sought? Consider yourself lucky if the person next to you is someone<br />

you can go hug and hold on to without being misinterpreted or questioned!<br />

In our times, the word ‘touch’ unfortunately rings an alarm as we are conditioned<br />

to think of it negatively- bad touch and good touch. Let’s take time to rejuvenate,<br />

restore and recharge that super power of ours that stands out clear when words<br />

fail. That power which helps us connect and communicate with one another, that<br />

which does not need any language, has no age, socio economic or culturally barrier<br />

and that which we need from birth unto death. That which warms our heart and<br />

nourishes our soul – That power of Touch!<br />

A long tight hug from a dear friend – “I will never let go for I love you so”<br />

A gentle reassuring squeeze of the hand – “hold on and this too shall pass”<br />

A pat on the back by one’s mentor – “that’s a great job, I’m proud of you”<br />

A quick high five in the field – “We did it!”<br />

A firm shake hand after a meeting – “It’s a deal”<br />

A rub on your hair – “You are being naughty there”<br />

An arm around the shoulder – “We are together in this”<br />

A quick kiss on the forehead – “You are the sweetest”<br />

A pat on the head – “God bless you dear”<br />

It can strengthen, heal, communicate, influence and soothe. It’s time we bring back<br />

the forgotten and off late forbidden touches into our lives. Feel your body, go<br />

ahead and give a gentle massage to your face, feeling all your features as morning<br />

and night time routine. Rub your hands against each other, feel the warmth, now<br />

place it over your eyes and gently over the face.<br />

To our spouse a kiss of love – a private display of affection as often as one could.<br />

Each time we make a request to each other club it with a touch of love and watch<br />

how quickly things get done! To our children, club good mornings with a tight hug<br />

and a gentle kiss on the forehead or cheek or a pat on the head before we start<br />

reminding them of the chores and watch their day brighten up. Always be the last<br />

to end the hug, you never know how long they needed it.<br />

To our colleagues, greet with a little pat on the shoulder, a gentle handshake or a<br />

high five – see the difference it brings to the day’s work. Make sure your goodbyes<br />

are just as bright.<br />

To strangers that we come across, touch them with a smile ….<br />

Make each touch count, make it mindful. A touch can make your sorry sound<br />

sorrier, the warmth of a touch can end a cold war, break the ice, for a touch can set<br />

almost anything right. Remember, if at all you come across someone rejecting a<br />

tender loving touch – that’s the person who needs it most! They might of course<br />

ask for it in most undeserving ways! Take the hint!<br />

“…Without saying a word, we can light up the dark…For we say it best, when we say<br />

nothing at all…”


DEATH ROLL<br />

B A L R A M C , D U B A I , U A E<br />

Come and sit beside me my friend,<br />

To my story, kindly lend,<br />

It’s been many years since I saw a living soul,<br />

For rumors are that this place harbors a ghoul.<br />

You are a hunter out hunting you say?<br />

Ah! Then this is the perfect place to stay,<br />

For here in the wilderness the animals still run free,<br />

Wolves, cougars and even bears you can see.<br />

I too am a hunter of the highest repute,<br />

And in tracking my prey really quite astute,<br />

Let me spin for you a tale that will surely thrill,<br />

The story that was my most glorious kill.<br />

I had patrolled every mile of this desolate creek,<br />

I had never allowed myself to go weak,<br />

I had kept on searching day after day,<br />

I had dared not let my attention go astray.<br />

The crystal waters that sparkled so clear and bright,<br />

Hid a fearsome secret as dark as the moonless night,<br />

For death lurked here in its depths , hidden out of sight.<br />

At last one day as I paddled on my way,<br />

I saw it near me as clear as day,<br />

It was a monster, much bigger than my boat,<br />

In the water it seemed to effortlessly float.<br />

I emptied my gun at it in vain,<br />

As shaking hands spoiled my aim,<br />

Then it charged straight towards me,<br />

No escape for me could I then see.<br />

I dove into the water with my hunter's knife,<br />

And I fought desperately to save my life,<br />

Its teeth tore my left shoulder to shreds,<br />

As the water boiled and sprayed a crimson red.<br />

Through my agony I stabbed it again and again,<br />

Finally piercing through to its primeval brain,<br />

Soon all its movements was stilled,<br />

As at last the giant crocodile was killed..<br />

Of sweet revenge then I had my fill,<br />

As my daughter's murderer I did, as sworn, kill,<br />

All the odds against me I had defied,<br />

What does it matter that then died?


