Scribbles

In morning I got up to write on the women lives and all that happened in the class room discussion on misogyny, however while I was scribbling in my dairy I felt that I am so shallow and fake. My pen stopped then and there. Creator beacons me “Niharika, you always write about lives of woman ,you always tell society how shallow its principals are, the society needs to be awaken from slumber, you are always angry at the people of the world. But, what about your growth? Your development? Would you not like to write about how shallow you are and are you not angry on yourself about the fact?” This was my moment. I need to transform myself first then only I can ask people to reform. Years ago, someone said to me “You can understand toughest English vucab. But what’s the benefit if you can’t understand a person”. Though that time I did not understand that person or what he meant. I understood it today, to be more precise morning of 25 March 2015, 6:30 am. So how this realization hap

As I sit to write about my travel and the lessons it gave, I am wondering whether my piece would be able to justice to all those who gave me lessons that no book could have ever given. Last week my colleague Iqbal and I travelled to Hyderabad to train people in telling their life experiences, life stories through comics. The people we were out to train were differently able, that added more meaning to what we were there to do. But before I begin to write about it, Let me thank Sharad Sharma, founder of World Comics India for the opportunity to unlearn and discover the life beyond the cities. As a development communication student, we have learnt that development can never be done sitting in classroom and to communicate it you need to fold your sleeves and get in touch with the grassroots. Otherwise we know only about issues only through newspapers or other media, if any way they are interested in telling the stories of the last person with no media access. The reason why our deve

The reason why I feel so strong about abusive language that disrespects and makes fun of the women’s anatomy and why keep suggesting men and women around me to get rid of this habit and why I get enraged the moment any of these abuses run into my ears. Two years back, while I was still in the graduation, on the roads of lucknow when my scooty was my only companion to discover less traveled roads and my adventure to become a solitary traveler. Something happened that shook me from within. To others it might be the most insignificant incidence to fuss about, as I was often told by the people. However to me it was big. No it was not eve teasing or molestation .It was the abuse that was directed against me by a man who seemed educated and was mere a stranger. I still remember that September month in 2013 when I was passing from ICCMRT College, in Indira Nagar. Just to figure out the new road, I took my scooty on the road side to travel through. One man in big car (I hardly notice

I will look beautiful not when I buy expensive, branded or elegant dress for myself. Neither when I will buy cosmetics worth thousands and spread over my face. Nor when I burden myself with timeless precious jewelry made for bourgeois. I become beautiful when I talk to people ,whom nobody talked, go to the place ,where people are reluctant to go or do ,what people think is waste of time and money. I become beautiful when I add meaning to someone’s life and someone adds meaning to mine. I become beautiful when someone breaks my stereotypes exposes me to my faults, corrects me, and transforms me. I shall become more beautiful when I would travel to remotest region to know the last person in the country. To listen to him, his secluded and neglected life. I shall become more beautiful when I would spread enlightenment where there has never been light And not where the things are upright and bright. When I would stand for their plight Only then pen shall become mig