Saturday, December 31, 2011

Apparent Talent

That cobwebed easel in the corner,
The guitar that sits collecting dust,
Shears that lay abandoned in the mud,
she looks at them one by one
with eyes of want.
A talent, an apparent one,
the one to show off,
the one to celebrate,
to win laurels and all that.
She want one, one of those,
She sits on the floor,
staring at each of them,
wondering if they'll ever talk back.
She stops, picks up a pen and
writes her feelings off. 

PS : Thanks, M and Vishesh for making sure I write. 

Friday, December 30, 2011

The stranger in the car

It was probably the first time in ages that she sat so close to him. They were cramped up in the back seat of the car with his grown up son. She looked at him  lovingly and they were soon deep in conversation. He was totally out of this equation. Slowly, he saw, she grew tired and her eyes began to droop. He hadn't seen her so tired in a really long time, he actually hadn't noticed her at all in a really long time.
Soon, as he was lost in thought about the years gone ago by, he suddenly realised that she was fast asleep. Her head on his shoulder, something she hadn't done in long time. He realised how a lot of things hadn't happened in a long time. Her face looked different, of course. Her eyes, the same. The calm that face showed when she was asleep, the same.

It felt like he knew her forever and for her, it really was forever, he chuckled.

When did they stop talking like they used to? When did they grow apart? He couldn't pinpoint a day or a time that it happened. It just did. All he knew was that today, she was a stranger.

She suddenly woke up, looked at him with surprise at the way he was looking at her and said with a chuckle, "Sorry, dad."

Yes, she was a stranger who he had raised.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Lucky 13 - Part 3

‘Sex, Drugs and Rock-and-Roll’ – That’s how I define the last eight years of my life. I had an introduction to alcohol at 16, drugs at 17 and women at 18. I’ve gone to the darkest places one can imagine; borrowing money I could never repay and stealing things I didn’t need just so that drugs could flow through my veins. Even during Colonel’s funeral, I was lying in some alleyway with a needle stuck in my skin. If it weren’t for my connections in the department, no one would’ve even considered giving me a try.

Jason gets off his laptop, and is met with the disapproving look in his father’s eyes. The near 25-year old didn’t wait for another moment, pleading his case to his father, who looked happy but his son knew he was anything but.

“Dad, it’s been over a year since I touched any of my vices, and I plan to never go back that route. It’s been quite a struggle but I feel like I finally have some control over my life. Of course, Becky has been helping me get through all of this. She’s the one who gave me the push I needed to join the police department. It’s where you spent your final few days working, so it’s fitting. I want you to be proud”.

As Jason plays back, in his head, what all he just said, he moves his hand towards a photograph placed on the shelf, right in front of a large group of books. He picks it up and slowly stretches his arm, so the picture is at a proper arms-length from him, and right in his eye line. Spending a brief moment staring at the picture, he murmurs – “I wish you had seen this side of me. I wanted to make you proud”.

As soon as he finished his statement, he heard a familiar voice at the foot of the room. Turning around with a bright smile on his face, he let go of the sad tone his voice had earlier. Becky was the only person who meant something to Jason. She was a neighbour, but was closer than any family he had. While everyone else had given up on him, she reminded him that his life mattered. He was in love with her since the first time he saw her, but never found himself capable of asking her out.

“Oh, you are already up, and here I was perfecting my ‘Wake Up, Poop-head’ chant”, the tall, pale, ginger figure of Becky laughed walking towards Jason. “Whom were you talking to this time – your mom or Mr. Leigh?”, she asked genuinely curious to know. This had happened numerous times before; every time Jason was in trouble or took a step ahead in life, he would talk to his parents as if they were standing alongside him.

“I will never understand why you refer to my dad as ‘Mr. Leigh’, when you are very comfortable referring to mom as ‘mom’”. Jason already knew the answer, being constantly reminded by Becky’s father to call him ‘Mr. Harvey’ because he took part in the Civil War re-enactment from time-to-time.

Becky walks into the kitchen, and Jason follows. She had been preparing breakfast for him almost everyday, so it was nothing more than a daily routine. Those two months when she was out of state were as hard on him, as they were on her. She couldn’t wait to get back to him, and he couldn’t wait for something other than McDonalds and Burger King. Out of practice, Jason is almost at his seat awaiting his food, only to be stopped in his tracks. “No, no! There’s no time. You can have your breakfast on the way, in the car. You are expected at the shooting range in twenty minutes. I'm driving you there."

Monday, December 26, 2011

Why Criminology?

The BFF (who is meeting me in person after 5 years) pointed out that I don't blog as much as I used to. Put it on twitter and I got a prompt asking why I study what I do.

Now, if that doesn't spring me into writing mode, nothing will.

My interest in Criminology happened because 1. It sounded cool. 2. I got to leave home to be closer a particular someone. A year and a half later, it still is damn cool and the particular someone is nowhere to be seen.

What has changed is my interest in the subject and how it fits in perfectly with everything I have always wanted to achieve. It is a perfect mix of practical and research options. Not only that it lets me feel like a superhero. Preventing crime and sending the offenders to jail and all of that without wearing my panties over my jeans.

It exposes to me to so many issues of the real world that it has burst my comfortable bubble. It makes me sensitive and aware.

There's this subject in particular called Victimology that I have my mind on. It is awesome. (Yes, I use that adjective a lot) There is such a lack of awareness in this field. The offenders have a lot rights. There is a minimum standard rules that have be adhered when it comes to prisoners but there is nothing like that for victims. Indian law too looks at victims as mere PW1 or public witness number 1. There isn't any special consideration given.

While the accused can avail of a number of schemes and things, what does the victim get?

For all that and more, I love Criminology. Yay.

(This took so much effort to write. I must write often. I need to get into the habit.)

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

I have a dream

I have a dream. It is far fetched and totally possible. If only, I had enough money. Will you fund me?
I have always been intrigued by the idea of a non profit company. An industry that does good without relying on outside sources of money. Studying criminology has only strengthened this aspiration. And now, it has more form and shape than ever. (Of course, there is still a long way to go)
The idea is to start a prison industry. No, that is not a place where prisons are manufactured. Rather, an industry that functions within the prison. Yes, there are already many of those already. But this goes one step further. Not only, are they trained and given employment within the prison but when they get out, a similar set up outside gives them the same job for a period of a year. They are given accommodation and a job. It will function as a half way house. They have training, they have a job for a year.
Once the year is up, they are "let go" into the world with a letter of recommendation and experience. They are ready to fight this cruel world.
What this industry will do is a big question and that is yet to be answered. But if I have so come so far with this, I hope I will go all the way....
What do you think?