THOUGHTS<br />

A MIRROR UNTO<br />

MYSELF<br />

BY <strong>MAR</strong>IANA KLINKE, SAO PAULO, BRAZIL<br />

Everything is big on her face. If you look at each part<br />

separately, it may seem strange. They are large and unusual.<br />

But, if you look at it as a whole, it is harmonic. If she were to<br />

have a Barbie nose, it would be weird.<br />

Five years ago, her hair finally found the right hands to cut<br />

them. Since the Japanese girl from the beauty salon put her<br />

scissors on them, waves emerged and so did the<br />

compliments.<br />

The eyes… she always liked them. Even when they were<br />

hidden behind thick glasses, which were taking care of her 9<br />

degrees of myopia, they’ve been the best expression of who<br />

she is. Perhaps that’s why she remained invisible for so long.<br />

Her invisibility met its end in a pair of gelatinous semicircles:<br />

the contact lenses. From that moment on, she began<br />

a daily ritual that’s lasted ever since.<br />

The black pencil draws the contour; the “extra volume”<br />

mascara lengthens the eyelashes; the slightly dark eye<br />

shadow applied on the lids: every day she carefully draws the<br />

edges of her lagoon eyes. Eyes that are so clear that you can<br />

see its bottom without diving into them. But among all this<br />

transparency, there is a mysterious dark spot. Once,<br />

someone asked her if she wore colored contact lenses and if<br />

her eyes were brown. She didn’t like it. She had once been<br />

told to go to a “doctor” that maps the iris, who’d inform you<br />

of any weakness in one’s body. “The dark spot probably<br />

represents your bones and that is why you’re always having<br />

problems with your knee and twisting your ankle”, someone<br />

said. On hearing this, her eyebrows rose to defend her eyes.<br />

They could never be responsible for something bad. So, she<br />

changed the subject.<br />

About the lips, she pretends not to think. Every day, she<br />

flirted with her red lipstick, smiling at it, taking a deep breath<br />

and then giving up. The last time she wore red lipstick she<br />

was 12. But then her friend Samuel told her she looked<br />

terrible. “It looks like you ate a red fruit and smeared it all<br />

over”, he had said. After the lipstick incident, she tried to be<br />

add minimal color without looking pale. She lay down in the<br />

sun, but all attempts ended up in one color of her skin<br />

turning red. So, she gave up red and has been happy ever<br />

since with her creamy complexion, her powder blush, and her<br />

colorless lip gloss.


CELEBRATING WOMANHOOD<br />

DR. LIZA RAJ, COCHIN, INDIA<br />

Chatter far echoing in the surrounding, the tinkling sound of laughter,<br />

spreading warmth and the essence of being there, to the compassion filled in<br />

our hearts is - SHE. Love is the essence of life and she gives it all and much<br />

more every time. From time immemorial she has been subjected to trials and<br />

tribulations; subjected to judgment to prove her worth. The wrinkles on her<br />

face are testimonials to her surviving skills and stories of her worth.<br />

The tempest comes every now and then ,to shake her off her foot,<br />

she dares yet again to make her life thus float.<br />

What once were telltale signs of her immense grace,<br />

Come the tempest she has to prove her worth again.<br />

She learns a new lesson each time she’s hit<br />

the light of her soul urges her to move on;<br />

to battle obstacles she deems fit.<br />

As you try harder- each time to bind her free spirit<br />

She will love you, cajole you, give reasons you can’t deny,<br />

Celebrate her being ; be one with harmony accept her whole and soul<br />

She will remain the essence of your life ,no matter what tempest comes by<br />

Woman has come of age in this century without any doubts. She has learnt to<br />

live life beyond the realms of her kitchen and done herself proud. Some have<br />

been lucky to be able to achieve this balance in both the worlds, others have<br />

found their way through test and trial. Each time she achieves a feat, new<br />

challenges have always taken its place.<br />

This feeling is the circle of life… for a woman. To achieve success in her domain<br />

makes it that special for the simple reason that she binds the family together<br />

and is the life of her house. Life is complicated in itself without trying to make it<br />

worse. The rules set by our societies has never favored the free spirit and mind<br />

of a woman.<br />

If left to herself, a woman is a tender heart, someone who expects only love in<br />

return. Her madness and rudeness is pent up energy from everyone trying to<br />

control her actions and questioning her capabilities. She asks only for patience<br />

and understanding in lieu of managing a beautiful celebration called life. I<br />

imagine deities that have arisen in years gone by to overcome obstacles for<br />

woman.<br />

From birth to death, from giving to losing a woman stands tall, holding her<br />

ground. It’s time she starts participating in the joys of living. After all it is one<br />

life worth living for all living beings irrespective of caste, creed or gender.<br />

