melange.

cover by Pavani Chandak

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CHOOSE YOUR READ

My Take on Women EqualityBy Amit Uppin

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Of Storms and LifeBy Aabha Sant

BelartsBy Akshata Kelvekar

Kalkeri Sangeet VidyalayaBy Pratik Talwar

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The streaks of red sunlight gleamed in through the few creeks of the window, shining bright into my yet slumber-ing eyes, closing in tighter to avert the dreaming brain from breaking up. I in-stinctively picked up my phone to check the time, reading 6:05 am. Shrugging off the worries of delving into my peace-ful sleep again, I picked myself up from bed and woke up to the morning call of birds. The unusually tranquil atmosphere seemed to intrigue me about the rest of the families’ whereabouts. I nevertheless negotiated my slump body to the athletic track; a few musical notes from the clas-sical Debussy and Mozart set my mind in sync with time. The cascading tunes with the placid morning air of fresh heavens seemed to seduce my mind to a state of clear stream of thought. The usual morn-ing crowd of walkers, strollers, cricket playing teens seemed to already beat me. The subtle glow of the red morning sun lingered in the air, streaking on to the Amit Uppin

faces of people which induced a kind of hueof eternal freshness. The trees seemed to enjoy a special kind of radiating green which was a vi-sual gratification from the usual ce-ment and concrete structures which now seemed to protrude at every available space.After about 30 minutes of running, the usual apathy of laziness seemed to consume my body compelling me to sit for a few moments. I usu-ally prefer solitude to a crowd; the empty bench at the end of the track shadowed by a big banyan tree seemed alluring to me in order so I can enjoy the silence and morn-ing energy compared to the rest. Occupying the seat, I engulfed into my usual train of thoughts of deep set observation and connection. A group of athletes with an unusu-ally high tone of frolic and laughter caught my eye. They all seemed to point animatedly at something or

someone, enjoying the incident, my eager eyes followed their gaze to a woman in shorts and a t-shirt who was jogging along the track, cal-lous to the scrutinizing eyes which were ridiculing and mocking her body. Taken aback I tried to wonder what it felt like to be a woman. To be looked upon as an object of flesh and carnal satisfaction for their own needs. The very thought of being gazed upon and ridiculed seemed to be unacceptable in my head. For one moment I felt that the group of athletes was doing what they were made to do, the tinge of attraction and lust seemed perfectly normal but my stream was interrupted by the footsteps I heard, which were faint and surprising in the usually lonely part of the track grounds. A man in green shirt seemed to be sitting close to me, my mind indif-ferent to his presence continued into its introspective thinking.“Bahut

garmi hai ji” his eyes seemed to wander to look at the sun, which was already at its full glory shining down with bright yellow morning light. Reluctant to break my in-sight, I replied “haan ji”. The way in which people from different reli-gions used the phrase in a variable accent and tone seemed to captivate my brain right now indifferent to the fact that his words intend to start a conversation. He asked, ”Tum karte kay ho?”. I decided to give my ob-servation and self loathing a kick and strike a simple conversation. We drifted into the usual question and answers about the weather and people but I could see in his eyes that there was a covert agenda be-hind this conversation. His talk now drifted to cricket and fitness. He asked me some questions to which I gave usual answers. It was then that the personal questions about my waist line and likes, seemed to

convey a sense of poignant alert. I remember thinking to myself “I’m a guy. What’s the worst that could happen?”He then, stated to pose himself as a physical trainer, I was in no mood to buy the deceit which seemed to radiate with every word he uttered. His breath emerged out of a seclud-ed incentive which he draped in an innocent conversation. He then asked if he could see my hand. Pre-tending to be a palm reader, I saw that his eyes wandered more to my waist than the creases, about which he said something complimentary, which rather came out to me as a feign. My mere speculation wasn’t enough to excuse myself out of the conversation. His hands suddenly moved up to my waist pressing against the shirt over my skin, my mind too much in a state of awe to react to his motions which seemed perfectly innocent and natural. He

replied with a casual tone telling me that my waist is not fit and the chubby skin is making my body slow. In such situations you cannot directly accuse blame or jump to conclusions over intentions of peo-ple. With the act so clearly cloaked in disguise of a fitness instructor, I felt a wave of disgust streaming through my veins making my throat dry. I quickly excused myself telling him, I have to jog and left the bench walking towards the track. His pas-sive movement and foot steps be-hind me didn’t strike my ear but when it did it was too late to react. His hands already on my waist now bolder he asked me to turn around so that he could show me how un-fit my body was. I’ve always been dogmatic about my appearances in public and so as to avoid the glare of public eye. I didn’t wish to make a scene so I turned around and told him I’m running and asked him

