Living it!

Since when did living become so important, that everything I do aims to keep me going, living on. I get into these phases of acute inaction when my mind stops. I get into these spaces of vacuum where my entire existence comes to a standstill. Then I invariably land onto the discourses of psychology which name it a 'condition' and offer me therapies to pull myself out of it or spirituality that urges me to rediscover myself and realize the fact that my 'self' is a fluid concept. These discourses are meant to relieve me of the numbness of this situation, help me live. Living is something I need to consciously try and do, push myself, shed any inertia life gets into and constantly strive to introduce elements of life into a mundane existence.

It was not so when I was growing up. I strived for something else. And Living just happened. That 'something else' still surfaces time and again. It is still nameless, faceless as it was when I was 13-14 years old and trying to make sense of things. 

Demon in my head...

Binaries don't exist. They are merely tools for the lazy to simplify things which are inherently complicated, for the fools to accept the simplification and mask the limitations of their cognizance, and, even worse, for the powerful to ensure that the simplification stays intact. 

As I grew up, several binaries disintegrated for me - binaries of right and wrong, men and women, oppressor and oppressed so on and so forth. The latest in this series was that of the proverbial "head" and "heart". My romantic self preserved this binary like a secret codex to enlightenment. A codex straight from the poetry of life! So, when it disintegrated it shook my entire existence. 

I have never been scared of the answerlessness of life. In fact, I have almost celebrated it again and again. Probably because for every answerless situation, the "head" raised questions for me and the "heart" answered them, as lucidly and effortlessly as possible. And then entered this demon in the picture. I cannot even pin point what is it or where is it. I am calling it a demon for the lack of a better or a stronger word! This demon is unrecognizable to both my head and heart. Neither of the two can explain much about it. It raises its own questions and unabashedly provides its own answers, leaving my trusted duo utterly baffled. It is gnawing through my existence slowly and painfully. Of course, there are these bursts of hope that shove it away completely. Yes, completely! That is how I know that I need more of them. The demon keeps on coming back, sometimes more often than these bursts of hope arrive. I never actively, consciously looked for hope. I do now. 
I won't give up without putting up a fight....

A smaller world is a lesser one...

When we took an auto to Alpha One mall yesterday, the auto driver did not agree to drop us at the mall, but a few hundred meters away from it, because he was supposed to take another route. (The mall is less than two kilometers from where I stay). We had no choice but to walk. And as I walked, I saw the families that lived on the pavement. Not that it was the first time I saw people living by the side of the road, especially since it is a rather common sight in Ahmedabad, but after a long long time I saw them so closely. People sleeping, camouflaged in the dust, kids playing with broken tree branches, women cooking on firewood.

And I realised that although I know for a fact that there are countless families that live by the side of roads, I hardly get to 'see' them anymore. I travel so much and so fast that I end up being concerned about just the destination (which in this case was the mall). And the speed of my journeys obscures everything that lies in the way. I look at people fleetingly. I recognise the phenomenon too and even reconnect it within my mind with what I have read, discussed and written about issues of development-induced homelessness. But then I do not retain it long enough. And once I reach the mall, I get lost in the brands and the visual merchandise and the lights.

I felt something similar when I was travelling in a passenger train from Gomoh to Gaya. Passenger trains are good eye-openers. For all those who refuse to come out of the bubble of development, need to travel by passenger trains for a reality check. When you take a car to travel a distance of a couple of hundred kilometers, you fail to observe certain things. The reason being the fact that amongst a few things that the governments nowadays do invest in, are good, wide roads.  These roads are more often than not widened and re-constructed after displacing the 'encroachers'. And you love speeding on these roads. Passenger trains, on the other hand, offer a rather different landscape both inside and outside. You stand for long hours in a crowded compartment and get ample time to observe and talk to people from different walks of life, people you would otherwise not encounter beyond them being your research subjects. Also, passenger trains tend to stop for exceedingly long periods in between stations and you are able to look into the houses and lives of people who live along the railway tracks.
It is the speed that makes all the difference in perspectives. As the speed increases, the world gets smaller and our perspectives get limited. We end up in a world that is sanitised of its 'unnecessary' complexities, a simpler world, a lesser world.

We live in awful times...or should I say shameful?

Disgusted, outraged and ashamed....

http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/op-ed/the-killing-of-a-young-boy/article4428792.ece?homepage=true

Is there a reason I should be proud of the times that I live in? Please please answer back....all those who think that we have come a long way towards 'development'...

'Buniyaad hilni chahiye'

What does it take to create an outrage of such a scale? What does it take to make the outrage prudent enough to ask deeper questions? What does it take to sustain the outrage? And what entails for it to subside?

I do not know the answers to these questions. Women have been subject to sexual violence since ages, but it took the rape and painful death of a 23 year old woman to make people leave there comfortable positions and get on to streets. Questions did not remain limited to stricter punishments for rape, people started probing into questions of how social constructs of gender have been unfair towards women and the third genders. I don't know how long the outrage would sustain. Will it subside once the rapists in the above case are hanged to death? Or will it lead to a rather populist decision of sanctioning death penalty for rape?

Either ways the problem remains. And as Dushyant Kumar wrote:

'आज ये दीवार पर्दों की तरह हिलने लगी 

शर्त लेकिन थी कि ये बुनियाद हिलनी चाहिए'
..the 'buniyaad', the bases of injustice remain intact.

