Silk and the 'dirt'

Why did she die without love? She was too proud to seek it. And It would be grossly, sinfully wrong to pity her.
But, why...why did she die without even a trace of love around her?

She makes me cry. She makes me hate. She makes me feel what I have consciously pretended not to feel. She compels me to shred that pretense. Oh! she is definitely not alone or the first one. But, everytime she surfaces, the world weaves stories around her...attempts to boundarise her.

The question still remains burning....why did she die without love?

Is she 'she' because love eluded her? Yet, another attempt to confine her in a tragedy. There are so many tragedies and so little love. Love has eluded many. 'She', however, is not 'many'.... 

'Soul' and Consciousness in a Language-less world

I began my journey of language with Hindi, my mother tongue. I guess I became quite good with it (if appreciations are a measure of that). I used to write poetry in Hindi, I used to think in Hindi. And then English came along. In the wake of the 'competitive' English dominant world outside, I was taught to speak, write and think in English. It was difficult initially, but gradually thoughts came along unabated, getting manifested in words that grew more and more ornate with time and effort. Then came the time when I perhaps stopped thinking in Hindi. A friend of mine, upon hearing this, told rather disdainfully, " तुमने अंग्रेज़ी को अपनी आत्मा बेच दी है (You have sold your soul to English)". It was disturbing. Nevertheless, I continued writing 'soulless' poetry in Hindi, for poetry never came out in English. I continued fighting with words to churn out poetry (शब्दों से लड़ लड़ कर कविता लिखती रही). But, yes the poetry was soulless.
And then this question occurred to me, "where is my soul"?
It is definitely not with English, for I still struggle to express myself coherently when I talk in English. I do think in English most of the times, though, and formulate arguments, discuss 'issues'. Majority of my readings are in English. Most of my writings (including this) are in English. But, everytime I hear my favourite Hindi song, my heart skips a beat. Everytime I read a poem by Mahadevi Verma, I am carried to a distant world, from where I do not wish to come back. Everytime I watch the outburst of OmPuri in the climax of 'Aakrosh' and the stoic expression of Smita Patil in 'Bhumika', I forget every English movie I ever watched.
My soul might be wandering in a language-less world, my heart still lies in Hindi.

Journey....my experiments with life!

I really find this stint of mine with 'education' (studying development in Manchester) perhaps the most engaging and enriching one since my school life. School life is still much more closer to heart, owing to the fact that I made wonderful friends, met remarkable individuals in the form of teachers and in its true essence started the process of self-discovery...not ignoring the fact that I was in the cossetted abode of my family. So, in short, there was love everywhere.

My first encounter with 'hatred' and 'harsh reality', as I understand these terms today and what makes all the previous notions I had about them seem so benign, was when I entered NIFT. I do not want to paint it all in black and white, for surely everything was in varying shades of grey and a spectrum of several other colours. But, the most important contribution that my stay at NIFT made to my life and my journey was to toughen me and prepare me for challenges to come. It not only made me test my patience and stretch my capacity to endure pain beyond any known limits, in this process it also gave me an undeterred, endearing optimism, undying faith in goodness that I carry with me every moment.

Work, I admit, seemed much easier than I expected after surviving and not 'succumbing' to NIFT. And of course, work, unlike NIFT, was a much more informed and conscious choice, the first of its kind. So no doubt it was extremely satisfying, enlightening, sobering at the same time. Thanks to NIFT, the greys seemed much less daunting and there was a realization that this learning would never stop, come what may. I gradually started to enjoy this 'answerlessness' till it struck me that I was not moving anymore...neither a step further nor a step back...neither exploring nor reflecting. The awareness of the fact that one might never reach an answer seemed to start rusting my consciousness and perhaps my soul (whatever that is). I knew I had to overcome this inertia. There was no way out.

And now I am here. Studying again. The answerlessness remains. In fact it is somewhat celebrated here. But, this place has given me a chisel to critique this answerlessness from all sides. And something rather strange happened that I did not expect. These chiseled edges of my 'answerlessness' started hurting me. The one definite thing that my life till now had  taught me, the lesson of the inevitability of answerlessness, does not seem to let me be at peace with myself anymore. There is restlessness and there is contradiction. Isn't the very purpose of knowledge to arrive at answers. The improbability of finding answers does not mean that the purpose is lost. When did we give up on knowledge? When did we meekly submit to the fact that since finding answers is not feasible, the most convenient option remains to understand, critique and stop at that juncture? Losing or abandoning the very intention of finding answers, and thereafter covering this cowardice or failure in the garb of a higher intellectual and academic pursuit seems to me the sheer arrogance of knowledge and nothing else.

