Of Scruffy Beards and Male Insecurities

This is an issue that has been bothering me for a long time now. As you may know by this time, if you’re a regular reader, this is a rant. So, for those of you who are hurt by the title itself, I suggest you leave right away because things are going to get a lot worse from right about now.

I don’t know if it is that I attract the weird people or if I’m the insane one, but I seem to come across plenty with wrong ideas or flawed principles. One such that I refuse to agree with is the statement that ‘You need a beard to call yourself a man’.

Just one word to sum up how I feel about that. Ridiculous. (Actually, that’s not the word but I don’t want to abuse in public. So, just insert an appropriate profanity!)

Now let me make one thing clear to you.¬† Physical appearance is a choice. It’s based on perception. This rant is not about whether it is right or not to have¬† a beard. It’s about not passing around baseless remarks that affect the way other people would like to look. I know this guy who looks really adorable when he’s clean shaven (I have his number and you don’t, ha!) and all the girls love him, but he refuses to shave his beard off because he’s afraid of what the ‘other guys’ would say. I asked him whether he liked it with all the facial hair. He shook his head like he had no option and that was when I knew I just had to write this.

Being a man is not about having facial hair or puffed-up muscles. It’s about sticking to your principles and knowing what you’re worth instead of being bogged down by senseless rules. It’s about being human (No, not that T-shirt Quote) and believing in what’s wrong as well as sticking up for what’s right. It’s about supporting those around you and spreading awareness about life.

So, don’t tell me that by some godforsaken definition, a ‘man’ is defined by his physical appearance! What dictionary are you guys even looking at?
How much of a ‘man’ are you when you rape a woman just because she’s alone and defenseless? What kind of a ‘man’ do you think you are when you beat up your wife? How much of a ‘man’ do you quantify as when you lie, cheat, steal? What makes you a ‘man’ when you stand by watching a crime happen and do absolutely nothing to help?

I am sorry but there is no way I will nod and agree if you say that your laziness in shaving off your facial hair or your just sitting there and letting your beard grow makes you think that you’re more of a man than the rest are.

You really want to be a man? Then stop being such a jerk!

A tribute to a Miracle


We both know I’m bad at expression,
So let me put it this way,
I’m lucky to have a mother like you,
So I gift you a poem on Mothers’ Day


What started off as a nine month ordeal,
Is now, shockingly, already midway,
Though to you it may seem like a lifetime,
To me it feels like yesterday


Sometimes I may scream and rant,
I may annoy you and make you cry,
But know that you mean more to me
Than all the stars in the sky


Sometimes I may curse or insult you,
Actually I do it almost every day,
But know that you’re perfect the way you are,
I wouldn’t want it any other way


Sometimes I may make you wish,
Like you didn’t have me at all,
But know that I’m so thankful,
You’re the reason I’m standing tall.


These are the things that make you, you,
And upsetting you is what makes me, me
But as these emotions become memories,
I know Guilt and regret are all I will see


I mean every word I write,
It’s not just for the sake of rhyme,
It’s the only way I can let you know,
How I feel about you all the time


So, take a breather, sit down and smile,
Because saying this out loud is impossible for me,
So, through words I’ll portray my heart’s emotion,
The words that will finally set me free


Every tear, every sigh and every word of anger,
In my mind shall forever stay,
Not as bitter memories or negative feelings,
But as emotions of love our hearts portray


I know about all the sacrifices you’ve made,
The things you’ve given up for us two,
Just remember I’ll never love anyone
As much as I’ll always love you

If Only

She stood in the corner of the street, away from cold stares and heartless whispers as she shuddered under the raging thunder. The noise of pointless pencil heels and the dazzle of temporarily luxurious jewellery distracted her, almost for a second, till she remembered her own blistered toes and torn clothes and looked away, knowing she would always be so very close to the immaterial materialistic part of human life and yet be so far away.
No matter how much she tried to reach out, to delicately brush her fingers across all the lavishness she desperately longed for but could never have, she was unable to get close enough.

The lightning flashed across the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the world as it winked in a flash of a second, depriving the people of clarity. It reminded her of the sadistic jingle of coins that came from purses branded with money that could have instead been used to feed children like her and the crisp sharpness of notes that had the face of a man she would never be able to learn about.
A man who fought for the country without an inkling of the state it now was in with the alarming rates of malnutrition and poverty that affected the people, more so the innocent children who did not know the horrors of their lives.
A man who died a little too soon before he could see how much transformation lit up the lives of the rich and buried the hearts of the poor.
A man who would not expect nor want the cruelty that was stepping on children struggling to afford even one meal a day, let alone three.

And so, she stood, trying to take shelter from the harsh rain drops that would pierce her delicate skin, wrought from the exposure of the terrible mixture of pollution and human hatred. But as it actually began to pour, people seemed to finally see her, or so she thought, till they rushed towards the iron ledge she managed to hold on to for herself. As they pushed her out of the tiny space of comfort she would get for weeks to come, she looked up at the pairs of eyes that refused to see beyond the obvious.

She walked away in the rain, shivering as the water got through the numerous tears in her clothes and found their way towards her hauntingly obvious ribs and the inward curve of her abdomen while, in a painful contrast, most other kids her age were healthy from eating off plates instead of garbage cans.

As an inward shudder escaped her and she heard her stomach growl from hunger, she felt herself go dizzy till she gave in to her boiling skin and the pain in her bones, falling to the floor in a dead faint. It was hours before she spotted but by then it was too late.

Her battered heart had given up on her.

If only.

This post is a part of the #Vote4Children Blog-a-thon on 
Youth Ki Awaaz. 
Find out more at: http://www.youthkiawaaz.com/vote4children