I don't know whether to feel hopeful or hopeless by this outrage. I can think of it as a little something that happened as opposed to many 'nothings'. And as one of the guest speakers in a class I attended, remarked that she was surprised to see at least as many men protesting as there were women for the same cause... this definitely offers hope.
But, then once the outrage subsides then what. What do we do at our small, personal levels to keep the flame alight? Do we as mothers, sisters, daughters, friends, girlfriends, wives, resist the objectification of our identities, assert our identities as humans first? Do we as fathers, brothers, sons, friends, boyfriends, husbands, do the same?
The men who were outraged will certainly not become rapists or perpetrators of violence against women. But that addresses the problem at the surface. Everytime a father would stop and respect the fact that a daughter or a daughter-in-law is not a commodity for sale and purchase in the dowry market... Everytime a brother would stop considering his sister as his 'responsibility' or try to be her 'protector'... Everytime a son, a brother or a friend would think before casually using swear words that demean women.... Everytime a boyfriend would stop making casual remarks on the way his girlfriend looks or dresses up...Everytime a husband tries to adapt a portion of 'his' life, 'his' career, 'his' ambitions according to his partner's life and aspirations and not do so as a favour....we would move towards a change that is more fundamental and lasting.

Leadership in 'Kaliyug'

'संघे शक्ति कलौ युगे'
I read the above quote in some context (I have forgotten the context now) when I was a child and had just begun to study Sanskrit as a part of my curriculum. I could never really grasp its meaning or significance beyond the rhetoric of 'strength lies in unity'.
But, this quote seems to assume rather new meanings in today's context. It seems to tell me that we no more need the much celebrated quality of leadership. Well, in order to delve further into the argument, it is imperative to define leadership. To be honest I have not bothered to find out the academic or dictionary definitions of the term. But is there an all-encompassing definition of leadership that exists? I doubt it. 


As a child, a leader for me was a person in power or trying to assume power. The one who gave speeches during elections and huge crowds gathered to hear him (it was usually 'him'). I myself sat as a seven year old with my grandfather in the front row of such crowds and listened to Laloo Prasad on the first day and Murli Manohar Joshi on the very next day. These people who appeared on televisions and newspapers were standing there in the local football ground in Gomoh. No wonder crowds gathered, just to watch them  raise their fists in the air and shout slogans (I obviously do not remember what those slogans were). In Laloo's case, however, it was the helicopter that pulled greater numbers.
After coming back from such election rallies my grandfather used to tell me stories about the leaders he saw in person when he was a child. He told me about a dark lady who was fluent in several languages and when she made speeches, the crowds fell silent. He also told me that those leaders were loved, so loved that the train compartment in which my grandfather was travelling fell silent when these words were announced on  radio - 'अभी-अभी किसी पागल ने बापू को गोली मार दी है'. My grandmother says she was cutting vegetables   in the aangan and her knife fell down when she heard the news. Nobody had food that day.


See, leadership was already a confusing concept. But, it got really muddled when I attended the leadership camp organised by Rotary club at the age of around fourteen, where I was told that anybody could be a leader. It could be a doctor who treated patients, a teacher who taught students, an engineer who built bridges...so on and so forth. I don't remember if they distinguished between non-leader doctors, teachers and engineers and the ones who were leaders. But, yes the whole aim of this exercise was to make us 'realize' that we all needed to seek leaders within us. As I grew up, I found countless such leadership development programmes, in colleges, at workplace. Leadership training is a profession for many. I wonder what teachers do nowadays in schools and colleges! There are books that talk about it, but strangely I have never seen the authors of these books anywhere else other than the books' cover pages. I wonder if Gandhi, Sarojini Naidu, Lenin wrote such books and offered a calculated recipe to become a leader.


The futility of this concept struck me when I started working with rural women who were organised into Self-Help-Groups by the NGOs. Yes, these women needed the NGOs to market their products, for they did not know the rules of the market (I doubt if the NGOs did). But, I could see the mute protest in their eyes and their demeanor when an 'outsider' told them to do the job  in a 'certain' way; the job they had been doing all their life. And moreover, these outsiders claimed the lion's share of the profits as well. I could also see them protest, in not so mute ways, when someone among them assumed leadership roles and tried to tilt the balance of power.


The point is whether it is business leadership or political leadership, a 'leader' makes sense when there are followers to follow him/her. With the growing cynicism towards leaders on one hand and every second person being moulded into a 'leader' on the other hand, I wonder if we need leadership at all. Don't we need collective efforts for an inclusive growth instead? And don't we simply need good intentions? A little love and a lot of selflessness. Well, the nuances of the latter call for yet another discussion altogether...

What is Craft to a Craftsman? Seeking answers from academia...