If we are alive- SHE needs to LIVE; this will be the true CELEBRATION OF<br />

WOMANHOOD.


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NARIMAN'S JOURNAL<br />

P A L L A V I M A N O J , M U M B A I . I N D I A<br />

Eyes and whispers followed her, even after her supple face<br />

had started developing laugh lines and crinkles. Admiration<br />

and jealousy had slowly turned into ridicule and scorn over<br />

the years.<br />

At a time when her contemporaries were in a race to get the<br />

best man in the society to notice them, she had turned away<br />

from all such frivolities.<br />

Pallavi is also the<br />

Sub Editor of<br />

Beyond Borders<br />

and have provided<br />

significant inputs<br />

for the Magazine in<br />

her capacity.<br />

When she replaced the colorful hair clips that a distant aunt<br />

had bought from the gulf with colour pencils, books and paint<br />

brushes, her family along with everyone else smirked. What’s<br />

a paintbrush and books to a girl? They laughed. The society<br />

parties she rarely attended were all playbacks to her one-time<br />

F in math back in 6th grade. But the more they scoffed at her,<br />

the more she was determined to go against the grain. While<br />

girls her age had their tables filled with powder puffs, lips<br />

plumped up with red lipstick and hair slicked back in orderly<br />

waves around their face, she left her unruly curls as wild as it<br />

could get, left her plain lips as it is and made an altered jeans<br />

of her late father her uniform. She painted her walls a<br />

gradient of blues as her neighbor next door painted her hands<br />

a henna red and covered her head in a blood red veil.<br />

The would-be bride shook her head thinking of her crazy<br />

neighbor. Is she ever going to have a complete life? Even she,<br />

who society had said would never get wedded, with her dark<br />

skin and rough hands was going to be married in a matter of<br />

hours.<br />

Born with crystalline eyes that posed a sharp contrast to her<br />

olive skin and a unique name to go with it-Nariman, wasted to<br />

a mockery of a career, a lady should never turn to.<br />

“Wow! so she was the Zakir Hussain of paintings eh?” The<br />

reader asked.<br />

“No. She was the Nariman Qureshi of paintings! She was one<br />

and truly her. Just her” The girl said as she took back her<br />

grandmother’s diary.


Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

Loneliness is never more cruel than<br />

when it is felt in close propinquity<br />

with someone who has ceased to<br />

communicate.<br />

- Germaine Greer<br />

Photograph by<br />

Shaji S Panicker<br />

Doha, Qatar


THE MANY ROLES<br />

SHE PLAY<br />

By Dr. J Rajmohan Pillai<br />

Hon. Member of the Patron Council<br />

She is a daughter, a sister, a girl friend, a lover, a wife, a daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law, a<br />

mother, an aunt, a granny. Apart from the traditional role, now arises new expectations<br />

of being a friend, philosopher, teacher, nanny, nurse, entrepreneur, manager, business<br />

executive and more.<br />

As a society, it is our duty to help women juggling between various roles to find her<br />

footing.<br />

She is equally smart, educated, confident and more than capable. Yet when a man listens<br />

to a woman at home, or values her opinion, he is hen-pecked. But on the other hand,<br />

when a woman asks for her man’s opinion, she is doing the right thing by seeking advice.<br />

The other way around does not hold water. The intellectual abuse is brushed away in the<br />

light of physical abuse she’s subjected to. Domestic Violence, rape, dowry deaths, moral<br />

policing etc.<br />

Women are subjected to the unforgivable crime of rape time and again, without a<br />

differentiation in caste, creed or religion. But our society chooses to focus on surrounding<br />

trivial issues rather than the heinous crime or the punishment for the criminal.<br />

