FEELINGS AND THOUGHT

The Cellphone Casualties

2008-05-18T04:20:00.001-07:00

What is it that has changed your life dramatically, say in the last four years. The question has no wrong answers though. Any answer would be a correct one. Although, I have to admit, i suspect i know 90% of the answers. Cellphone,internet,Social Networking sites. The title of this article could have acted as a lead for many to pick cell phone as the answer. If you instinctively thought of anything beyond these three, I would like to know. Leave a comment.

Its been four year since I have been carrying a cell phone. One year of c131 Motorola, and three years of Nokia 1100, the one that I still I use. Yeah, you would be pardoned if you don't know them, they are out of production, both of them, now relegated to semi-antiquity.

I remember, one of my trend spotting friends used to weild a cell phone when incoming calls used to cost around Rs3 and outgoing was astronomical. A 100 odd Rupees of talktime for a recharge of 300plus. We have come a long way from there. So much so that we don't even momentarily think of balance while talking for hours together over the phone. Cell phone has replaced so many other things. Wrist watches find no values for themselves beyond a style statement and a fashion accessory. Digicams and analog cameras are disposable. Radios,MP3 players, newspapers,internet kiosks, STD booths, landline phones have been other casualities. My heart pines for the STD booth which lies vacant all the time before my college. He sells cell phone recharge coupons now. Its like selling Guns and Roses to your enemy. At dirt cheap rates.
Other casualities have been friends,why go to someone's place when you can just call him up for free. Emails killed Snail Mails. We used to write emails to friends, the postal department relegated to serve purists and villages. Cell phones came and killed personal emails. Its been ages since i wrote a lengthy email to a friend. I would rather call them up noe, it costs me peanuts anyway. Whether this has improved friendships or made us grow apart is only debatable.

If you are lost in a new place, you would rather google earth than ask a stranger for directions. We have only hit the tip of the iceberg though. There would be more casualities. i can think of one which is quite pleasant- Ques for a majority of places will become a thing of past. Ques before ticket counters in railway stations and Movie theatres, electricity billing offices. Imagine, the ticket inspector asks for a ticket and you weild your cell phone and show him an SMS from the indian railways. Brilliant noe? The principal sends an SMS to your parents, telling them you are not in the class. Not so brilliant I guess. Your BF/GF ditches you via an SMS? Heartwrenching and insensitive. You breaking up with your GF/BF by informing over an SMS? Quite convenient.

There have been two other casualities. The classic bollywood scene where lack of communication acts as a forerunner for such classic melodrama. The hero breaking all signals, surviving bumpoffs on busy roads to meet the love of his life while the train starts to chug, taking her away from our hero, hamesha hamesha ke liye. Haa, as if a chit of a cell phone can make a dent into the immense creativity of our script writers. We now have the standard insertions. 'Network not available'/Girl doesn't carry or forgot to carry cellphone disclaimers before we move onto the suspence filled melodrama. In a Drew Barrymore movie, 'Perfect Catch', she innocently asks the protagonist why he doesn't carry a cell phone and the guy gives out his reasons. The importance of the scene doesn't dawn upon you untill the last ten minutes of the movie when the suspense grows as she tries to get to him while he is watching the superbowl live.

Other allied casualities have been peace of mind and privacy. On a personal front atleast. It is scary thought to be available all the time. In the dating classes we are told, never be too available. You have to act unavailable sweety pie, that is the ground rule. Cellphones have robbed us of that luxury, we are always available, in a different sense alright but available still. Who has the patience to pine for the loved ones anymore. you would have called him/her up even before you realise you were missing him/her. But then again, it was only the first phase of the evolution. We became 24 hours available, to our friends and family after the cell phones came. We became 24 hours available to the whole world after social networking sites came up. We tell the world first whenever something significant happens in our lives, who has time for individual intimations. I am told, Twitters, short telegramish blogs have become quite famous in japan or china. As if we can ever differentiate. Twitters like, 'Just back from the Loo. Feeling mighty relieved' are quite common. We seem to be updating every little move of our life for the world, without battling an eyelid.

Cellphone seems to be the new vice of my life. Inspite of all the conveniences and good things that it has bring to my life, I am afraid it has changed the way I lead my life, at times for the worse. Unwillingly and unknowingly alright but it has.

Tailpiece: From next onwards, i will conveniently be politically incorrect. No more him/her or humanitykind anymore. We will stick to 'her' and womankind. To cell with the menists. Cell, is the new hell you see.

Why We are so FUNNY

2008-05-06T05:24:00.000-07:00

We are Indians, and we are very funny.

Believe me. Every now and then something we do or something we say that makes me hold my swivelling belly in both hands and break out in shrieks and shrieks of goofed up laughters.

Just like a coupla days ago, I saw these lines in fine prints, the Health Minister wishes to ban drinking scenes from movies. Terrific ! It was hard for me to get over a goof attack. I was there literally throwing my feets in the air, much like air bicycling. Man, if this ain't funny than what is? After all, the whole nation has become so hillarious, must be inspired by our daily Laughter Challenges on the tubes. I don't know, if it is the nature of screen imitating reality or the other way around. I guess we were funny even before those stupid laughter shows came on TV. That's why I kept on growing on all this funny stuffs I remember now.