I am writing my Masters' dissertation on crafts. Notwithstanding the disillusionment with academic writing itself, I am encountering questions I would have otherwise posed quite easily and explored conveniently, thanks to my ever-judgemental self and a firm belief that I always innately knew the distinction between 'rights' and 'wrongs', howmuchsoever ambiguous they might seem on the surface. Sadly this is not what academia is about. So, in order to produce a piece of academic writing, I need to constantly remind myself that my understanding of 'rights' and 'wrongs' is perennially incomplete.
I understand that craft, as it was understood centuries ago, is not the same in the globalised, market driven world today. It is the different market actors that shape the dynamics of crafts today, actors who are powerful, to state it bluntly. It would be foolish to imagine crafts as a craftsman's eternal love, when the latter struggles on a daily basis to exist as a human.
No I do not harbour the illusion that the girl in Gottigere who dragged her polio-affected legs to the unit everyday and made 'Potli-buttons' to be stitched on Angarakha kurtas, had an undying love affair with her work. She earned Rs 1500 a month for her work and was constantly worried that if the unit closes down due to lack of sufficient orders, how will she pay her house rent share of Rs 800 and how will she buy her daily meal of 'anna-saaru'.
So did Coomaraswamy say in 1900s in his seminal works on Indian art and craft. He claimed that for the artisan in India, unlike his Western counterparts, art was not a means for individual expression. It was a legacy passed on from one generation to another, with very limited scope for individual creativity. And so does Soumhya Venkatesan's anthropological study of Pattamdai weavers in Tamil Nadu suggest. It asserts that artisans and craftsmen reproduce the more powerful outsiders' vision of aesthetics and creativity.
Nonetheless, if I was not writing an acdemic thesis, my intuition would tell me that no matter how diluted an individual's creativity gets in the wake of someone else's instructions, the very act of creating a work of art emanates a sense of fulfilment. My intuition would also tell me that the excitement that gleamed in the eyes of Madura, Lakshmi and many others when they created an embroidered motif out of some vague instructions, was not merely the satisfaction of a task well completed. Moreover, I would really want to believe that when the Pattamadai weaver in Soumhya's study writes a letter to the Chief minister of Tamil Nadu, seeking financial assistance for saving the 'dying craft', it is not just a means to encash the ongoing enthusiam about crafts.
But then is it not my own love for art and crafts that colours my perception of the artisan and her apparent love for the art? And is it not my romanticised view of the world around me that constantly seeks to overturn the balance of power in the favour of the underdog, in whatever small way possible.

I have been reading about capitalism and how capitalism constantly assimilates the contradictory voices in a particular context, in order to provide justifications for the insatiable capital accumulation and garner the required support (including the support of the dissenting voices). Now this assimilation or 'acculturation', as some call it, is so subtle and pervasive that after a point of time one cannot distinguish between what was purely motivated by capitalist intentions and what was against it.
I think it is a similar case with academia. While on one hand it thrives on reason and logic that is supposedly an antithesis of intuitive judgement, on the other hand it deploys intuition to arrive at amazing levels of ambiguity, by pitting one type of intuition against another. So, although I am not supposed to rely on intuitions to arrive at answers, academia invariably evokes them. And to add to the complexities, it evokes contradictory intuitions. Moreover, it blurs the line between pure logic and logic derived out of some or the other intuitive judgment. Or does such a line exist at all?

Spaces for Culture beyond Cultural Clichés

Culture is never static or monolithic. This is a disclaimer offered in any discussion around culture these days. But, I am amazed to see how  these discussions invariably end up portraying culture in  blatantly static and monolithic terms. Is it the fascination for the word 'culture' that invokes sentiments of presenting each and every narrative in a 'good and acceptable' light? And is it the contradiction between what appears and what does not conform to 'good and acceptable' leads us to pit one norm against the other in absolutist, essentialist terms?
The discussions around Chinua Achebe's masterpiece 'Things Fall Apart' offer a similar picture. While it was undoubtedly one of the first non-racialised accounts on Africa that brought forth an African  story in African voice, I believe we have moved on from that. I do not discount its contribution to our understanding of Africa, but we now need narratives that talk about 'finer' details.
'Things Fall Apart' subtly rebuked the White man's interpretation of the Dark continent. It told us that the tribes do not grunt and make noise in a language-less world, but possess a vast resource of language and literature preserved in folklores, proverbs, songs that are exchanged in day to day life. It told us that there existed a self-sufficient community with varied problems, consisting of real people with diverse personalities and was not just an untouched landscape waiting to be explored by the colonial settlers. It tells the story of how colonial domination came as a torrent of unstoppable force that swept everything away, the good and bad, leaving the vestiges of what was rich, prosperous and evolved through ages and centuries. We needed this narrative to be empathetic, we needed it to understand certain lives better, to appreciate some valuable stories that were seldom told earlier. However, it is not enough. While all the above is said and done. We now need to find out more stories to fill the gaps this one has created.
No matter how much we resist, but it offers a picture that men beating their wives and children to assert masculinity and power was inherently acceptable by the 'culture'. It makes us believe that religion and culture sanctioned killing twin babies and young boys for various reasons. And this makes us secretly hate the 'culture' itself. We then end up taking either of the following two stances. We either dissociate ourselves from 'them' and from a safe distance celebrate the richness of diversity and respect for 'difference'...Or we hypothesize that the dominant and the more righteous prevailed in the clash of cultures (Christianity could obtain a stronghold because it attacked the 'weaker' links of the previously existed norms, it appealed to the outcasts and the vulnerable ones). While it is difficult to completely refute or invalidate both the stances, the latter undeniably offer a singular interpretation of culture. They overlook the fact that the dominant version of culture might not be the entire truth, it might just be a reflection of existing power equations.
Were there no voices of dissent against what we might term inhuman today? It is inconcievable that the woman who turned to the Church to save her twin children was the first one to try to save her newborns. What happened to the dissenting voices before the Church came into picture? I need stories that talk about them to complete the picture....or perhaps create new gaps! If Chinua Achebe's narrative scoffs at colonial, racial, monolithic accounts of Africa, the alternative stories that talk about dissenting voices within the dominant culture will seal the fact that cultures evolved continuously and could not possibly be fit into a few narratives.

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.

if Binayak sen is guilty of sedition, so am I...