Take for instance, the recent discussions on a news story. A girl was raped in Kerala, as if<br />

that is not bad enough, the spotlight is now on the woman being a Hindu and a Christian<br />

priest, the rapist. Now, the focus becomes something else. It is now about religion,<br />

minorities, tolerance, conversion and diversity.<br />

There are sudden talks of rise in fascism. With that, the rapist is now deemed into a<br />

political agent, not a villain, even if the law catches up with him. While one group uses the<br />

survivor’s demographic details to make it a greater crime, another group uses this<br />

information to make it seem like it is not a crime after all: only an expression of religious<br />

and political outrage. The women becomes an instrument of entertainment for the<br />

media.<br />

And to think that once upon a time, women were worshipped…<br />

Being a female is a matter of birth, being a woman is a matter of age, being a lady is a<br />

matter of choice. And that is the choice of a women. The day that men start to think of<br />

women in their entirety, we will not need a day to celebrate womanhood.<br />

Womanhood is to be celebrated eternally.<br />

Being born as a woman is a gift from god. Let’s pledge to love and respect a woman.


THOUGHTS<br />

WHEN DID I<br />

CELEBRATE MYSELF<br />

By GILU JOSEPH, Dubai, UAE<br />

When did I start celebrating my<br />

womanhood? My life?!<br />

I grew up enjoying nature and street life. I<br />

had had no taste of luxury, brands or<br />

roaming around the city for shopping.<br />

Selfies, social network and photoshop were<br />

unheard of. Clubbing, and dancing away<br />

the whole night was unimaginable.<br />

I belonged to the era of kids that walked<br />

for an hour to school every day. I enjoyed<br />

the sun, rains and the smell of hot snacks<br />

from the corner tea shops. I talked to<br />

everyone. I knew nothing about great pop<br />

singers or cinema or the technology behind<br />

it. I never bothered about fashion, trends,<br />

or dinner parties. I did not know about<br />

awards and stage shows other than the<br />

plays that came every year at the church<br />

festival.<br />

I wasn't passionate about words, poems,<br />

portfolios or traveling. When did I start<br />

delving into the depths of everything I see<br />

around? When did I feel the need to<br />

fearlessly accept whatever I am? When did I<br />

learn to see emotions in words? When did I<br />

open my eyes to myself? I’m not even sure<br />

if I had a call to understanding.<br />

My life is a continuous evolution, learning<br />

the reality that I am what I am, not what<br />

some else perceives me to be.


SILENCE!<br />

PHILOSOPHY<br />

By KRIS IYER, Dubai, UAE<br />

Silence is also conversation - Ramana Maharshi<br />

Every moment of silence has its own way of telling you things. A moment of silence can be<br />

worth more than a thousand words of love. While holding hands with someone dear, there’s no<br />

need for words, because there is a language in silence itself. Our eyes and hearts speak louder<br />

than any words, conversation is then replaced with smiles.<br />

We can spend hours chattering to no end, but a moment of silence sometimes becomes more<br />

meaningful.<br />

Farewells and Success do seek the refuge in silence, which could be perceived wrong, but may<br />

have more affection than most kind but made up words.<br />

Think of a silent walk by the beach to see the sun sink in to the depths of the horizon, the<br />

sound of the waves lapping the shore as the sea and the beach engage in a conversation of<br />

their own.<br />

A silent smile can show you an opening to many a story hidden behind. A doting mother need<br />

not overtly speak of love for her infant. Those precious silent moments between the mother<br />

and child is enough to express the pride and joy of motherhood at its best.<br />

Why do libraries and places of meditation insist on silence? Silence makes learning easier,<br />

proving it to be the best state of mind, which facilitates concentration, attention and peace. We<br />

are used to a world of noise and fail to identify with the bliss of silence. Silence is when you talk<br />

to yourself in introspection.<br />

The power of silence can better be realized when a person is in love. Moments of silence shared<br />

staring into your loved one’s eyes are monumental moments that creates a world of their own,<br />

where they would remain happy.<br />

A singing cuckoo, a whiff of the morning wind, the sound of the waves, the whispering leaves,<br />

the chuckles of the streams and much more... the most beautiful moments in life could and<br />

should be silent ones, leaving the humdrum behind to embrace the true music that is nature.<br />

But for us humans, silence can be misleading and misinterpreted. But for the sake of now, let’s<br />

look at the positive side of silence and its positive affirmations to affection.<br />

