An excerpt from The Female Ward

Moving Nazma under the fan made no difference to her fever, she became weaker as the night went on. She drifted in and out of consciousness, but when she was conscious, she couldn’t speak to us. We took it in turns to hold her hand. At some point during the night, a noisy wind began blowing through the broken windows and shortly after that, a storm rose up.

Around midnight there was a particularly loud clap of thunder, and her grip on my fingers tightened. She raised her eyebrows, widened her eyes and raised her body slightly in her struggle to breathe. Her eyes were still open as she died and abandoned her grip on my fingers. The end of her deep green sari moved slightly in the wind. Her inanimate form made a blurry vision through the tears at the corners of my eyes, but when I could look at her properly I saw that she was beautiful in her death.

I looked quickly over to Rinki and she was deep in sleep and smiling. Perhaps she was dreaming of going to school, escorted by her ammu and her abbu. There would be no one Rinki could get support from when she woke the next morning… no one to hold the back of her head and massage oil into her face… no one to run behind her with food when she refused to eat. She could now run around the prison whenever she wanted to, there would be no one to stop her and make her calm down.

We laid Nazma out as best we could with her arms by her sides. We combed her hair and straightened her sari, we washed her face and her feet with water from the bucket, we closed her eyes, and we prayed over her.

None of us could sleep that night, we couldn’t even think of it. We sat in silence around Nazma’s body and then at about two o’clock Rinki woke up, although she’d slept through the worst of the storm. We watched her walking towards us with her tiny irregular steps and we made room for her. No one spoke. Rinki stared at each of us in turn and most of us were crying, then she stared down at her ammu. She frowned and blinked and seemed to look harder at Nazma, but strangely, she didn’t call out to her, didn’t ask her to wake up. It was as if she knew, as if she had accepted that her ammu was dead and that she was now in an ammu-less world. She sat down quietly by her mother’s head and bent her face even closer to gaze at her. Then, after some time, she lay down beside her, and hugged her, holding Nazma’s deep green sari tightly in her tiny fingers. She closed her eyes, and although she made no sound at all, I saw a tear form in the corner of her eyelid and twinkle like the stars had done earlier that same night.

Life and Bulls

If everyone loves you,
Something sure is wrong
Find yourself an enemy
Who’ll sing an alert song.
Everything done today
Shall effect the future at last
And by all redemption
Shall it effect the past.
Life is very
And very very short
Kiss slowly, love truly
To those you love a lot.
Laugh intensely,
And quickly forgive
You never know how long
Or short you may live.
Do not explain since
Friends don’t wish to receive
The reasons from you
That enemies don’t believe
For enemies are confused
And confused admirers too
Who fail to realize
Why others love you.
Choose to live life
And not think about it
Or one day in your life
Only bulls shall fit.

Just zatak her!!!!

From my childhood I've heard everyone starting from my Mom, Dad, Granny, neighborhood aunties, politicians, the government... zooming in the need for girls to dress decently for their own safety. I personally have no issues with clothings of women... They are free to wear anything they like or are comfortable in. But something disturbing me of late is that how safe Indian women really are in the era when a beautiful bride dressed in her traditional ethnic wear, perfectly modest and decent, can be zatak-ed by a boy next door that leads to the newly wed bride breaking out from marriage? Atleast this is what a latest perfume ad has portrayed. The usage of controversial women images has itself been a controversy from the start of advertising. But the issue is one that seeks serious introspection since our age old values and virtues are on the verge of being cited as an epitome of hypocrisy.

The Female Ward: The Evening My Dream Came True

I'd read it somewhere, online probably, that in book launches "the media come marching like a row of ants to a lump of sugar when the celebrity shows up, then buyers come to gawk at who the media is gawking at"... 

My debut book launch was at the Oxford Bookstore, Kolkata on 12th Oct, at 6:30 pm. I reached there two hours before with my Mum. The dim lights, the literary atmosphere, the wooden stairs... everything was usual about the place. Yet, there was something unusual. People running with posters and banners and book shelves. Usual again... since these are very common when there is a book launch. Unusual at the same time.

The posters had my name with the name of my book. The banners contained my photo. People were running here and there for me! Tension started pouring into my head... the guests, the celebrities, the media shall be here in about a couple of hours... what if I freeze... the media asks me questions that are tough to answer... what's going to happen in the press conference!!!

I glanced at my Mum. She was looking over the place. I could feel the pride in her heart... but shall I succeed in living it till the end?