I feel an imminent need to smoothen the edges with answers, hypotheses, solutions. And I am ready for criticism, I am ready to take up the chisel again and again, endlessly if needed, while smoothening again and again, till I reach a core....if there is any. And if there isn't, it will at least be a shape I will be proud of.

That is not my religion!!!

Your blood does not boil when a child washes dishes in the neighborhood restaurant, or when a girl is robbed off her innocence and you would not even hire her as your domestic help, or when the focus from Corruption conveniently shifts to a cheap drama and you debate in detail on its nuances....but you fume with anger when a painter paints nude pictures of your deities. Well, we definitely do not belong to the same religion!
Religion for me has always been what emancipates humanism, love, peace. I find Hinduism closest to my heart because I grew up in its abode, learning, understanding life and the finer things that make life worth living. Mythology has always been symbolic to me. At times symbolic of leaves of ancient wisdom, the other times symbolising how power morphs storytelling to suit its whims and fancies.
When you get overwhelmed with mythology, which mythology is perfectly capable of, you tend to mistake symbolism with reality and that is where reason and logic diminish.
Mythology when perceived as reality do not appeal to my logical self and that is the reason the divinity thrust upon Ram seems repulsive and the much more comfortable human elements of Krishna appear close to heart. One finds it difficult to appreciate the fact that an innocent Ahalya needed to be made 'sin free' by being touched by Ram's toe, the same Ram who denigrated Sita's sacrifice and love by demanding an 'Agni Pariksha' and thereafter abandoning her when she was pregnant. But, one finds it quite easy to relate to Krishna who rose above the temptation of personal glorification and took steps that were necessary for a greater good while putting his own credibility at stake, when he ensured that Karna, Bhishma, Drona and Duryodhana meet their end anyhow, if not by justifiable means.
The logical self finds it difficult to accept that since Hanuman was a 'Bal Brahmchaari', the only way his son Makardhwaj could have been born was when a crocodile swallowed his sweat while he was crossing the sea! Was he perspiring sperms? How difficult it is to see Hanuman being perfectly human to have a son in the usual, natural manner? And I would go on to state that the poet too was trying to convey the same message by means of symbolism, where the crocodile or similar non-human but humanly behaving entities represent the ones who belonged to the lower rungs of hierarchy and mingling with them was considered a taboo in a pretty similar way as it is considered today.
I would once again quote the incident of Lakshman cutting Shurpnakha's nose as an example of an Aryan prince trying to establish his supremacy over a native princess.
http://samujjwala.blogspot.com/2010/07/here-we-have-two-bollywood-movies.html
The fact that Shurpnakha was molested and not mutilated is much easier to accept when we shred the divinity enveloped around Lakshman.
The poets have tried to convey much more than the naked eye can perceive by means of symbolism. It is commendable that the true message behind these stories is not all lost after being passed through generations of modifications under the influence of the ones who assumed power and thus controlled the poet's pen.

I do not wish to undermine the importance of faith. I understand that it is this faith that has been the binding thread for communities, societies, it is this faith that has enabled us to re-kindle our belief in universal brotherhood. However, for once let us give the poet's pen its due by not reducing it to a mockery to logic. Let us have faith in the underlying goodness that exists in these stories and asks us to be better humans, instead of the maddening furor over disfiguring their face value. My religion asks me to imbibe the values that Ram embodied and not build a temple for him at every place where a mosque was created hundreds of years ago demolishing a temple. My religion asks me to celebrate the human element of the deities, break the boundaries of our mental horizons and not vilify someone who tries to do so.

Let me have my Colour...

I went to the Decathlon store in Sarjapur on its second anniversary this weekend. My shopping experience at Decathlon has been exceptionally satisfactory till date. I get a huge range of merchandise to choose from and I get value for money.
However, this particular experience was somewhat disappointing. I was looking for a plain polo neck T-shirt. And after searching for quite some time the only Ladies' T-shirts I could find were round necks or V-necks, some even with gathers around neck (imagine a gathered neck top for Sportswear!). Finally I saw Polo neck NIKE t-shirts for Ladies and I was shocked to see that the only colours available were Pink and Bright Orange. And I realised that shades of Pink dominated almost the entire merchandise for Women available in the store.
First of all I simply do not understand how and why Pink became synonymous to women or womenhood. (Even the pills for women come in a Pink packaging!). I am sure I am not the only one who despises being typecasted in a colour and I am sure there will be many others like me who would like Blues, Greens, Blacks and whites. Then why this obsession with Pinks, obsession to an extent that we are being denied of the bare minimum choices that ought to be available to us?
I remember once a colleague of mine showed a photograph of a girl riding a Purple coloured Bullet. Well, if I could drive a Bullet, which I would have completely loved to, I would rather go for a classic Black coloured Bullet. I believe black is almost synonymous to something as regal and at the same time as rugged like a Bullet.
I am not against Pinks, purples, Violets. And I have absolutely nothing against the girl riding the Purple Bullet. The point I am trying to make is that I would have loved it if I also found pictures of women on Black Bullets and that I would appreciate it if I get my Colours as well in that Pink assortment.