So it is now drinking ban. It had to come after the smoking ban. And seriously our health minister has a lotta thing to do. Why, deaths caused by smoking and drinking is touching the sky high limits. And the least he could do is to ban them, onscreen atleast. Yes, I do cheer for this once a lifetime gag things.

Much like the times when I had to put fingers in my own ears just coz my boiled out laughter was too much , even for them. Yeah, suddenly the notice came to serve for quota candicates, on a PG curricullum. Nopes, that was serious shit. I laughed my ass out. Reservations !! In IIMs? In IITs? Gawd, some crazy shit happens here awright. Reservation upto college level, I understand. But in IIms and IIts? That's gotta be a joke I could hardly comprehend. But, who klnows, they are funny, must be a cool gag for them to do. We even laugh at trash comedy movies, don't we?

Sometimes I do wonder what kinda country we are. Secular? Some time of the year it's hard to believe that. Mainly during the election times when the hat trick comes out, playing the caste and religion card is the famous trick netas from this old snake charmers and rope tricks could pull out. Let's hear this old funny tale, not that old too. This one is a rural, extremely interior village in Bengal, entirely Muslim crowd. There comes this politician on his election visit and to enlighten a village full of poor sods. This one line particularly got me ROFLing. Examine this : " Bhaisob, I'll tell you the truth. The bombings of Iraq and Afghanistan, thereal culprits are our opposition leader Madam M and our PM Mr A, you know both of them are allies. Ma'm M convinced Mr A to convince Mr Bush to bomb those nations." Now, that's what I call an impromptu creativity. What a story dude ! Really, and no, It ain't a joke. This is straight off the mouth of some khadi clad in some poor illiterate hungry rural darkland. So being secular is out the question anyway.

If someone in this country hits you on the road, the best way to get back at him is to prove that he actually belongs to an upper caste or of a different religion. Trust me, you'll hit the jackpot. You'll make it on the national TVs of breaking news. You'll make the parliament where some pot bellied funny bone will accuse the minister of that particular place that he couldn't conduct communal harmony. That's freaky !! Caste and creed are injected to opur bones and God knows, each one of us wants to make something in or out of it.

The best examples could be seen before or after any movie screenings where some or other party always screaming loud, burning posters and ill-made effigies, throwing stones at screens. Reason : This or that movie degraded, degenerated their community. Sham, Sham, Puppy Sham. Degraded. Degenerated. Those are words those happens to our different communities every other day. And mind me, though the implications of these two words are pretty seriouys, but somehow the continuous usage of them made it just another funny words.

So are we socialist? Hell No. Socialist like Stalin's GDR or USSR? Nopes, we are not officially, kid. That makes me wonder. The socialist world of equality eventually broke out in blood shed of innocents. Who was it. Stalin or Marx or Mao who said that a thousand bodies is ok to sacrifice for the realisation of the socialist dream? Nomatter who ever did that, we are not socialist. Though oppressing anyone who opposes our dictators is the order of the day, we are not yet GDR or USSR. Just one out of the context question. Communisms believe in history. Do they see the blood on their history then? Foeget it, that's altogether a different matter of fact.

So what we are? Democratic. Yes, that we are. But more than that we are living the Great Indian Hypocricy. We are democratic coz anyone could do anything, namely destroy properties and/or lives in the name of democracy. And those who wants to protest can't open their mouth coz till them the democracy has moved on to become Hypocricy. And that's the funniest part. You push globalisation but you beat the hell out of immigrants from other state. You talk about open mind then cover up the cheerleaders. Oh, how can I forget, the oh so funny incident called sex education!! Man, that was exaggeratedly funny. And do I hear that colleges are too banning jeans and sleeveless tees !! Ah man. Glad I passed out of college, or else in todays date I had to visit the canteen for a half glass tea wearing a stupid tie with my funny shirt tucked in my flappy pants. That's more funny than Anil Kappor in Tashan.

The Great Indian Hypocricy has an ally. The Great Indian Breaking News Channels. Where any and every thing is a breaking news. I'd say this is a good thing. You can understand that we have reached an age of discontent and constant vigilation that our lives are full of so many breaking news. Is it like whatever our country people do becomes a breaking news coz given our sense of disparage it's gonna hurt someone's sentiment, personal or religious, sooner or later? I do remember this story of this lady Gudia, who once was the centrepiece of every news channels. Where the analysists and the opinion givers huddled for countless hours who should take her home, his first or second husband. Now someone made a movie on her and now he can't release it coz, again, let me laugh out first, some people protested that it's putting their community in bad light.

Yes, so much same as smoking and drinking onscreen. Ban them all. People are one step short of banning PDA from public areas, every other day including V day. Ban sex education. Ban saas-bahu serials. Oh no, don't. After all they hold our culture so well, right!! Culture !! Right. One man marrying a lady twice, another one marrying thrice and whatsoever. Ban all things man. Ban us. Ban the democracy. Uphold the Great Indian Hypocricy. Many many years ago, there was this guy from Bengal, who raped and killed a young gal. He was sent to the gallows. His last few days were bold sized media frenzy. His last shave, last food, last songs he heard. So much for raping and killing a girl. And why not !! Is it not our court's order that the rapist needs to marry the rape victim ? Now if that doesn't tickle your funny bone, I dunno what'll.