Every time i wish to shed the negativism that has crept inside my thinking, opinion, writings regarding the state of my country, every time i wish to celebrate hope, development, something sad, outright disgusting crops up. I am ashamed, not only of my country's castrated judiciary, corrupt politicians but also of the shameless apathy of my countrymen.
67 year old Dr. Binayak Sen, working in rural tribal areas of Chhatisgarh for his entire life, was sentenced to life imprisonment, charged guilty of sedition for his alleged connections with the Naxalite movement. If being sympathetic to the movement counts as sedition, I openly proclaim that I am sympathetic too. I might not agree to the means the movement has adopted, but that does not make me a lesser advocate of the goals the movement began with. If violence is what the Naxalites are condemned for, the injustice and violence on the part of Government and Police are no less condemnable. And if I need to choose, i would choose the Naxalites as the lesser evil of the two.

Meenaxi: A Splash of Colours

Recently I watched the movie Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities. Brilliant narrative and innovative story-telling. But, what appealed the most was a riot of vibrant, bold colours. It seemed as if M.F.Hussain's Canvas has been re-incarnated accompanied with words and melodies...
The gold ochre landscapes of Rajasthan with paintings in black etched on them.And then comes the splash of colours- Azure Blue, Carnation Pink, Vermilion and Scarlet Red, Bright Aureolin Yellow and Emerald Green....as if rose in rebellion against the scorching Sun and carvings in Sandstone. The story returns to Hyderabad where the Colours get saturated...Azure becomes Prussian, Carnation turns Cerise and  a dash of Burgundy added to Vermilion. As the story moves to Prague, the colours become polished, a layer of gloss gets added and the canvas turns Satin.


We can definitely talk about a woman's assertion of individuality, trying to break free from the story and breathe her own tune. We can also talk about a writer's dilemma of knowingly mutating his own creation and watching helplessly as the story revolts within him.We can lament over the fact that the movie was withdrawn from the theatres in the same week as its launch after some Muslim Ulemas protested against it. 


But, let's leave all that for some other discussion...let us just celebrate colours this time...

for Srujanika...yet again :)

'Khelein hum Jee Jaan se', a movie on Chittagong uprising...
Bad acting, certain obvious flaws but still a commendable effort in terms of telling a not so celebrated but important story. A story about unsung heroes, school going children who achieved remarkable feats and youth that plunged into the unknown, without caring for consequences. The story speaks volumes about a generation that pursued the goals it believed in with a single minded focus and a generation for which the term 'calculated risks' did not exist.

'Gandhi was assassinated because he agreed to partition.'...'Chinese are shrewd and cruel people'...'Communism    means to oppose any development initiative'...'Nehru and his policies screwed India'...

At times, it occurs to me that we live in a world where everybody has an 'opinion' on everything, or rather i should say 'an expert opinion'

When I was a child, the first 'big' story book I came across was 'Ramcharitmanas'. When my grandfather handed it to me, he remarked that Goswami Tulsidas decided to pen this epic after 20 years of dedicated research and study of several great works of Hindu mythology. 'He took 20 years to start writing? Must be a really dumb fellow!' Thats what I felt at the age of eight....

I still do not consider 'Ramcharitmanas' a literary marvel, probably because of my antipathy towards Ram or because the style of writing does not appeal to me in the same way as do those of Kabir, Meera or Raheem, the other contemporaries of Tulsidas. However, I can never deny the fact that not only Ramcharitmanas is the most celebrated and revered epic poem of all times but also it revolutionized several facets of religion and literature by making both of them accessible to the masses. Moreover, it is undoubtedly the most loved work of literature in the country. 

Creating any such phenomenal work seeks countless years of perseverance,  seeks a thorough study of the subject and seeks humility to know more, understand better. 

"Swantah sukhaya Tulasi Raghunath Gatha" (I have sung this song of Lord Ram for self satisfaction). These words speak of humility borne out of knowledge and it is this humility where the poet's greatness lies.

The question is, Can we bring about an constant thirst for perfection that does not allow us to settle for something mediocre or shallow? Can we bring about the same urge for knowledge, an eye for every minute detail, a continuous pursuit for excellence, in everything we do, opine or ideate?

Right to abstain...

I will be 25 in the next 5 months...7 years past the voting age. And I have not voted once till date, in any election. This is not something I am proud of. And I offer no excuse. However, I do wish i had the rights to abstain from voting and furthermore, this 'right' would have made a difference.

For the current Indian polity neither invokes any motivation to elect our leaders nor imparts the confidence that democracy is deemed to bring about.

I seek leaders who can make me proud. I seek leaders who can take radical decisions surpassing the fear of losing political mandate. I seek a government that would have said 'NO' to organizing Commonwealth Games stating that it bears a terrible burden on the conscience of a nation whose 37% of the population lives below Poverty Line and 55 % of women and children are malnourished. I seek a government that would refuse to spend 2.1% of the nation's GDP on defense and armament and persuade the international community to extend help if needed. Of course that would invoke criticism...Criticism by the 'guardians' of nation's 'pride' and whose definitions of pride do not encompass the health and education standards of the country, the rampant corruption, violation of human rights, so on and so forth. I can assure there are several others like me who would NOT give a damn to such guardians.
I seek leaders I can talk about, to my children and grandchildren. I seek leaders I can tell tales of....tales similar to the ones i grew up listening to.

...what was dead was hope!

Outlook publishes an article claiming that the 'encounter' of Maoist leader Cherukuri Rajkumar, pouplarly known as 'Azad', was nothing but a 'cold blooded execution' by the state. Fake encounters are not new to the history of insurgencies in India, especially the Maoist movement. However, I am quite intrigued by the fact that these exceutions are considered perfectly acceptable to a lot of people who claim to be aware and educated. The same people who advocate human rights and assert the rights of independence in a democratic world, consider these murders as a fairly just way of dealing with 'terrorists' like Azad who pose a grave 'threat' to their 'peaceful' world if left alive for trials. And i am intrigued by the fact that this happens in a country where cases on rich American CEOs responsible for thousands of deaths and generations of physical deformities, continue for more than two decades, ending with a mockery of the country's judicial framework.
It hurts that our blood does not boil at these unspeakable crimes against humanity and we have the audacity to call ourselves the torchbearers of the new world of hope and freedom.