Dharti Aba....the God of not so small things!

The anniversary of martyrdom of Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev went by recently. Every year this day reminds us of an era in which the youth scripted the destiny of the nation with their blood, an era in which we dared to dream beyond the shackles of time and time was forced to stop for the moments that became the defining milestones of history. I am not sure why, but this year, on this very day, I was particularly reminded of one such hero. A hero who led a struggle not only against the foreign subjugation, but also against centuries of exploitation by the feudal lords.A hero, history remembers as Birsa Munda and the tribals of Jharkhand as 'Dharti Aba'. Someone who spelled the dream of retrieving tribal lands to be ruled by their rightful owners in countless tribal hearts. The dream of an independent Tribal state which could grow unabated picking leaves of inspiration from its rich cultural heritage. What remains in our hearts as the most striking aspect of this story is the fact that this extraordinary hero was merely in his early 20s, when he had set out to change the course of time.
Why are we unable to find such mettle and such grit in today's youth. Isn't it because we are hardly subjected to absolute crisis, crisis that brings about greatness, brings about heroes. Or perhaps, we have failed to recognize the crisis looming over our existence, while we remain merrily oblivious of the dangers posed by a society sans values, sans equality and sans the concept of a larger 'WE'.
We presumably strive hard to bring the indigenous tribal communities to the 'mainstream'. We establish dedicated institutes to teach them better communication skills, enhance their 'employability', so that they can migrate to cities and work as bank clerks, sales executives or call-center professionals instead of construction workers, plumbers, rikshaw pullers, while their lands are 'utilized' for constructing mega projects!
While we ponder hard on solving problems of high infant mortality, rampant epidemics and illiteracy in the tribal communities, what we conveniently overlook is a long trail of problems we have left for our generations to come, while cruising towards globalization, industrial expansion and technological developments. The idea here is neither to enumerate the problems faced by tribes across the world nor to expose the lacunae of the new world. The idea is to emphasize the fact that we are nowhere near perfection, that we have loads to learn from each other and it would be wise to  accept it and work in collaboration towards an inclusive growth. 

Who decides....

So, we are having a national debate on whether we should let Aruna Shanbaug 'live' or not....


I remember supporting Euthanasia in every debate, because I was under the impression that Euthanasia encompasses a person's right to choose his/her own death, essentially free will which nobody should interfere with. 
Today, when I googled it, I found it classified into three types. As per an article in the Journal of Medical Ethics, 'Buddhism, euthanasia and the sanctity of life', " Euthanasia can take three forms: voluntary, involuntary and non-voluntary. Euthanasia is voluntary when it is carried out at the request of the person killed. Sometimes this may be scarcely distinguishable from assisted suicide; other times people wanting to die may be physically incapable of killing themselves. Euthanasia is involuntary when the person killed is capable of consenting to her own death but does not do so. Euthanasia is non-voluntary when the subject is unable to consent: for instance, because she is a severely handicapped infant, or because she is an irreversibly comatose adult who has omitted to specify previously how she wished to be treated in such an eventuality." 
Another essay in Ethics in Practice: An Anthology gives a much more personal description about the kinds of Euthanasia, "Suppose I ask you to either kill me or let me die should my condition get so bad that I am delirious and wont recover. If you then comply with my request, we have what is commonly called Voluntary Euthanasia. Now suppose that I slip into an irreversible coma without ever telling anyone, whether I wanted to be killed in such circumstances. If I am then killed or let die, we have what is commonly called Non-Voluntary Euthanasia.But, what if I do express a desire not to be killed no matter how bad my condition gets. Then killing me would constitute what is called Involuntary Euthanasia.
Thank God we are dealing with Non-Voluntary euthanasia for now, and not the Involuntary one! Else, I would have been compelled to believe that we have turned into cold-blooded monsters from the cold-hearted, apathetic, silent observers, which we are currently. 
There exists a very fine line of difference between Non-Voluntary and Involuntary killings executed in the name of 'Mercy Killings'. Who decides if the coma is 'irreversible', who decides if the patient would have wanted such a fate, should she be capable of giving her consent. Can we conveniently decide that the verdict given under the purview of the current scope of medical science, with respect to a person's medical condition is irrefutable and final. Can we claim with absolute certainty that Aruna Shanbaugh does not have a trace of human feelings left within her when she 'relishes fish and occasionally smiles when she is given non-vegetarian food' or when it appears as though 'she likes listening to songs by Sadguru and grimaces if the tape records were switched off '....
Who exactly are we to decide that Aruna Shanbaug should not live beyond this point...that there is no fighting spirit alive in a faintest corner of her existence...that she should die with 'dignity'?