I remember this one joke we used to sat in our school hours. There's this convention of world leaders and there's this competition of who's got the biggest hard on. A lady comes in front of them one by one and strips, and then it's measured who got the biggest one. So, this lady comes in front of our esteemed leader and strips. Nothing happens. He stays nonchalant, limp. Upset over her beauty and sensuality, the lady turns around, and then, our leader gets the biggest hard on there ever was. When he was asked the reason why he got such excited when the lady turned, our leader said: Because India is a backward country.

Ahhh. well. Cheers to that.

I Want to be GOD for a While

2008-05-02T06:17:00.000-07:00

How many of us will be sacrificed tonight?
How many more will bleed for the lies?
How many more should die?
How many fathers will lose their lives?
How many sons will be crucified?
How many mothers will cry?
How many more should be killed before we learn to love without bias?
How many more should be burned alivebefore peace arrives?
How many more nights like these can we survive?
How many Gods will it take for us to value life?
How many to stop these fights?
How many more years beforewe stop to kill each other?
How many more before we learn to see beyond caste, creed and color?
How many more years before we stop to sell our dreams and our children?
When will we learn to forsake the gilded illusions?
What's the price of peace that we seek? Who collects and who pays it?
Where are the prophets, messiahs and messengers of God?
Where are the religions that talk of saving man's soul?
Where is the Day Light we wait for?
When will Man stand on earth for the brotherhood of man?
Who's cheating us off our Promised Land?
Tonight, the world looks so hopeless, so insane.
I weep for those that I haven't even met.
I cry for every child that isn't born yet.
Who created this hell on earthfor all of us?
I give in to the pain, can't justify it nor deny,
Like ember, that once was a glowing flame,
my whole being begins to die.
To write another word seems impossible, even futile.
I don't want to laugh or smile when my sisters cry.
I don't want to create in a world where my brothers sleep hungry thru the night.
I don't want to feel alivewhen my kith and kin are cold and lonely all their lives.
Tonight, I feel helpless like a new born child,
I want to hug them all real tight,
tell them everything will be all right.
Tonight, I want to make a better world, gift a better life,
Let them know I'll be right here by their side
till the end of time.
Tonight, I want to be God for a while.

RESERVED FOR LIFE

2008-05-01T05:40:00.000-07:00

Recently, I read about Dads having their own special chairs at home… That set me thinking… Come to think of it, they do… I can remember certain chairs being named Thatha’s chair ( Grandfather’s chair) or Appa’s (Dad’s ) chair… And nobody ever occupying it.

My grandfather had this huge antique chair that seemed straight out of Victorian times ( may be it was... it was made during the British Raj) with heavily padded seats and wings, and legs that curved out- like those of a lion’s. This was placed before his famous Roll-Top writing desk…for him to majestically occupy while he managed his paperwork or browsed through his treasures...

He also had a permanent seat at the dining table. Though not at the centre, he was the centre of attention, for the rest of us were like planets and satellites orbiting him… All serving started with him…and we’d wait impatiently for our turn… Even on festival days, there were specific seats for the family members. Our dining room in the ancestral home was long and rectangular in shape and plantain leaves would be placed on the floor from one end . Here again, Thatha had a specific place. Next to him would be my Dad, and then my Chithappa ( paternal uncle) and any other visiting relatives. Then came my elder brothers. We, the small fry were invariably seated opposite to the gents where the senior ladies had their allocated space.

This hierarchical seating is something very common in our households, I believe. After marriage, I found that my FIL ( Appa) had this place at the head of the table that was taboo for others. I don’t think he’d have said, ‘that’s my seat you are in’, but it is taken for granted that no one will dare to occupy his place.

The seating at our dining table in Bhadravathi is rather fixed. Appa occupies one end of the 6 seater. To his left is Amma’s place. Next to her is Appa’s sister’s place. If one analyzes the arrangement, Amma’s place is such that she can pass dishes to the others. The problem is, she gets preoccupied with passing the dishes and doesn’t really enjoy a meal. When I visit, I get to sit to Appa’s right, a place I have to cede to my husband if he’s there… to one of my twins, if they are there… in which case, I sit at the far end, opposite to Appa. So my planetary position is like the Navagrahas… occupying various spaces as and when situation demands. In fact, for breakfast, I may occupy Amma’s or Athai’s place.

Talking about breakfast, Athai ( paternal aunt) has this habit of sitting against the wall in one corner of the kitchen for her breakfast, especially if it is dosas. Amma or I would serve her dosas straight from the griddle. I have seen my own grandma and ‘buajis’ ( dad’s buajis in fact) sitting in particular nooks and corners of the kitchen for their meals. And each one of us had our own plates. Grandfather had this huge silver plate, my father had his heavy steel one… we all had our own plates decreasing in size in accordance with our age. Even when eating on plantain leaves, bigger blemishless leaves would be spread for the elders, we used to get half a leaf… no wonder we were messy eaters…. There was hardly space in that half piece of plantain leaf for all those acrobatics of traditional eating.