Mythology Rewired...

Here we have two Bollywood movies 'Rajneeti' and 'Raavan' drawing parallels from the greatest epics of all times Mahabharat and Ramayan respectively. Elaborate critiques on these epics have been written, discussed and debated by scholars since ages. However, presenting the same through popular cinema appeals to a much wider audience than any other medium.

While a realistic analysis and interpretation of Mahabharat has already been quite celebrated, almost as much as the epic itself, the facts in Ramayan and their interpretations still remain more or less sacrosanct. While we easily see the fine line of difference between the good and bad, the just and unjust getting diminished in the case of Mahabharat , it is not so with Ramayan, sometimes to an extent that it tends to ridicule our common sense.'Raavan' definitely is a feeble first in this respect.

When I first read Ramayan as a child, a few incidents seemed completely inconceivable. One of them was that of Lakshaman's encounter with Raavan's sister Shurpanakha. Shurpanakha expressed her desire for Ram and her feminine jealousy got fuelled by Sita's beauty and appearance, resulting in her turning violent. Apparently she was taught a lesson by Lakshaman who cut her nose off as a punishment. Now, think for a moment what actually would have happened. An educated, well bred warrior is unlikely to commit an act as crude as cutting off a woman's nose. Besides this cut would have resulted in heavy bleeding that would have been lethal. However, we know that she survived the 'atrocity' committed on her and travelled all the way down south to her brother Raavan, thereby making him seek vengeance. Hence, cutting of nose might just have been symbolic. What is worth pondering is that if Shurpanakha's molestation is justifiable by any means , why does Sita's abduction make Raavan an eternal villain? Can he not be judged by the standards of an average human considering that he merely sought to avenge his sister's humiliation, considering that he acted in a much more dignified manner by requesting Sita to marry him, instead of forcing himself on her, while she was at his mercy, considering that the hero of the epic fails to demonstrate such substance when he asks his wife to prove her chastity instead of soothing her pain?

Identities we are 'born' with...

Continuing with the question of identities...
There are identities that get mutated at various levels, changed in varying situations, overcome by individuals and communities. The identities of caste, religion, sect, language, nationality and so on.

The awareness of one's religion gets numb in the struggle to survive and urge to succeed. It surfaces when we happen to attend (rarely) the ceremonies or festivals. It also surfaces stealthily when our friends following other religions celebrate theirs.
The identities of caste are more often than not belittled by the equations of power and money. However they do surface quite often and do so in a wide range of situations from arranging marriages to alluring voters.
Similarly identities of languages and nationalities often blend and blur their boundaries in this era of rapid globalization.

But, there are identities that do not conform to this pattern.
Identities that are overwhelming, identities that are 'inseparable'. The identities that speak most eloquently throughout the span of our existence and control the power dynamics governing our lives. Identities we find impossible to ignore, overcome, supersede.
One such example is the identity borne out of our sexuality. Do we ever ignore the fact that we are a male/female or a third gender? Least of all the latter. While the equations of male/female identities have been much discussed and debated, it is the third gender that calls for our attention due to our inability of overcoming the identity of sexuality. It is the third gender that bears the wrath of our being overwhelmed with our sexualities.
Do we ever wonder why are we not able to acknowledge them as humans? Perhaps because we hardly acknowledge ourselves as humans. The identities of being a male or a female homo sapien conveniently supersedes that.

For Srujanika

"मर्त्य मानव की विजय का तूर्य हूँ मैं
उर्वशी अपने समय का सूर्य हूँ मैं"

(I am the symbol of victory of the mortal man...I am the sun that shines in my era)

The above lines were written by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar, known as 'Rashtrakavi' or the 'National Poet' due to his rebellious nationalist poetry during the pre-independence days.

Poetry evokes myriad sensations, at times so powerful that it can move masses and bring about revolutions.

Going further back in history we find someone who challenged hypocrisy borne out of religion, caste and power dynamics in practically every realm of life...

"दुनिया बड़ी बावली पत्थर पूजने जाए
घर कि चक्की कोई ना पूजे जिसका पीसा खाए"
- Kabir

(It is a crazy world that worships idols made of stone but nobody worships the grinding stone that feeds the world)

Kabir's poetry is an epitome of stark simplicity and this is where its beauty lies, for it reaches you at your naked consciousness, makes you think, re-think and question.

Words of Hope..words of wisdom

"We are but two threads cut from the same cloth."
- Dr. Asher Hasan, in his talk about "NAYA JEEVAN" on Ted(India)

"If the governments of India and Pakistan behaved with each other the way Indians and Pakistanis do when they meet individually, this would be a region of laughter rather than tears."
-M.J.Akbar, "The Shade of Swords"

Well, the above two statements are not likely to be immortal or become phrases that will be quoted to teach moral science lessons to the coming generations.
But, they are powerful, impactful. And the impact lies in the fact that they overcome the cliche, the stereotypes, the popular notions and present truth as it is, blunt and bland and at times defying the common understanding.

The Endless pursuit of Identities...

What do you identify with? What are your identities???
Such questions have the potential to probe your conscience in more ways than one!