May silence speak a thousand words…shhhhhhhhhhh…


BUT, WHY<br />

FICTION<br />

LIKE THAT?<br />

By Kushal Menghrajani, Mumbai, India<br />

The woman behind the door<br />

(Door opens) Out walks the man of the house. The one who wears the pants. The one who<br />

decides. The one who brings home the moolah. The one who is right.<br />

But there was something that bothered him a little too much. Was the problem with him? Or was<br />

it with her? Did she truly love him? Or was there another? Why did she always refuse? Could he<br />

force her into it? But wouldn’t that be a crime?<br />

Just then the newspaper fell to his feet. Picking it, he read the headline with a smile.<br />

And took it as a sign. Walking into the house, he knew it was right.<br />

‘SC says Marital Rape is not a Crime’<br />

But why like that? We ask.<br />

(Door closes)<br />

The woman behind the curtain (Curtain rises)<br />

While I type this article from the city of dreams, it brings forward a bewildering notion. Mumbai is<br />

that murderer you absolutely love. Because it teaches you everything about surviving that kills.<br />

Then there are those, on whom such dreams are bestowed upon. Ones, who with no fault and<br />

choice of theirs, were born into glitz, glamour and superstardom.<br />

They are the ones who lay the cards. The kingpins, the honchos, the white collars.<br />

Because it’s they who decide- A woman’s career is short-lived.<br />

Survival isn’t easy.<br />

Sleazy is the new sexy.<br />

Bend over or bow out.<br />

Stop playing the victim card.<br />

It’s the cardinal law of the industry.<br />

But why like that? We ask.<br />

And then one takes the spotlight. Challenging the notion, shredding the structure and ripping the<br />

reasoning. Victimized by the industry, a whole new generation of bad-assery was born.<br />

And did she bow out in style!<br />

(Curtain drops)<br />

The woman behind the man<br />

She was self-made, striding on the path that was self-carved, achieving it all because she was<br />

self-driven. She was the only one who knew her self-worth.<br />

(Man Enters)<br />

Worry not, he isn’t the villain. He never was.


Continued from previous page.<br />

He didn’t choose to belong to the male fraternity, did he?<br />

But drawing the same picture again- he was self-made, striding on the path that was self-carved,<br />

achieving all because he was self-driven. He was the only one who knew his worth. Okay, who are<br />

we kidding? Even the society knew he was worthy. Everyone knew he was worthy. They always<br />

did.<br />

And now he’s going to be carving the journey for them both.<br />

A journey where he decides the route. A journey where he works the clock. A journey where he<br />

aspires to dream. A journey he aspires to achieve. A journey, he calls his own.<br />

What about her, you ask?<br />

Well she fits perfectly into his background.<br />

But why like that? We ask.<br />

(Unfortunately, man never exits and this societal belief continues to exist)<br />

The man behind the woman<br />

Message to the men. No dramatic unveil for this segment. We as men have got all the attention<br />

we deserved. It’s time for us to take the backseat and simply shout out to these women-<br />

Go out there and fly. Don’t be afraid to soar too high. Don’t be afraid to look down at the world.<br />

You’re unclipped. You’re uncaged. You’ve got this. You deserve to fly.<br />

And if you ever fall, we’ll be your supermen. And we’ll have your back.<br />

But why like that? Nobody will ever ask.<br />

She was self-made, striding on the path that was self-carved, achieving it all because she was<br />

self-driven. She was the only one who knew her self-worth. (Man Enters)<br />

Worry not, he isn’t the villain. He never was. He didn’t choose to belong to the male fraternity,<br />

did he? But drawing the same picture again- he was self-made, striding on the path that was selfcarved,<br />

achieving all because he was self-driven. He was the only one who knew his worth. Okay,<br />

who are we kidding? Even the society knew he was worthy. Everyone knew he was worthy. They<br />

always did. And now he’s going to be carving the journey for them both.<br />

A journey where he decides the route. A journey where he works the clock. A journey where he<br />

aspires to dream. A journey he aspires to achieve. A journey, he calls his own.<br />

What about her, you ask?<br />

Well she fits perfectly into his background.<br />

But why like that? We ask.<br />

(Unfortunately, man never exits and this societal belief continues to exist)<br />

The man behind the woman<br />

Message to the men. No dramatic unveil for this segment. We as men have got all the attention<br />

we deserved. It’s time for us to take the backseat and simply shout out to these women-<br />

Go out there and fly. Don’t be afraid to soar too high. Don’t be afraid to look down at the world.<br />

You’re unclipped. You’re uncaged. You’ve got this. You deserve to fly.<br />

And if you ever fall, we’ll be your supermen. And we’ll have your back.<br />

But why like that? Nobody will ever ask.