Back home, things have changed. Except on special occasions, there is no longer the conventional ‘eating together’. The dining table has become a redundant piece of furniture. Of course, Dad has his breakfast and lunch at it, but hardly anyone bothers to have dinner at the dining table. It has become customary to pile the food onto a plate and sit in front of the TV. But in Bhadravathi, my sasuraal, the old traditions are still carried out. No TV during meals. All the members will eat all meals together….of course, there are exceptions here and there…

It is just not the dining room that has reserved seats. In the living room, there is a sofa that is Appa’s. No one uses it generally. Sometimes my twins or I show the audacity of occupying it, but the moment Appa enters the living room, we’d vacate it, out of respect for him, though he’d say, ‘It’s okay’. I have this great picture of one of my twins sitting on that chair his hands resting on the arms of the sofa, fingers interlaced, just like his grandfather… A picture that reinforces theories of DNA and family traits!
My Dad also has his chair placed strategically to give him enough light to read the three newspapers and watch TV. Only he has a foot stool, which, if moved by even a tenth of an inch, he’ll come to know. So, even the maids are instructed about the latitudes and longitudes of the positioning of his chair and footstool so that cleaning operations will not upset that particular apple cart.

Here in my own home, RP and BIL sit opposite to each other at the dining table so that they can yak about what’s happening in their respective offices while they eat. I prefer to carry my plate to the sofa where I get more elbow space. I am used to the buffet style of eating now a days… and any formal seating makes me nervous. There is no fixed place for me…

My grandma used to sit on a wooden push back armchair and write ‘sreeramajayam’ in a big ledger. She used to look so majestic, so regal while doing that… All those pieces of furniture have been sold… now wrought iron and ‘brightly shaded matching the carpet’ furniture have taken their place.

Appa keeps saying ‘a place for everything and everything in its place.’ I am sure that is why he will not occupy any other place in the living or dining room. Any way, we won’t have it any different either. Certain things are reserved for life…

They are a part of my culture, my values and my valuable heritage.

"As experienced and told by verboseviju"

Twenty 20, Headaches a Planty

2008-04-22T03:01:00.000-07:00

Twenty 20, Headaches a Plenty

On the 20th it was the Wankhede, to watch the IPL
At the entrance, it was clear all was not to be well.
The unruly crowds were testimony that tickets
Were as rampant as locusts and crickets.
Getting into the stadium was a big task,
Locating your “seat” was an impossible ask.
After much pushing, shoving with tenacity
We reluctantly merged with this belligerency.
The seats were not ergonomically designed
To three hours of torture, we were resigned.
The shouting and abuses were reaching a peak,
One or two guys’ ears we would love to tweak.
The lithe American dancers, new to this hype
Came under an attack of a different type.
Bombardment with paper pellets seemed a must,
Their trainer finally led them out in disgust.
Afghanistan and Iraq, must seem a piece of cake,
Compared to the nonsense his girls had to take.
The “large screen” was no bigger than a TV
Viewing it was an exercise in futility.
Few replays, no scoreboard nor public address,
The rabble was clueless and left to guess.
Overs, run rate, commentary, we were at a loss
In the absence of these, interest went for a toss.
We were literally groping in the dark,
Sunday evening could have been better spent in a park.
We struggled out of this mess at the break,
Went to a restaurant our thirst to slake.
Here AC, a plasma TV, a glass of beer,
Mute applause, filled you with cheer.
The Organisors want to rake in the big bucks
Want to be part of all this ruckus?

Hell's Portals

2008-04-21T06:23:00.000-07:00

Hell's Portals

Hell's portals three are inviting and grand
Personified deceptions of a mirage
All consuming, Desire as the tallest stands
Of dreams and diamonds a dazzling collage

It opens to boulevards broad and big
Lined by tall trees of some habit strange
With leaves of gold and golden twigs
Swaying in unfelt wind they shades change

Their rustling leaves sing songs of fame
In shape and size like a hundred dollar note
Each leaf is an invitation to money's game
To power and prestige a raised toast

The second of anger is equally majestic
Painted in orange like a bad liver it stands
Red and large rubies to its face stick
Besides it, Devils' nasty picture hangs

It opens to streets with frenzied commotion
With racing zombies outdoing one another
None forgives none for 'tis a wrong notion
Scenes abound of cruelty in rage's hour

The third is like a door of huge vault of steel
With knobs and keys it leads to pits of greed
In whose depths figures with head loads speed
Close in darkness a statue of Midas kneels

Greed is the face of hidden desire to accumulate
To be able to endlessly our senses ingratiate.
Soul here in quagmire of ignorance wallows
It lusts and hoards in moral waters shallow

Men fortunate and favoured by Destiny
These grand portals as deadly pitfalls see.