Identities have been there and are likely to remain. They appear to be a natural aftermath of the evolution society undergoes or perhaps the human race itself experiences. But, at times I can't help wondering if there were certain frames of reference where these identities dissolved completely. If there was a plane of existence where an individual identified oneself with one's own self and nothing else.
After all, the identities imparted by nationality, religion, language, gender, caste, profession...all change their dimensions with changing time and space. Even our identities as humans gets belittled in the larger scheme of things.
Then, why not, for once, lose ourselves to something unexplained by reason, and identify ourselves as ourselves?

Many attribute poor social indicators in India to her heavy reliance on the Soviet model for all these years. Partially true, however the subsequent non-reliance has yielded no better results either. Hence, there emerges a need for a more discreet and objective introspection, a certain level of conviction and a definitive plan of action.
The staggering economic growth of 3.5% per year shot upto 9% after the reforms were introduced and it was widely accepted that India took a bold, yet inevitable step of coming out of its cocoon. But, in the midst of all this hullabaloo almost everybody comfortably ignored the obscure, yet vital statistics that build a country's economy. These statistics, given the fancy name of 'social indicators', do not merely represent the jargon blabbered at human development conferences or crafted to vent out frustrations on coffee table conversations. These figures go a long way in creating a nation's destiny, laying foundation for the tomorrow we visualise for our future generations, if at all we do so.
When one talks of child nutrition or the problem of malnourishment, the premise does not remain limited to problems of acute poverty, non-availabilty of decent livelihood options or the lacunae in the public distribution sytem, in fact, it trickles down to the very soul of our socio-economic-cultural framework, evoking questions that are subtle, yet extremely vital. Questions of whether we can realise the new world of our dreams with a generation that was brought up with empty stomachs? Can we establish the foundation of a free thinking, free-spirited society with its youth harboring underdeveloped, poorly nourished bodies and minds?
Yet another set of disturbing questions....

Narmada movement and its tangible goals

They say it was ‘Moral victory’ for the struggle. Well, anything to salvage its wounded pride or perhaps its bruised soul, if there is left any. Moreover at this juncture there isn’t much left to lose, or to gain either. This struggle remains their only link to their long lost identity, which leaves them no option except continuing the same till an undefined milestone.

Does it sound too hopeless? Well, hopeless it is. Hopelessness inspite of the support the movement receives from different pockets all over the country. Whether it is the protest of 25 social activists outside the Madhya Pradesh Bhavan in Delhi on 5^th of this month or a mass rally a week earlier in which thousands of displaced farmers gathered to protest against lathi charge and illegal arrests of NBA activists at the Khandwa Collectorate.

Support, protests, agitations induce more of them and the chain continue, but ironically leading nowhere. There is awareness and plentitude of empathy which to a great extent continues to fire the movement. But, at the end of the day, it seeks a different dimension. Solutions do not arrive while we follow the beaten path.

One does not ask to compromise with the fundamental goals of the movement, but one does seek inclusion of new ones, a certain reprioritizing and revamping of the achievables in the light of immediate concerns and changes in the national and international economic and political dynamics. One seeks victories that are more tangible in nature and eloquent enough to fuel the movement in the longer run, sustain it till the fundamental goals are realized. Such an inclusion need not necessarily be a diversification; rather it ought to emerge from the existing set of challenges. We merely need to expand our horizons and shed our ideological myopia. The needs of the displaced are multi-dimensional and ever-morphing to the changing socio-economic and political equations. Some of these needs which might seem the most unhindered and simpler to achieve, might yield dividends that are most eagerly sought for. This simplicity of theirs must not be the reason for lack of focus, for it would amount to one of the gravest mistakes on the part of the struggle.

ज्ञान वीथी में दीप जलाकर
स्वागत है नवनीत कुसुम का
जिसकी सुरभि बाँध ले मन को
ध्येय बने वह अखिल विपिन का

जो अपने जीवन का मोती
इस पथ में बिखराता जाए
उसे नमन उस कालजयी को
जो यह गीत सुनाता जाए

गीत ज्ञान की अमित सुधा का
गीत विनीत समस्त वसुधा का
आज भारती के प्रांगन में
स्वागत है इस अजेय प्रतिभा का

Gandhi's India...I dont think I know it anymore!

Gandhi Jayanti remains one of the most significant days of the year to me. Not only does it remind me of one of the phenomena of all times that existed on this earth in the name of Mahatma Gandhi, but also it reaffirms within me the faith in the values he stood for, the values of truth, non-violence and love, the values whose presence in our hearts becomes more and more significant in this increasingly violent world.
However this year Gandhi Jayanti will remind me of the massacre in Khagaria, the massacre in which 100 gunmen, suspected to be Naxalites, mercilessly butchered 16 people, including 5 children. There are several questions that brutally follow this event. Are we actually becoming a violent society? Is armed struggle the only resort a common man finds in order to get noticed politically? Where does this road to violence and curbing violence with further massive forms of violence end?
The country has witnessed fresh attempts to curb naxal insurgencies in the recent times. An overall increase in armed forces to fight terror which includes additional troops, paramillitary forces and the state police force.
One can not help wondering if it would have been much effective to channelize these resources towards curbing the real causes behind this armed rebillion continuing for the past four decades, for this rebillion has been an outcome of an outright failure of government machinery, of social justice, of development. It is an aftermath of serious injustice incurred upon the poor.
There is a lot of mending to be done and it is not an easy task either. But the process has to begin somewhere.
I am reminded of the turmoil during partition. I am reminded of the continuous satyagraha Gandhi led against this violence, a satyagraha no less significant than the one he led against the Britishers. Only this time, to his great anguish, it were his own countrymen driven mad by the surge of hatred that swept away their entire sanity. Nevertheless, he continued his resistence without a hint of violence against this phase that symbolised one of the most bloodiest times of Indian History. And then it all ended, with Gandhi being shot dead by Nathuram Godse on January 30, 1948. They say that 'Mahatma Gandhi achieved in death what he had striven for in his last months of life. His murder ended forever the insensate communal killing of neighbour by neighbour in India's villages and cities.'
I wonder what it was that evoked such an extraordinary sense of remorse in the masses, that brought back their sanity and their ability to look beyond the blinding fury of hatred? Was it the death of a man who led them in a manner unprecedented in the world history and whom they failed so miserably by the incessant killing of their own brothers? Or was it the values of love, peace and non-violence so deeply engraved in their conscience that resurfaced without much effort when they saw this messiah of love succumbing to death?
Are we not the same people? Have we not inherited the same values? Is there something fundamentally different in the substance we are made of? The questions are disturbing.