COLORS BEYOND <strong>BORDERS</strong><br />

M BUSINESS CENTER<br />

SERBIA<br />

MEXICO


Celebrate<br />

Womanhood<br />

Photograph by<br />

Shezeen Anwer, Dubai. UAE<br />

shezeen@msn.com


THE BREATHING<br />

DOLL OF CLAY<br />

B y J o y H u a n g S t o f f e r s , S e a t t l e , U S A<br />

Empress Earth had many children. Every spring, when she walked across the Heavens, her seeds fell<br />

from the sky like drops of rain. She loved them all, but secretly favored her mortal girl-child, Unity, who<br />

loved everyone and everything with wholeness of heart. Every time she visited the humans, Empress<br />

Earth stayed in her daughter’s village the longest.<br />

On Unity’s twelfth birthday, her mother bestowed on her a doll of clay.<br />

“Thanks, Earth Mother, for your generosity. I will fully love her.”<br />

Kissing Unity’s head, Empress Earth said, “This doll looks like an ordinary clay doll. Four limbs, one<br />

head. Two eyebrows and eyes. One nose and mouth. Do you agree?”<br />

“Yes, Earth Mother. She cannot furrow or wiggle her brows. She cannot blink or wink. She cannot smell<br />

or sneeze. She cannot open her mouth. It’s clear for all to see.”<br />

“Ah, but this is really a special doll. When you find love, you’ll learn. A doll of clay need not stay that<br />

way.”<br />

This comment puzzled Unity, but her nature rejected conflicting feelings, so the confusion passed.<br />

Empress Earth returned to the Heavens, and Unity returned to village life.<br />

A month after the New Year, Unity walked to the river. Chores needed doing. Water must be collected.<br />

Clothes must be washed. She enjoyed scrubbing, rubbing away the stains.<br />

Static, Unity’s cousin, approached the bank. He stopped short, watching. Her open, symmetrical face,<br />

cheeks pink from exertion, made him see her with new eyes.<br />

“Good afternoon, cousin Unity.”<br />

“And to you, cousin Static.”<br />

He nodded at her washing. “What neat work you do. Perhaps you can help my mother? Since elder<br />

sister married, household management weighs heavy on her head.”<br />

Unity soon found herself living in Static’s house, attending to his mother’s bidding. While the mother<br />

suffered from fatigue, Unity sewed, cooked, cleaned, and accounted for the family’s finances. At day’s<br />

end, she collapsed onto a straw mat, tucking the clay doll in the nook of her arm.<br />

She’d grown to love Static’s company. No longer did they tease each other like children. They talked<br />

about the evenness of the path and the consistencies of the seasons. He confessed his love for her, and<br />

with his kiss a new feeling awakened within her.<br />

That night, the Moon Lady smiled down on the servant’s quarters. Unity lifted the doll over her chest. It<br />

stared blankly. She sat up. And then, white light illuminating them, Unity kissed the doll. Her doll. She<br />

hugged it, heart brimming with love. She loved its smooth limbs, loved the contrast of its dark clay<br />

against her light skin. Eyes hovering on the edge of sleep, Unity lay down, placing it next to her. This<br />

doll, hers to love. To own.<br />

“No. Love’s an exchange. Between friends, equal companions.”<br />

Unity felt breathing on her neck. She turned to the voice. Seeing its source, Unity scrambled off the<br />

straw mat.<br />

Life size. Four limbs, one head. Two eyebrows and eyes. One nose and mouth. She could furrow or<br />

wiggle her brows. She could blink or wink. She could smell or sneeze. She could open her mouth.<br />

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re still friends. Yes, come here. See? Now we can love each other.”<br />

The next morning, Unity found the clay doll had returned to its previous form. What a strange dream,<br />

she thought, before embarking on errands. Still, she kept it to herself, even when Static paused during<br />

their marriage plans to question her trance.<br />

Continued on next page.