A Terminal Loss

2008-04-20T02:59:00.000-07:00

The air is shimmering with stark exhileration

and i'm skidding deeper into a sweet anticipation
How my heart,

Screeches to a halt,
When I recall your body arched against mine,

Burning with passion, losing thread of time.
Your soft words graze against my hot skin,

"I'm afaid, darling, but i've got to leave tonight

To accomplish a towering task,

A few months is all i ask
And then,

for once and for all,

i'll be back,

Fondling you,

Loving you,

And if you wish,

we'll hit the sack."
Time stretches on without you,

Without warning,

it spins out of control,

too.Into days, Into weeks,

Into months,

Into years.and i helplessly yield,

to unprecedented tears.

Agony seeps into my pores,

Fate's cruel intentions,

all blood & gore,
Until One day, a familiar ring jarrs me, out of the blue,

A deep, resonant voice, at the other end of the line, booms,

"I'll be there, baby, in the evening, at eight!"

And all i want 2 see is your love in full spate!

A tidal wave of honeyed emotions lashes over me,

My senses plunge into a multi-coloured ecstasy,

I spruce myself up, i take an eterenity,

Uncontrollable nerves, buzzing through me,
Then i hear, the jingleof the door bell,

writhing in excitement,

I sweep over, and carefully open the door,
Greeted by a policeman who looks like hell,

He slowly says,"Mrs. Cameron,

Your husband was just killed,

in a dreadful accident,

I offer my hearfelt condolences, over this unfortunate incident

He was driving recklessly,

and crashed into the woods,
..........and no chance of his survival, stood.

Why Superman Never Came Back

2008-04-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

Why Superman Never Came Back

In writing this I am disregarding one of my closest friends’ advice. God help me for this… If you read through this then please do not be surprised at the bitter thread of reasoning. It is to be expected… Besides, I am pessimist. I am allowed to be a cynic and sarcastic for no reason!

Is there something wrong with this world that we live in? No correct that... There is definitely something wrong with this world that we live in. There's no more any doubt about that. But the question that I should be asking at this stage in my life is whether we should do something about correcting the anomalies that we see everyday or should we continue to turn a blind eye just like everybody else. Would it be that which a Superman would do?

Somehow the smart ones of this world have managed to survive. How have they done that? I am sure they do it by turning a blind eye to all things that they'd call too-much-info-to-deal-with, and letting things continue as they are. In fact, the only time the average man gets off his ass to do something is when what is impending threatens some privilege of his. But isn't that perverse? Shouldn't all thinking men and women revolt at this kind of....? I don't even have words to describe that. I wonder what do I call it. Is it sloth? Selfishness? Is it a mere callous attitude that no matter what is right or wrong or what should be. Let it be... I just want what makes me physically comfortable in life... For me...

Or is it that I am a fool and the world really knows better. After all, it's survived so long without living up to idealistic standards of what ought to be or not. It may not be a better place for not having asked for them, but it still exists?! So what harm is there in not setting right a wrong if it’s not in your charter of duties? What is wrong with greed? What is wrong with coveting money, a comfortable life and a glitzy lifestyle? Nothing. Nothing at all... After all, why shouldn’t everyone do whatever is possible to be at the better side of things?

The pertinent question for me then now becomes is that if the entire world functions in this manner why do I, like a knight errant, persist in sticking to old, dulled and lack-lustre ideals that only get me pain? Why have I not changed myself, and having not done so, am I a better person or just a plain fool... I dare not demand an answer for I fear what the answer may be.

I also fear that whosoever reads this must consider it as the mere cribbing of a disgruntled rejected soul. Not far from the truth. No man would come to such self defeating realisations of his own accord. Did I think of these things when I was happy? It only invaded my consciousness when I am in pain now. Why am I in pain? That is too personal to discuss, but then that is superfluous anyway... The discerning reader must already have guessed. So let it be at that.

For those in this world that have mastered the art of living through such frustration, the only recourse seems to be to build huge, high, inaccessible walls all around themselves. They stay within these Fortresses of Solitude and feel happy at not being hurt. That is why Superman in this world never came back!!!

It is much easier living that way... Like we know already it is much easier to be ruthless if you do not know. You do not WANT to know the name of that person whom you will be killing, or that person whose livelihood you'll deprive. Just think that he's an idiot or a very bad person who deserves everything coming his way. It'll never bother that which is sleeping within you one bit.

But then if so many are the advantages of being thus what are if any the disadvantages? Intransigence. Intransigence which results in a gradual change in the very character that defines you. You become like everybody else because the rest of the world stopped caring long ago and now you also have decided to do unto them as they did unto you once... That is probably why the World today is full of so many jerks and shit-heads!

It is possible that I am, of course, entirely wrong in my deductions and assumptions, and then the only credit that I'll claim will be this candid acceptance of my own fallibility. Foolish again, I am sure… Some things and some people never change!!!

Is Old Age a Curse ?

2008-04-15T05:59:00.000-07:00

Is old age a curse?