Slowly the guests started filling up the place... the media... and the chief guests. My voice started trembling in the beginning but then I went on with the flow. Slowly, I realised that I'm actually loving it! Ranjan Banerjee and Alokananda Roy's sweet words for me and my book made me feel stronger.

My sis came up on the podium, smiled at me and went on perfectly to speak (thankfully) all good about me and my book.

Finally, the forum was open to the Press... I found Aritro sitting at one corner. I looked at him and he raised one of his eyebrows mischievously! I was apprehensive that he might ask me really bad questions before all. In the end, he didn't. I thank from the bottom of my heart to everyone present for asking me relatively easier questions than what I had expected and was fearing! 

I acknowledged Dida, my deceased granny, whom I've dedicated my book. Every time someone asked me about my inspiration, I safely (and that's very true) pointed at my Mum. And the questioning bullets turned towards her. 

What followed thereafter was overwhelming... the wishes and congratulations, the photo shoots, the interviews, the autographs and the photographs. Beyond all these I tried to glance at the face of my Mum... It was glowing with pride.

Then in the middle of an interview, I was lost. I heard a voice, 'Well done, my child!' They were Dida's tender words. I smiled and continued to speak before the camera.

My in-born faulty mechanism... will it get me wrong?

It is really difficult to manage so many things from a place, miles away from the venue of the launch... especially for a clumpsy person like me. Nevertheless, I'm trying to get ready for D day which is tomorrow, 12th Oct, my debut book launch.

Never in the wildest of my dreams have I thought that this could be so difficult... calling all the guests, ensuring that everyone turns up, especially the chief guests, making sure with the PR that seating, floral and food arrangements are going well, ensuring that the books have arrived (well, I haven't yet seen my book, they're in Kolkata and I'm miles away, like I just said)... could there be anything else??? And then suddenly I have a terror attack, almost a nervous breakdown, will my flight be on time tomorrow?

Like I said, I'm so much clumpsy... it always has got to be the last moment for everything... like landing on D day! This is to ensure that none of you reading this post might have a wrong impression that my boss is a monster who doesn't give holidays... My boss is too good. This hotch-potch situation is all my fault, or one may say my in-born talent (or faulty mechanism again).

In the end I would say, Goshhhh... writing a book is not even half the job done. Hats off to all the authors out there with many published works. Woooffff!!! I shall take a long (looooong) break after the book launch is done before I start preparing for writing another book (a rare possibility, as it seems from here, inside my cubicle, in my office, waiting to go home, pack my bags and get ready for the early morning flight)... I promise myself (like I've done so many times) it shall never be at the last moment again (a rare possibilty, but possible).

Once again, thank you all for all your wishes... they all matter to me... Hang on before I update on what and all happens at book launches.

Fingers Crossed!!!!

My editor... writer and editor, Rebecca Lloyd, winner of the inaugural Bristol Short Story Prize, 2008

She kept telling me... Lina, no anthropomorphisms please... Lina, fate cannot give a vicious smile! Lina, the walls cannot move... No, Lina, you're yet again using that which begins with 'a'. 

Well, that's just one out of so many things I've learnt from you.

Thanks Becca for teaching me the intricacies of fiction writing...

You're a wonderful person indeed

Social activist and celebrity dancer, Alokananda Roy on The Female Ward

As I read through the pages of the book, I could see the familiar faces in the Correctional Homes come alive in writing--- faces nobody bothers to think about because they are offenders ---- not Human beings.

I am so happy that you have cared to speak for thousands of unknown , uncared voices which will touch people and could open many eyes and hearts . It is a book which will also make people value life, not just of oneself, but of others…  especially the innocent children who are helplessly held captive for no faults of their own.

May this book change lives of thousands of prisoners who are human beings with the same emotions of joy, sorrow ,pain and dreams like you and me . God bless you.

..........................................................Alokananda Roy

and the cover page is here...

The Female Ward... God Almost Exists

…........It was 5:30 pm. The sun was falling beyond the trees that lined the Royal College of Engineering campus. The bell rang, marking the end of the first exam of the semester. The oscillating fan was rattling away when the police arrested Dishari and her friends. Was it only ragging, the way media had put it, or was it symptomatic of some much deeper malaise?

….......The hall with dull yellow walls, the banyan tree, the cold winter nights, the chilled water, the broken window panes, corruption and much more haunts the four walls of the jail every moment. The girls study for their seventh semester exam in this bleak environment shorn of the basic amenities. The ‘jailhold’ work becomes a part of their lives amidst the engineering books.

….......Dishari saw the last hint of orange peeking over the banyan tree before little Rinki fell asleep; and then came the storm… bringing wind, rain, terror, death.