Laws are obeyed, rules are followed, but in this age of hyper-individualism, is that unspoken, unwritten code of conduct termed civic sense becoming a dying art? Or do we still have time to salvage some remnants? Causes and effects are plenty, but at the receiving end of such apathy are those who still value empathy as one of the guiding lights of life, and for them its absence stings, just as it does for me. Take the example of the maddening evening crowd in the metros of Dubai. The government has done a fabulous job of connecting every nook and corner of the land with a state-of-the-art metro service that is user-friendly, sleek, and reliable, programmed at regular intervals to match the surge of commuters. That’s when we find those adamant ladies who won’t budge an inch from the doorstep. Those getting in either need to know a little bit of acrobatics or muster immense strength and agility to push past these human pillars. It is not because they can’t move in or need to exit at the...
Back in the 90s, while in college, "a family that ate together... ", was the norm. Privacy was not a word often uttered, let alone having any importance in simple middle class households. A room to yourselves, even if you lived in a fairly large three bedroom house, was not very common. Closing the door to the room and staying most of your waking hours in your own utopia was a big taboo. So, I studied in a bedroom which had a study table and which ensured that I was in tune with the day-to-day household happenings. My concentration power depended on my interest in studies. Everything happened in tandem with the inner and outer microcosm. And in the ladies hostel where I was put up, space was at a premium. Three narrow beds occupied the whole of the room and the rest held our bags and other paraphernalia, a small curtain with just enough space behind, to extend folded hands was all the privacy we could have. But, that closed space ensured a little world in...
Uprooted plants, portulacas dismembered , torn leaves- off late my garden witnessed mysterious attacks which had me baffled . No amount of arranging and rearranging or repotting, had an impact. The Sherlock Holmes in me , looked for clues and could find none. I decided to keep a vigil during the day and positioned myself on the sofa to get a full view of my balcony . Before long, a handsome hunk, adorned in astonishing multicolours, appeared . After an end to end inspection of my plants, with a look that said, "uff, cant she have some exotic ones instead of the obvious Portulacas or Vincas,," he started plucking them. No, 'plucking them' would be an understatement, he was pulling it the same way I shred the coconut with my hands, with all my might.. My heart froze in icy horror for a second. My babies, my precious , much looked after plants were suffering. Then regaining my wits, I jumped up from my cozy sofa and with a war cry , ran out in to the swelterin...
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