I am sitting in the hall cutting vegetables for making lunch.My MIL, a grand old lady of 87 walks to the hall slowly from her room.She comes and sits in front of the TV takes the remote in her hand.She keeps changing the channels,she is not happy with any of the programmes shown on the different channels on the TV.I don’t blame her,I too feel the same way,watching the different serials somehow adds to my woe,the women are invariably shown as the cry babies all the time crying or as pucca vamps..I watch my MIL’s facial expressions,it looks as if she would start sobbing any time.She keeps the remote in its place and walks back to her room.This happens atleast five to six times a day,my MIL coming to the hall,switching on and swirching off the TV and walking back to her room.
She feels lonely.This, inspite of the fact that we are taking good care of her,she gets regular medical check ups,my husband makes it a point to spend time with her sits and talks to her,jokes with her,I do my best to take care of her in my own way.But she needs company of her age group people,company of her relatives.Unfortunately that is something we cant do anything about.
In the same complex where we live ,in another block,on the seond floor lives another old lady in a flat all by herself.Her only son is in the US.This is her own flat, very well furnished.Her son has engaged two maids for her.One comes in the morning,does her work,cooks for the old lady and leaves.The other one comes in the afternoon makes evening meal for her stays for sometime and leaves.Her son has made excellent financial arrangements for her.She is financially well off.
When I asked her son,”Why don’t you take her with you”,he said,that he tried it.But both he and his wife are working and his mother had to stay alone in the house.”For my mother to stay alone here is better than staying alone at home in US.”Similarly his mother is averse to keeping a full time maid.
My husband makes it a point to visit her, atleast once in a day and enquires about her health,makes small talks with her. .In the beginning the old lady was wary about my husband visiting her every day,but now she looks forward to his visits.Her relatives visit her rarely,mostly on festival days.
When I went to Mumbai to visit my daughter,my daughter introduced me to one of her neighbours.Ahusband,wife,MIL and their two children.Very nice friendly people.I particularly liked the old lady,80+ who looked so beautiful at that age.Her silver hair,flawless complexion,lovely smile and blue eyes.I told my daughter she must have been a ravishing beauty in her younger days.
Her son and daughter in law were working,they had a full time maid who also cooked for them.Their flat was right below my daughter’s.Very often I heard the sound of people shouting at each other,sobs and bitter fights.Then my daughter told me.The DIL did her best to take care of the MIL but MIL was not happy wth the food made by the maid.She wanted the DIL to cook for her.She often found fault with the food made by the maid and shouted at her,with the result,no maid stayed with them for more than a month or so.She was also very forgetful.DIL would have given her all her medicines to take,but she would complain to her son ,”your wife did not give me my medicine.She wants me to die”.Tell me will there be peace at such a place?The old woman was not a bad person,but her dependence on her son and Dil was playing on her mind.
One day in the evening I and my husband went to the terrace to get some fresh air.We saw the old lady’s son sitting there with a sad face.We were hesitating to ask him anything,when he came to us and told my husband, “Uncle,I have a problem.I need your advice.”He told us about his mother ,her stubbornness and her memory that was failing her and the constant friction at home.
My husband listened to him patiently and then said to him that he had to be patient with his mother.Even if he wanted to make a point with her he should tell her that in a friendly manner.We talked with him for sometime.He went down visibly feeling better.

Medical science has progressed beyond anyone’s expectations.Awareness among people about maintaining good health and eating the right food has become an in thing.So life span of a person has increased.Elderly people nearing 90s are a common sight.Well,For the old,medical support is there,insurance facility is there,awareness is there,but do the old people get equally worthy moral,emotional and psychological support?
The problems of old age is not your problem,it is not my problem,it is not her problem or his problem.It is a social issue.
Our elderly people are lonely,they want company,they want entertainment of their choice on TV ,they become nostalgic and want to talk about the good old days and be listened to.
What are we going to do about this?
Socially responsible, conscientious people and people who are taking care of their parents should sit ot gether and chart out plans to make life better for the aged.
Five or six families,if possible relatives or friends who have elderly people at home should arrange for the elderly to meet atleast once a month and chitchat in a common friend’s or relative’s place.Let them spend a couple of hours together,chitchat and come home refreshed and recharged.
Media people,please make a survey and find out what are programmes most ofthem would like to watch.When there are any number of cartoon channels for the kids, why not have atleast one channel exclusively to cater to the elderly.Let them listen to good music,films that they like to watch,listen to religious discourses.
My MIL,my neighbour lady whose son is in the US ,and the elderly mother whom we met at Mumbai are not only lucky to have caring sons,they must have also set a good example to their sons as good caring children to their parents.
How many of us can boast of bringing up children who will not look upon their old aged parents as burdens on them?
If you are young, remember that you will also become old one day.If you are middle aged,remember,old age is just round the corner.If you are in your sixties,like me,listen carefully dont you hear old age knocking on your door?
We need not panic.Just set a good example to the next generation as to how one should take care of one’s aged parents.Youe chidren are bound to tread your path.
Old age is not something to be savoured,at the same time it should not become a curse to the old also.Our elderly parents surely deserve a better fate than that.

Thought of the Day

2008-04-13T23:32:00.000-07:00

"So far as I am able to judge, nothing has been left undone, either by man or nature, to make India the most extraordinary country that the sun visits on his rounds. Nothing seems to have been forgotten, nothing overlooked."