Clear Air Clear Water !!!

Have you ever tried pranayama? Oh no! I am not one of the Baba Ramdev followers (although he has become synonymous to it or vice versa!), neither am I asking you to be one. But, nevertheless, pranayama happens to be one of the wonderful forms of yoga which produces amazing results, increases your stamina, builds immunity, helps the body combat serious illnesses and (to cut short) keeps you healthy.

Well, I am not writing this article to reiterate the advantages of pranayama. What I intend to do is to recount my first experience with anulom-vilom. It is a type of pranayama in which you inhale from one of the nostrils, hold your breath for a while, let the air fill inside your lungs and then exhale from the other nostril. When I tried the above exercise, I could actually feel air entering each and every bronchiole of mine. Not only was it one of the most refreshing experiences I have had, but it also made me realize how valuable a gift is it to have a bountiful of clear air around you, and how often do we overlook its presence in our lives. Don’t we always take it for granted, the presence of clear air, clear water around us?

It is high time that we pause and ponder for a moment, consider a situation when we would cease to have these wonderful gifts of nature. Of course, the moment does not stand beckoning in the realms of the very next day. Neither does it in the near future. But, it is not too far either. But, obviously we remain so oblivious of the fact. Don’t we? After all we believe in living in the present! So we do not think for a second when we throw a polyethylene bag or a wrapper on the road, or drive alone in a car to the office instead of a car pool which seems so sub-standard.

We do not feel an iota of guilt while irreversibly poisoning the world, the world we are going to leave for our coming generations, a legacy we ought to be ashamed of. But, we need not have to answer anybody? Do we? We belong to a generation that lives in the present, lives life to its fullest. Is not it?

Fashion and me...:)

'Fashion' is one of the most ambiguous yet delightful concepts I have come across. Before joining a Fashion Institute, it was a term not only alien to me but also to an extent avoidable. Avoidable, perhaps because I knew it quite superficially, never bothered to delve into the nitty-gritties involved in it, for the only concept I had been fed on, or that was presented before me was that of a ' Simple Living High Thinking' and 'Fashion' appeared to me in an absolute contradiction with the same.
And so it is to some extent.
If we are in any way influenced by the egalitarian view of life, 'Fashion' would easily appear to be nothing but a pompous display of wealth by those who are in possession of an excess of it. A bourgeoisie system that mocks upon the hungry billions that comprise two-thirds of the globe.
But hang on, is that not the case with art, music, literature? Dominated by the bourgeoisie, dependent on the elite for its mere survival.
One might argue that art, music or literature have been there since ages, signifying the uniqueness of human civilization, thriving at the very essence of human spirit, regardless of the distinctions of class....
That is very true...and so is the fact that if we shed our inhibitions, widen our perspective a little we will find that fashion has accomplished the same feat...
Fashion has more than anything else, reflected the time it has dwelled in, its mood, its psyche, often to the level of the common man.
It was the indomitable urge to be independent in thought and action which reflected in the form of khadi and swadeshi during the freedom movement...
It is the inconspicuous but inevitable presence of sari in our daily lives that made a nine yard fabric the fashion statement of the country on the global platform...
Endless examples can be cited...but what makes Fashion the most relevant in the recent times is the role it plays in building our economy and the potential it possesses in terms of providing livelihood to millions.

Where the mind is without fear....

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow
domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought
and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

The lines still evoke the same tingling sensation in the spine as they used to five years ago, when recited in the morning assembly as the Monday prayer by Col.(Retd.) B.R.Sharma.

व्यष्टि से समष्टि की वीथी कहाँ आरम्भ होती और कहाँ अंत, शायद कोई नहीं समझ पाया...हम न जाने किस मरीचिका में भटकते रहे, सोचते रहे कि आदर्शों की नींव पर खड़ा हमारे स्वप्नों का संसार कभी तो यथार्थ में रूपांतरित होगा, कभी तो मानवजाति अपने सत्व प्राप्त कर सकेगी...उस सत्व को जो मृत्युंजय है, कालजयी है।

वह सत्व जो स्वतः दृष्टिगोचर न सही, परन्तु प्रत्येक अणु में विद्यमान है॥

इस विश्वास को पुनर्जीवित कर दो...अगर इस मरीचिका के पार एक चिरंतन सत्य की निर्झरनी है तो इतनी शक्ति दो कि इस वीथी के कंटकों को पार कर अपने गंतव्य तक पहुँच सकें...

Equality is a dangerous concept...deceitful as well
We are not born equal...neither does anybody try to be an equal to a standard set by many....we all try to break that barrier, consciously or unconsciously...isn't it???