The Breathing Doll of Clay (continued)<br />

That night, when the Moon Lady visited, the dream awoke. By day she devoted herself to Static and her<br />

soon-to-be mother-in-law. By night she devoted herself to the breathing clay doll.<br />

A month of this double living changed Unity.<br />

The wedding ceremony took place. The tea ceremony performed, Unity moved to Static’s quarters.<br />

As he lifted her red veil, granting her permission to see other colors, the Moon Lady visited.<br />

The clay doll woke, blossoming to life between them. “What about me?”<br />

Static jumped back. “Where’d that black girl come from?”<br />

“I’m Unity’s companion, created by Empress Earth.”<br />

Anger radiated from Static, crackling in the air. He stormed out, returning with his<br />

mother.<br />

“Scheming fox-girl! My son’s your husband. What’s this blackie doing here?”<br />

“She’s my clay doll friend. She comes alive at night.”<br />

Mother-in-law lunged for the doll, who danced out of reach.<br />

“Hand her to me! You cannot love her anymore. You cannot be faithful to my son with her.”<br />

“Why can’t I love both?”<br />

“The heart is small. You have no room to love both. Splitting your love only leads to darkness. Besides,<br />

she’s only a doll. It’s just the trick of moonlight.”<br />

Unity stood in the way. “Look, she breathes!”<br />

“Static, hold her down!”<br />

Mother-in-law took a pillow to the breathing clay doll.<br />

Unity invoked her mother’s name, Empress Earth. Her mother exchanged moon for sun. The mortals<br />

blinked under its rays. The doll shrunk and stilled. Empress Earth came to collect her.<br />

“Earth Mother, if I cannot love both, I can no longer be Unity.”<br />

“You are simultaneously Unity and Disunity. You’re too much for humans. Come with me, daughter.”<br />

They ascended to the Heavens, where Unity became Dyad.


S H O R T S T O R Y<br />

RESPECT FOR A<br />

LADY<br />

B Y D R , R A J S H E K A R G , D u b a i , U A E<br />

Respect can’t be selective. Being respectful towards your mother while you’re disrespectful towards<br />

another woman doesn’t make you a better man.<br />

As we collect stories of women empowerment, let me share with you one such story, which is the sorry<br />

and sad reality, telling us how that even in the midst of modernity and development, the specter of<br />

backward-thinking can rear its ugly head.<br />

The names of the cast in this drama have been changed for obvious reasons.<br />

Dr Swati was early that day - which was not unusual: she liked to have the extra half-hour so that she<br />

could dig deep into a patient’s condition.<br />

She was the quintessential modern working woman. What is that, you ask?<br />

As a mother, a woman has 100% focus and ownership. As a working woman, she has to straddle many<br />

roles - that of mother, home-keeper, wife, and a professional. But in the professional front, she must<br />

fight her battles by the rules set by men.<br />

Today, the first post-operative day of a major surgery she had done in a while, was especially<br />

important. And hence, she sacrificed the half an hour she got with her husband, so that she could get<br />

the nitty-gritty details from the nurse at the ICU.<br />

As a conscientious surgeon, Dr Swati didn’t mind getting into gory details - including a patient’s<br />

morning ablutions. Yet, making a mark in what remains, to this day, a man’s field, required her to be<br />

exceptional at everything.<br />

She was fond of saying, and did during the many invited lectures she delivered, that whenever the<br />

going got tough for a patient, what saved the patient’s life - and the operating team from disgrace - was<br />

her exquisite attention to detail.<br />

So, that day, it took Swati a good 45 mins to complete her examination, make her notes, and leave<br />

instructions for the day before she made it to her OPD where she already had a number of impatient<br />

patients waiting for her.<br />

Which was the reason that by the time she was seeing the young Arab lady (third patient for the day),<br />

her male escort was already a little put-off.<br />

The patient was in obvious pain owing to a pus filling in a place you wouldn’t want to know. But it was<br />

obvious that she had a low pain-threshold and was overdoing her sickness to gain sympathy. To top it<br />

off, her male escort appeared over-concerned and over-protective!<br />

Having dealt with similar situations before, Swati went about her work with ease, reassuring the patient<br />

and her escort, whom she erroneously (as it turned out) took to be the husband.<br />

Things turned sour, when it came down to the examination of the said area. The patient was<br />

apprehensive and Swati had a tough time explaining that a little bit of gentle manipulation could<br />

probably solve the problem on the spot.


