What if...

I had a windfall of 100 million and only a day on this planet?

And,what does that have to do with GHSP?

Nothing.

After watching today's episode I was reminded of one of the most unforgettable days of my life. It will be retold in greatest of detail from this point on. So watch the clock😉.

And no, I am not getting into a game of bell the cat for the debacle the show is turning out to be in the absence of its lead artists. It's inevitable that a work around solution will never go down well with us insatiable loyalists.

I am merely curious, that Nayantara/ Dev/ Geet have not filled in on Maan about the last 24 months that is wiped out from his memory. Geet can fondly recount and relive the Amritsar days, Maan can get curious about turn of events when it suits him, Dev can skip office but have all the time in the world to chase butterflies yet no one, even Maan, doesn't want to know how he got hitched to Geet. Dint he have a problem with that in the first place that he is married to someone like Geet of all the people on this planet and resented it more than anything else?

The story's continuing affection with Dev's character sketch leaves me dumb founded to say the least. I have been flabbergasted each time a new love interest is introduced to fashion his character. Makes me want to murder someone and beg forgiveness, be absolved of the crime and guilt and then get on with my life. How convenient!

Today was the last straw, with Dev itching to get in between sheets with a girl whom he hasn't been honest with. And for the first time I came to despise Geet's stand. She should have come clean about Dev's past with every sordid detail to her sister when she had the opportunity to since learning of the hush hush rush rush wedding. Dev came much later into her life. Her first allegiance should to be to her family, more so her sister who deserved to know it all before making such an important decision of her life.

I din't expect Dev to bare it all anyways but I am supremely pissed at the turn of events. How is that Maan dint ask Geet what he had done to cause her to leave KM. How is that Maan trying to recall the minor things aren't a setback to his health, and the prompts that the family members make of inconsequential things don't kill him, but telling/reminding him of the real incidents would be detrimental to his health? What f****d up logicis that?

Coming to the title of this post, I was a part of the Toastmasters International movement and member of a corporate club until recently. (Google that up if you please, the ToastMasters org I mean) It's a club wherein members who wish to be better communicators and leaders come together to hone their skills. I joined the club merely because I am good at small talks but when it comes to making a speech in front of an intelligent audience I would be dumb struck and not as articulate as I am otherwise much to my chagrin.

One of the strengths the meet allows you to develop is speaking on your feet, even thinking😛. More like JAM sessions. You are timed and under the scanner even as the scenario is given to you. When answering that question back then I had kept it light hearted and witty. Yes, it's strange that, this particular moment should bug me in the middle of sleep and get me writing on IF at this ungodly hour if only to vent.

So, why now?

8th March 2002 is one date that I can't get out of my head. It was the Intl Woman's day and like most colleges ours too had a week long celebration. I studied at this premier institute where the intake ratios of ladies vis--vis men were 1:10. The combined strength of woman in college then was 124. As part of the festival, we had the privilege of attending seminars, have counters for free and sumptuous lunch, gift vouchers for branded clothing's and accessories, and best of all no show for lectures went unquestioned given that so much was going around.(envy I smell is it? we had a rocking student's union that year)

The day began nothing out of routine until I set foot in the canteen and the head of Woman's cell herded us all to the auditorium. We discovered we had a mandatory seminar to sit through attended by the elites, a fearless reputed ex top brass cop, a psychologist ( also an alumni ), a lawyer and an ex model.

Once things got underway I had to practically stifle my yawns until the model walked up to the speaker's podium. She had on black jeans with a white full sleeved tee and a cap, the peak of which she had pulled as deep in her face as was possible which made it impossible to make out her features clearly. Her hair was cut short. I perked up in my seat hoping to finally get to the interesting part of this borderline boring speech fest.

She introduced herself (and no I am not taking names here) and launched into an chirpy account of her uneventful yet happy childhood, her happy years of breaking into the world of glamour, the money that came in affording her vacations abroad and shopping at top line branded boutiques. Life was good till tragedy struck home at a private party where she was abused by some men and left unconscious to be discovered by the housekeeping.

When she woke at a nursing home she had little or no recollection of the previous night as she was tipsy herself and all that alcohol combined with the exhaustion of a day's shoot had blurred it for her. She confided with friends and colleagues, most of whom, discouraged her from going to authorities and suggested she got on with work as if nothing happened. Superficially she too deemed it fit to forget it all as nothing could be gained out of all the trouble it would put her to. Not to mention the infamy and her family being subjected to it all would be a nightmare.