Then why preach equality...beauty lies in the difference that speaks out so eloquently all around us...

You may strive for being satisfied with what u are and what you can be...how much more different...instead of being more and more like the 'rest'....

The ‘Naxal Threat’: As we call it!

It is neither easy, nor ordinary when the hands that plough the fields choose to raise guns. The incident dates back to the year 1967 when peasants in the Naxalbari village of West Bengal, rose in rebellion against ages of oppression and injustice. The rebellion escalated in the face of violence and soon insurgencies from various parts of the country surfaced. There was a huge participation of students, particularly in West Bengal where a number of students left their education to join the movement. What followed was a period of turmoil when numerous radical groups became active in different regions across the country.

The country has come a long way since then. We forgot Naxalbari; we forgot the movement, the raison d'être that led to it. What has remained is a term, largely ambiguous, Naxalism, another addition to the numerous ‘isms’ that continue hovering over our social, economic and political consciousness, but nevertheless inconsequential. In fact, it poses one of the greatest threats to the nation’s internal peace and harmony.

Where did we go wrong and where did ‘they’ go wrong? Or, is it the rift created between ‘we’ and ‘they’ that led to this state of affairs? The question has met with a shameful apathy since its inception and still awaits an answer. So do many questions that have been fostered by these years of insurgency.

The uprising at Naxalbari was supposed to be a wake-up call for our policy makers, governments and above all the ‘class’ that was constituted of both the oppressors and the majority which remained impassive to the plight of the oppressed. The unorganized rebellion was crushed with an iron hand and as time passed by it fragmented into numerous groups of varying degrees of extremism and varying ideologies. From what was initially a struggle for one’s basic human right to live with dignity, it transformed into a ‘class struggle’, and a cruel manifestation of the same in the principle of ‘annihilation of class enemy’.

The movement truly lost its direction, if it had any, and the world has changed in more ways than one since then. What is the significance of Naxalism in the current scenario is the question that needs to be pondered upon. Is creation of ‘Salwa Judums’ the solution for the rising militancy? Or, does the solution lie in a much deeper understanding of the entire problem, its dynamics, the factors that lead to such insurgencies and thereby undertaking some fundamental systemic reforms?

The Bihar I knew…

What did I know about Bihar, the place I was born at, the place where my roots lie? My recent visit to the interiors of Bihar was an eye-opener to someone like me, born in Bihar, but brought up in Jharkhand, culturally similar, yet very different from its parent state. Did I know the real Bihar, as it exists today? Or, was I harboring numerous illusions drifting me away from the reality? Did I simply know Biharis, living away from Bihar, representing a considerable chunk of Bihar, but certainly not the whole of it? The questions are disturbing enough.

Of course, I did not know that Bihar is considered amongst the fastest growing economies in 2006-2007, owing to its fast changing macro-environment. I did not know that Patna, the richest city of Bihar, boasts of a per capita income greater than the Indian average. I never cared to know that!

But, I certainly knew the Bihar which has been the birthplace of religions like Buddhism and Jainism, which first propagated the principle of non-violence so vehemently, a concept that has eluded the civilized world till now, the Bihar which marks the birthplace of Goddess Sita, who epitomizes womanhood for the Hindus of North India, and Guru Gobind Singh, the tenth Guru of Sikhs. It has been the land of Chandragupta Maurya and Ashok who gave this country one of its best periods of its social, economic and cultural history. It has given birth to the oldest and the best centers of education of Ancient India, in the name of Nalanda and Vikramshila universities. And, we all know the Bihar which gave this country some great national leaders, writers, scholars, academicians and is still producing the maximum number of IAS, IPS officers, IITians, Medical graduates, Software professionals and what not!

Everything seems a repetition after some time. Is not it? All this glorification and deification of a place which has been ranked amongst the poorest of all the states of India, a place where education is in its most dismal state, and corruption breaking its backbone in all sphere. A place where I found some of the finest people I ever met. At the same time a place where I saw some of the rudest and the most uncivilized lot living under the garb of an elite upper class and trying to be elite Middle class.

I cannot close my eyes towards its scintillating past which becomes almost haunting at times. I cannot remain silent at the mocking remarks of my fellow non-Biharis. It is too much for my proud soul to accept wordlessly. I can not join hands for Bihar-bashing either. I seek solutions; I seek answers from the Biharis, in and outside Bihar, who have remained neutral and just shamelessly neutral towards all this.

Era of Hatred!

Recently I was watching this movie named 'Do Aankhein Barah Haath' based on a humanitarian jailer who transforms 6 murderers into non-violent peasants, by his new experiment of 'Open Prison'. The movie eloquently speaks of the power of love, the triumph of humanity.

I was surprised watching the movie, even more surprised by the fact that it was based on a true story! And i know most of the people of my generation will be surprised too.

But Love does have the power to bring about miracles, transform people, curb maladies, maladies of hatred, contempt, heal wounds. Is not it?
We have been told that, we have read that.

Then why this surprise? Why the whole concept of transforming hearts through love seems so inconceivable?

It was certainly not inconceivable when the movie was produced...our movies reflect our times. Don't they?

Then why has it become an alien concept now? What is it that has changed so fundamentally? And it has certainly not changed for good. So, where have we gone wrong?

Is it not that we have been brought up in an era of hatred, violence? We have grown in the shadows of terrorism, bloodshed, corruption and a shameful apathy on the part of our 'civilized' society.
Is it not that the principles of humanity, the concept of love, brotherhood, have merely been confined to the pages of literature? The generation has been slowly, gradually transformed into 'computerized intelligentsia', past caring, past listening.