C o n t i n u e d f r o m P a g e 2 6<br />

The moment she touched the offending area, the patient let out a loud wail and a whimper, and<br />

Ahmed jumped up like a soldier protecting his country.<br />

“How dare you touch her in that way!!” he screamed. “Stand back, you wretch!!”<br />

But Swati stood her ground. “It’s a routine procedure,” she explained. “There is a big collection of pus<br />

here, and I can drain it out. She may feel a bit of pain now, but this would be better than going through<br />

a surgical procedure.”<br />

But when she touched the area again, the patient screamed in exaggerated pain, and now the escort<br />

was beside himself with rage; he all but grabbed the doctor by her lapel.<br />

“You low-life!” he yelled at the doctor. “You will not touch her, or I will break your hand!!”<br />

There was a ringing in her ear that only Swati could hear. She realized she was in grave danger - of<br />

assault and battery at the hands of this enraged man.<br />

Code Purple had not yet been implemented at the hospital by then, so all she could do was to walk out<br />

of her room and seek shelter in the PRO’s room. Security staff was summoned and an hour was wasted<br />

calming everyone down, including Dr Swati.<br />

Two hours later, Dr Swati was tearfully explaining the incident to her husband Dr Vivek over the phone<br />

during the lunch break, who urged her to report the matter to the authorities.<br />

The next morning, the two were at the local police station, along with the Hospital Administrator The<br />

policeman on duty was extremely cordial and listened to the whole account and assured them that the<br />

case would be given due consideration. But cautioned them, that Swati might have to face the offender<br />

again, but within the protection of the officer.<br />

It was not until the next day that she was summoned back, but the offender was not to be seen. The<br />

policeman showed her a letter, written in Arabic, an unconditional apology from the offender.<br />

Several interesting things were uncovered, through their investigation. The offender on a short visit to<br />

the country was trying to marry the young lady for money and it was in an attempt to impress her that<br />

he took on the role of the overly protective and borderline psychotic caregiver. It was also revealed<br />

that he had a serious history of drug abuse and was almost definitely under the influence of one when<br />

the events at hospital unfolded.<br />

“While threatening, someone is a crime in itself, threatening a woman who was carrying on her duty is<br />

a graver offence” the officer informed us.<br />

Although the offender could have been in serious trouble for what he did, the officer informed us that<br />

there were no punitive measures they could implement as he was of a different country and was here<br />

on a short visit. While it was possible to book him for his charges, with his rich background he would<br />

easily get off the hook.<br />

While asking us to not hold any ill feelings towards their team. The officer thanked us for reporting the<br />

incident. Having fully understood the situation,<br />

Swati thanked the officer and informed him that she filed the report so that the offender would think<br />

twice before threatening a lady now for whatever reason that maybe.<br />

And the matter ended there.


TO LOVE<br />

YOURSELF<br />

B Y N A S E E M A R A Z A C K , U A E<br />

When I come across the word love, I can’t help but think of my mom. My<br />

mother- the magical being what it is to love and be loved.<br />

As a child, it was natural to love everything around me. But as I grew up, my<br />

perception of the world around me changed tremendously. The little girl was<br />

gone to be replaced by a woman who had come to know that it wasn’t all<br />

innocence and a bed of roses. It took me a long time to realize that I was not<br />

taught how to keep the essence of being a child.<br />

During my childhood, I took pleasures in the little things from life with no<br />

expectations from anyone. Somehow, I knew how to keep myself happy even<br />

though my dad didn’t present me a Barbie or two.<br />

It took me years to find that little girl inside me again, the innocence and<br />

positive approach of a child. The day I found the little girl again, was a day of<br />

celebration and love.<br />

All I did was to look at everything a little bit more positively, and it was easy to<br />

fall in love with everything around me and myself without judgement, criticism<br />

and expectations. When we don’t have expectations from anyone, we broaden<br />

our minds to encompass more things. And once again, I fell in love with myself.<br />

N O M A D I C | 2 4


Love.<br />

by Abhilash Chemmannur<br />

Abhilash hails from Cochin, Kerala, India. He is an immensely talented artist and<br />

photographer. A UI/UX Designer at Tata Consultancy Services, he works in Sydney,<br />

Australia.<br />

He can be contacted on abilash.c@gmail.com


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