Her words -verbatim, "They say time heals everything. It doesn't."

With every single day, the expenses mounted, forcing her to clean up her act and walk the ramp again. It turned out to be a living nightmare. Word had gotten around, people sympathized with her. Some offered to help and some even made covert suggestion. She worked herself to near death to take her mind off it all. Drug abuse followed. Her tiny apartment and its loneliness spelled hell's fury. Her career spiraled out of control, the friends thinned out , the family stepped in ,just in time for the rescue, and she ended up in a rehab.

8 years on the scarred for life woman stood before us to let us know what empowerment really felt like. Life was back on track with family and people who cared for her.

I was too stunned and after the seminar attended the Auditing lecture, joined my regular bunch of buddies for lunch. The fest rep came around asking for head counts of those attending the outing organized by the NSS wing. Unsure of what that was but anticipating fun I raised my hand and subsequently found myself in a bus with 18 others and 2 lady lecturers to keep an eye on us.

It turned out to be an NGO, one that supported abused woman from all walks of life. We were shown into a large hall with plastic chairs arranged in neat circles, rickety fans creaking on lifelessly. 2 of the admin's addressed us on what to expect in the next hour and on observing the code of conduct. All my joy was lost when I realized we would be interacting with women who had faced, sexual abuse, dowry abuse, been beaten to pulp, had acid thrown on their faces or simply been set on fire. Either it was just me or others around knew what they were getting into

that, none of them showed any expressions on their face. It felt too dumb for me to ask now and the girl on my either sides were from another batch so I dint feel up to striking a conversation with them, not under those circumstances anyways.

The ladies walked in, in a single file, dressed ordinarily in salwar kameez and sarees, some with stole over their faces and shoulders and filled in the remaining chairs. Some of them shared their lives with us, as if that hadn't happened to them at all and some recounted with a bitter passion that brought lump in out throats and tears stung at our eyes.

Few of the girls had excused themselves by then and one eventually threw up (after she accidentally saw the burnt face of one of the victims) and had to be carried to the bus.I remained till the fag end if only because my feet were glued onto the floor and I felt inertia from deep within.Was that out of fear? A pain in my gut? The sadness of it? The horror of it all? I don't know.

The women spoke of how they were abandoned by their families, how little or no education had made it impossible for them to have a shot at life in the real world post the tragedy and how reconstructing life bit by bit was like living hell. They had been treated mistreated and worse not even regarded a human being. I was wishing then for the ground beneath my feet to give away and be swallowed up whole.

But then few of the anguished women actually smiled and waved to us as we were leaving. They seemed to have found their peace. It made me think. Think deep and hard. The ride back to college was grim and the atmosphere was glum, even tensed so much so that had one lit a match it would have caught fire.

And I filed that day away in my memory bank and moved on.

Until tonight that is. I cursed myself for not recalling that day when I was speaking at the Toastmaster's forum. I should have answered that question differently. And in the hindsight I feel like kicking myself in the ***.

I should have replied that, whether I lived for a day or more, had I been in possession of that kind of insane money I would have liked to make a real effort to better someone's life. 'The longest of journeys start with a single step", so says some wisecrack.

I would have wanted to leave at least one soul more empowered than I find them. I would have wanted for women to feel safe, in their homes and outside. I would have wanted to let the world know that being economically independent and educated was a huge boost to that feeling but the real empowerment came from within the voice in your head, no matter how feeble.

What life does to you is of little significance than what you would do with that.

The good, the bad and the downright ugly is here to stay. It's convenient for me to sit amongst the comforts and confines of my home and pay lip service to all that the hardcore feminists say.

I would have wanted to make that difference and if money made things easier, even better.

Geet had her babaji smiling on her and leading her into Maan's arms and the life she leads today.She got lucky. What about the millions waiting for that silver lining?

Maan and Geet's Amritsar family needs to know the truth. It's not for Geet to decide what needs to be told and what held back from Nandini before she walks hand in hand with Dev for the rest of her life. I know it's a goddamn TV show, a daily soap at that, a piece of fiction, but why am I not able to get my head around that?

The story held such promises only that it was all a mirage. I feel cheated and yet I have no one but myself to blame.

On second thoughts, I would also funnel some of that 100 million into producing a show and deliver the truth. But then it wouldn't be as popular would it?