to stop following me. “Arrey aisa kuch nai hai. Main ek fitness trainer huun, mai appko dikhata huun...” With swift movement, he immedi-ately put his arms on my buttocks, pressing against them, his hands trying to hustle inside my pants. I scrambled to my senses in a split second, pushed his hands, shrugged his touch and left the scene quicker than I had come, careful not to em-barrass myself. I felt completely helpless; here I was being sexually assaulted in striking distance of the public .I gulped down my helpless quivers which I silenced inside my throat to avoid the embarrassment.The colossal wave of disgruntled repugnance sent shivers right down my spine which weakened my body and sent a rush of Goosebumps which stuck out like a victimized cat. The feeling of shame and dis-honour which choked down my throat, offered me with a hard hitt-

ing perspective about the plight of women. The feeling of apathy which I seemed to be evidently lacking a few moments before, now eloped me entirely. Every time I think of the unbridled lust inside his pupil-dilated-eyes, the feeling of empathy for women takes over. The striking disparity and segrega-tion which exists in every layer of our society has done harm to both the sexes. I wish not to bore you with the usual talk of woman em-powerment, but for the moment, I want you to think about your harm-less actions and their implication. The stares that a woman faces, not only gets her uncomfortable but the kind of thoughts that the stares hint at, gets her body and mind fearful. This fear of men is obviously repli-cated by segregation and stereotyp-ing. It is not just the rapes, equal-ity and woman empowerment that people should be aware about, a

simple change of perspective could bring about oodles of change in our societies.The ordeal took my perspective on gender disparity to a whole new level. I don’t wish anyone to go through the same incident as I did, but emphasize on the feeling of helplessness and comprehend the silence which the hearts bear. Sisters and mothers of our country endure this attitude everyday and carry it to work and to schools. Ev-ery second that they step out, the in-tense gaze of lustful men continue unabated, indifferent to the psycho-logical and emotional implications of the women of our society. So the next you see a pretty girl walking down the lane, envision how it would feel to be looked upon every second with lustful eyes like you were nothing but a mere piece of meat.

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Of Storms and Life

There is a little hesitation,But my foot steps forward.Out of the sheltered porch, Defenseless in torrential weather.In minutes I am drenched,The reluctance has disap-peared.Before long, I welcome the showers,The thunder and lightning,Getting comfortable en route.The damp is soon forgotten,...My wandering thinker moves on-To areas both turbulent and calm.As the storm roars on,

Numerous sights soar by.the destination comes in view,the journey approaches an end.In a jiffy I’m home, warm and cozy,the storm still raging out the door.

How similar is this weather,to the daily squalls we encoun-ter? can we truly learn,To enjoy the rain and thunder?If we stop in our daily scrabbleThrough the storms we might see:How beautiful is the journey,How satisfying is its purpose.

Aabha Sant

BELA

RTS

Belarts is a business venture started by Akshata Kelvekar, a student of Lingraj College Belgaum. She is a student of BBA and is a young, striving and one of the very few student entrepreneurs of the city.

BELARTS.It all began when I was doing some craft for my sister’s school activi-ties. I continued doing it for long and just happened to show it to my friends. They appreciated it a lot and suggested that I could turn it into a business of my own. The idea was sure exciting I thought. Initially I did in fact take it lightly but after a few days I thought the idea actually made sense and so I followed it. I made some samples and showed it to people. It did re-ally well and this was how Belarts started.I started off by making greeting cards, it was the Christmas season

then. The sales were good and people got introduced to Belarts. Orders, customizations and bulk orders started flowing in more and more frequently.The major launch was that of paper bags. Everybody appreciated the new initiative as it was something new and unique way. The bags are usually made for presenting and gifting. Belarts is now successfully established in the market. We have our presence on Facebook through a page named Belarts (www.facebook.com/belgaumarts)The major challenge was in bring-ing the handmade products in the

Akshata Kelvekar

market as the machine made ones are much more easily accessible. It was also important to keep the colors and designs updated with the changing trends. It is extremely important in a venture such as this to come up with innovative designs and maintaining the uniqueness of them. The demand for colors also depends on the various seasons just like neon is preferred during Summers. When handcrafting a product, consistency is a challenge. In all of the products paper bags market is much different as there is a huge competition when in the market. But the product is at its best selling. It is really nice to know that people buy handmade paper-bags than going for plastic ones. The bulk orders for bags is what is the best for my business. The customers also appreciate the use of such bags for birthday return gifts, so on and so forth.