Perfume

2008-04-13T01:03:00.000-07:00

Perfume

The afternoon leaned towards the evening as the sun carried on its journey to the west. The orange golden brush of light must have painted the sky in amber and molten gold. My world was colorless, blank, bleak and black. I desperately yearned for her today I wanted to touch her feel her breath. My sense of smell told me that this was a familiar scent which made me think of her. She loved that Perfume and was always bathed in it. Somehow I always associated the fragrance with her.
She, who was my sister, sometimes a mirror for my soul and yet at some other time she was my friend and competitor. We were similar like two parallel lines of the same length but the similarity ended there as each line had its own individuality and so geometrically we may be parallel but that could have be an illusion of a vision. Or it could be that a ray of light was split into two parts carrying fragmented colors of the rainbow.
It had been a childhood of indistinguishable physical identities which confused us sometimes and at other times made us happy. Most of the time it was like someone was always peeping inside our minds. I could read her mind and she could read mine. We could hear each other's thoughts without any need to utter any word. It was an awkward comfort it gave us at times.
It was simple and complex when we were in school. We would fool everyone teachers and students because of the total similarity we shared. We were like identical sea shells touching different waters. One sought the sound of waves and the other yearned for the color of water.
We fought, loved and shared each other while we stole from each other bits and pieces of our identities. Sometimes it was just a look in the eye and smile was all that was needed to convey. We would just touch the tips of each other’s fingers and go away. It was a secret message that seemed to pass through the finger tips. Life went on until the day it changed. It was a usual day and we had a holiday. The bright sunny day made both of us very happy.
"Let us go to for a picnic."
She seemed to read my mind.
Happily within an hour we ran in the meadow bright and happy in the golden sunshine.
The picnic basket our mother had packed for us had all the goodies we loved. The afternoon went on sleeping, running, laughing and talking. On our way back home we met destiny which had been waiting to pounce. Fate, which made us take the path, which brought in the clouds from no where and then which created the landslide.
It was much later when I could open my eyes and saw my whole world had altered. Black and dark was all I could see. I thought I was dead. I was able to hear the voices of my parents. And then I realized shockingly that light had gone out of my life. My life became colorless. And brightness had truly vanished when I came to know that she had left me, My sister, my soul, my other side....she who knew everything about me whom I loved and hated the most. But today I loved her more because she was not there. Why do we realize the depth of our relationship when it ends?
Life continued its patterns outside my world. Inside me was a deep hollow space which had just emptiness and some blobs of black. The colors and flowers smiles and laughter were just remote.
I used to cry in the day. At nights I was comfortable because the world outside became similar to mine. Everyone else needed light as I did and I felt strangely contented.
My days went on they drifted aimlessly as leaves fall in the autumn. I did not go to school. I had no friends. I hardly talked to anyone. My mother wanted me to learn Braille to help me, but I refused and cried my eyes out.
She had to go for her job and I had to be alone in the house. She would put everything near my bed and then leave worrying about me. Father had become withdrawn and I could feel the tension inside the house.
I used to lie in bed and cry and howl and then would fall asleep. My hell of self -pity and unhappiness was becoming very comfortable and consoling. The doctor had given me sedatives I could always wrap the shroud of slumber on my eyes. But that day as I was about to gulp that tablet, I felt a strange presence...yes she was here.
"Beth, I uttered her name I know you are here." I said softly
There was no answer. But I could feel her presence, smell her perfume and I put the tablet away and stood up.
“Where are you?” I screamed
The fragrance hypnotized me and I followed it dazed and gripped.
I walked as it took me holding my hand and I knew where it was taking me when I entered her room. She was telling me something. I had not entered this room for about a year now and it filled with memories I wanted to escape as I fumbled and fell down. With much effort I went ...carried over by the fragrance. As I reached where she wanted me to.... I stopped. My hair was on my face loose and flowing, sticking around my eyes but now it did not bother me. Softly I touched the wooden surface of the Piano as I felt the dust I tried to trace memories.. With shivering hands I wiped it as I could and my fingers touched the wooden surface. I saw her touch in my heart felt it in my soul. Her touches which were preserved on it from those times came alive. It was like feeling her, meeting her.