The Remarkable women of Hindu Mythology

The more I read about the women in Hindu mythology, the more it astounds me. I am not only intrigued by the fact that these women achieved remarkable feats on account of their, intelligence, leadership, indomitable courage and exemplary assertion of individuality, I am also shocked to realize how in due course of time Indian women scripted their own denigration by allowing sexual objectification, mental and physical humiliation and stunting their spiritual growth.I am shocked to see that in the land of Satyavati, who by her sheer wit and assertiveness, ensured that the most celebrated dynasty of India had her blood in its veins, women vie for position or power, not on account of their virtues but of their gender.
When I look into history, I find Shakuntala, the beautiful forest maiden, who fell in love with a king, broke the societal norms of marriage and submitted herself to what later turned out to be deceit. After 12 years of raising her son alone, when she finally goes to claim her son's rightful place in the King's palace, she is abused by the man she trusted blindly. Her pride is hurt and so is her faith. She rebukes at the king stating that she had never wanted anything for herself. Here, we see a woman's strength of character where after hearing words of extreme abuses, she calls the king a 'fool', but not before apologizing for the same and summoning the Gods who testify her truthfulness, making the King bow down.
I also find Ahalya, the beautiful wife of Gautam rishi, cursed for being deceived by a God! And she accepts the curse with stoic silence, no protests, no justification. A world where curses were bestowed with such a sheer lack of judgement, was not worthy of her words.
I find Draupadi, ensuring that the entire Kaurava dynasty was reduced to ashes, to avenge her humiliation. I wonder what it is being forced to marry five men in the name of keeping someone's ' word ', and showering equal love to all of them throughout her life. She is repaid by a spineless Yudhishtir gambling her away in a game of dice, her five husbands not uttering a single word of protest when her pride, her dignity was being shred to pieces in front of a court of 'intellectuals' and 'warriors'. What an irony that a woman had to turn to God, after being disappointed by the 'greatest' men of her times!

"नारी ने सुर को टेरा जिस दिन निराश हो नर से" 

I bow to the remarkable courage with which Draupadi garnered her shattered self and scripted the destiny of ages to come.

One might ask why am I not citing examples of women who immortalised motherhood and those who have been worshipped as epitomes of love and sacrifice. Perhaps, they have been celebrated enough. For once I hope we recognise and appreciate the women who shone as individuals, not as mothers, wives and daughters.

Declaration of Purna Swaraj

I was surprised to find that nobody in my circle knew the importance of 26th January, the reason why this date was chosen for the country to become a Republic.
It was on this very day in 1930 that the Declaration for Complete Independence (Poorna Swaraaj) was promulgated by the Indian National Congress on the banks of Ravi in Lahore. 
The question of Why is the day significant today has its precursors in the question of Why is history significant anyways? History has an uncanny way of repeating itself. It sounds cliché but the fact remains the same; manifestations vary though from time to time.
The declaration of Poorna Swaraj in 1930 by Congress, an inherently non-radical political body and perhaps representing the majority of Indian population seeking freedom from foreign subjugation, marked the fact that the unrest in the masses had reached its culmination.
The lesson for today is that it is the masses that ultimately decide their destiny, the biggest of all stakeholders. No third entity can take decisions on their behalf. We often tend to forget this fact while passing sample judgments in every situation be it Kashmir or Maoists or the Naga insurgency so on and so forth

Folks songs: An Ode to sweetness

Folk songs are like small sugar candies children pop in their mouths every now and then and enjoy. I wonder why every child enjoys sugar candies and every child has a sweet tooth. As we grow up the sweet tooth disappears. However, it stays forever for some...and so does the love for folk music.

Classical music, on the other hand, is like an exquisite delicacy, chef's favourite. One requires an exquisite taste as well to do justice to it. Chef's favourite as well as Classical music asks for a certain degree of precision which comes after years of hard work and refinement and of course a deep love for the work.