My future plan is to get my prod-ucts in front of as many as people possible and offer a variety of options in my present product line. Coming up with new product line would also be in my list. Handmade products are one of its kind. When buying from an artist, the consumer buys more than the object itself. You are buying hundreds of hours of failure and ex-perimentations. You aren’t buying just a thing you are buying a piece of heart, part of soul, a moment of someone’s life. More than that you are buying a person’s precious time that they use to make things that they are passionate about.My advice to people starting some-thing like this is that they have to be passionate about their work and truly believe in the product. Yes, I agree that it is a tough market for startups but believe me once you are established, it will all be worth it. Never give up on your dreams!

alkeri Sangeet Vidyalaya Pratik Talwar

alkeri Sangeet VidyalayaIt was just a regular day in college and we were trying to get all that we could from our lecturers. Suddenly there was this uncanny pause by the professor. Two seniors walked in, both a part of the LEAD, a social body by Deshpande Foundation and began announcing about their two-day camp to be held in Hubli. When they started taking us through the details I was least interested, but once they mentioned about Kalkeri Sangeet Vidyalaya, a school for not only academics but also music, run by a group of foreigners, I was surprised and paid more attention to what they were conveying. It didn’t take me and two other friends long to register for it. Thus we left for Hubli, and made it to BVB Col-lege, where our camp’s first stop was supposed to be. On that same day, we left for Kalkeri, a village around 40 km away from Dharwad. Our trip was filled with so much excitement which resulted out of the eight to nine km walk

because of the breakdown of our camp bus. We took the perfect ride for all of the 43 members. The ride was the empty carriage of a tractor. We went up till our camp bus was repaired and continued our journey further to KSV. We reached the place and it wasn’t like anything I had expected.I had expected what any other person would expect from a contemporary school, but it was something definitely better. It had these small huts, huge trees, a small playground and the smiles on the faces of those kids, made the experience so overwhelming.The same evening our camp head Mr. Abhinan-dan had arranged a small talk with the man currently in-charge of the school. He introduced himself and the school, by telling us about the way things run, the maintenance and how the kids cannot afford quality education. The school took a tuition fee, admission fee, hostel fee and mess fee, all together summing up to nothing!

That’s right, the education, he told us, was free of cost for these kids. The kids go through a tough background check to confirm if they are genuinely facing social or economical crises, after which the kids are provided with free quality education.After his talk, he escorted us towards the mess for us to enjoy our dinner. We waited as the children were yet to finish up with theirs. The food was amazing and the quantity prepared was enormous. After our dinner we were to set up our tents for the night. So we got to work. The girls were accommodated in the hostel rooms. At around 10:30 pm when we guys just finished up with our dinner and thought of taking a stroll, we passed by a staff’s hut. He definitely didn’t look Indian and he was seated there with this awe-inspiring instrument, the Sitar, playing his way, so beautifully. Then a warden came by and told us to head back as it was better not to disturb them. We did leave and soon went to bed as we had to be up at 6:00 in the morning. The next morning at 6:30 am, we were lead down the path on foot and we came across this

beautiful pond. Our professor began telling us the reason we were brought to that lake. He said that there was only one way to enjoy the scenic beauty of that place and it was by listening to it. He asked everyone to stay calm and try to listen to our surroundings. He called it the ‘Nature walk’. Yes, I felt it and it felt beautiful.The school wardens were serving breakfast to the students. Soon a group moved forward and asked the wardens if it’d be okay, if they could served the food. The wardens agreed. Soon the kids came in one by one to take their plates and we served them Idlis. The words that the small boy said, “Thank you, sir” touched my heart. There were about six to seven Spaniards, two to three Canadians and some more other volunteers. Later came he, “the Sitarist” for his breakfast. He was happy to see such a young crowd around. I asked him about the place from where he had learnt to play the Sitar. He said, “Where did you see me play?” And then we explained about our late night visit to him. He smiled and said that he had learnt it from right there, the school. He was from Mexico and he

volunteered for three months every year. Sadly, I never got his name. Our visit there was not for a pep talk or for wandering around. We were there on a mission. Our mission was to build a nice walkable path in the school, prepare fences and a bunch of other stuff, all for the benefit of the school. All of us were divided into groups and were assigned a few tasks, our team selected the fencing. We were given sticks and rods to dig. We finished up our work there, and were asked to rest. Some went on to play cricket with the kids while the others slept. We were to leave immediately after our lunch. We packed up and got ready. Just before we were about to leave, the head called us all back and had a surprise for us. He had arranged for a concert. Indian classical songs, solos, the choir, instrumentals and the Bharatanatyam was absolutely mesmerizing. We appreciated their hospitality and benevolence. The talent was utterly brilliant. Later, there was a discus-sion about how this school was supported, who sponsored them, their achievements, their troubles, land disputes and orthodox mindsets

leading to the innumerable challenges. He also explained to us about the volunteering, spon-soring and how we could contribute to their venture by just merely spreading the word.Around 4:00 pm, we left for Hubli, taking with us this wonderful experience and so many overwhelming stories to share. For more information and for volunteering @: http://www.ksv.org.in/

Melange is a magazine for thecreative minds and writers of the city of Belgaum, Karnataka to help get into picture their flare of writing and the wide range of productive, innovative and interesting activities that they engage themselves with. It is a platform for everyone who wishes to know what this city is doing and for people who want to get in touch with the others in the field of their interest. If you wish to send your entries, you can do so by mailing it to:themagazine.bgm@gmail.com

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Magazine by: Himali Kelvekar himalirk@gmail.com Himali is a student of BA in Media, Literature and Psychology at Christ University, Bangalore.