“Where are you my dear?” I said as a tear struggled to glide
I could hear the notes as she used to play. This was one thing I could never do. We were very different in this respect I played with colors and she with sounds. We were complete world in this world without each other. But today the colors were lost and sounds I was never friendly with.
As I played with the keys a force gripped me I shivered and quivered at the sound. But soon the keys started to jump and touch me and with faltering notes the waves became smooth and danced in the air.
It was as if she was playing in me I could feel it. The fragrance danced around me as I could feel her happiness. It was she who guided the keys to create the subtle notes melodious tinkling wrapped me floated around and broke into the darkness of my heart.
They resonated slowly to perfection as it became a symphony of two souls. It corrected dissonance of the world I had entered. The silent words and sighs flowed down my cheeks in shining elegance. The melody spread around the room and every note spun and weaved a delicate pattern of love. I was stunned and amazed as how I could perform what I had found so difficult when I could see.
"Precisely because you never saw inside yourself..."someone said
Who was that? I turned around to see. Too late I realized that she was not there, not in the form for me to see and I could not see either.
"You can see sound only if you close your eyes. In the dark depths you see the sound, soft, melodious, gentle, mellow harmonious sharp, Move your fingers and you make another ripple another wave. Concentric circles...surround you envelop you...guide the keys lovingly and they will break into rhapsody.
“And you remember I could hardly paint and play with the colors as you did my dear?” She seemed to question
Yes I nodded I had seen her getting frustrated in the art classes in school.
"Now I can do it here in this world of mine I play with colors and so I give you the sounds to play with. Play with the notes my sister and light will come to you.”
I felt the healing coming to me. As I cried the pain melted away lifting a stone from my heart. I painted the Blue Mountains and the cascades of dancing waters in the green forests. Magnificent chords and vast far-reaching arpeggios filled the air around me. The notes fell like layers of silk in ribbons and as I added the colors I needed to paint the scene in my mind. The sky and the hills I loved with butter yellow Sun and the white silver waterfalls all came alive. I could see the blooms, chirping birds when suddenly I felt a tug in my heart. From nowhere dark clouds gathered on my sky and changed it into Dark and menacing. The lightening arose in silver spike and all the colors except for black and white were gone. As I played the storm came into existence. The chords became louder and dissonant. With a sudden flash the thunder was born out of that dark womb. With some strokes the rain came along delicately at first. Then it fell on me with full force. I could touch the rain drops and taste the wind. My tears melted the ice in my heart and rain drops mixed with my tears..
When my mother came she was surprised to see me sleeping on the piano.
"What are you doing here." she asked me in a soft tone.
I woke up the painting was still there in my mind
“She came!” Mama I said
"Who my dear? "
‘Beth...you don't believe me? Do you?"
I put fingers on the keys and the silence broke in numerous fragments of musical notes as SHE came in for me with her fragrance. My mother huggedme as I went on playing, crying...painting... she in me or me in her.

Nature Your Sacred Heart

2008-04-07T06:40:00.000-07:00

All of us have desires, but what should be the greatest desire? What will bring the most happiness? Many people are focused on sex, but focus on the sacred heart is most important. When you make the sacred heart the focus of your life, in time, you feel love towards everyone.

Devotion Rising, by Helen Kottler, 2008,
22”x30”, gouache, colored pencil and collage on black paper

Nurture Your Sacred Heart

by Harry Kottler

The body does the act of passion
In the act of passion's fashion,
But does mind stay ever fastened
To the sacred heart?

With no sacred heart, where's true love?
It is really not with you, love.
What you've really got to do, love,
Is focus on your sacred heart.

Bodies merge, but minds are daffy.
Meanwhile hearts are always clashing.
Dear, you need another passion,
Passion for your sacred heart.

Sex was made for replication.
Some folks think it's recreation.
If you want supreme elation,
Keep in mind your sacred heart.

Don't judge sexual performance.
Forget that you read D.H. Lawrence.
You should have complete abhorrence
For that way of seeing things.

Have your sex, but not too often.
Have it when your heart is softened.
Bodies go to pyres and coffins.
Nurture now your sacred heart.

When heart and mind merge, one feels glory.
That's the great transcendence story.
Then your heart is always pouring,
Pouring pure love to all you see.

..........

Until the END

2008-04-06T22:26:00.000-07:00

all alone in this cold rainy morning

inside a dark smelly alley

i see an old man sleeping away his final days

wandering around in this cold rainy morning

compass swirling all over

my life was put on a pedestal

and in one single moment

my fall from grace was swift and sudden

water, water everywhere

yet i was this lost sailor searching for a drink

i am in control of a rudderless ship

stuck in the middle of this vast windless ocean (of life)

trying to sail away to safety

like a motorist stuck on a busy highway

i am reaching out to all

to help me get on this road (life) again

on and on and on they come

and again and again and again....

all spe(e)d past like a bullet out of a gun

the battle has been lost

leaving scars aplenty

stuck in the middle

of this crazy highway (life)

alone, battered and bruised

this war rages on

inside me.......

i am fighting a war

that has no end

and no respite

a war to stay alive

until the end....

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Please come back Mr. Gandhi

2008-04-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

When Gandhi returned from SA he found more or less the same situation that we live in now. Corruption was rampart and moral values were very low. He diagnosed the moral crisis Indians faced at that time and gave the magic mantra which was tried and tested by him in his childhood and also in South Africa. That mantra was "Worship the Truth". Why he gave this mantra to us?

let us go slightly back in the history and find out. When Robert Clive won entire state of Bengal by attacking Calcutta, his casualty was only 26 British soldiers. Bengal was given to him because Siraj-ud-daula was treachered by his own man Mir Jaffer, who offered his entire Army to Clive just to become next Nawab of Bengal. Had every Hindu or Muslim Bengali come out of their home and fought then the story would have been different. Robert Clive himself has said this later on. He was surprised that Indian people were so frightened that no one ever came out and his army had taken Calcutta on a silver platter.

Similarly, during 1857, none of the Rajas or Nawabs co-operated with each other and the British could gather a huge army compiled of Indians to fight against these Rajas and Nawabs. Indian army fought against their own Indian people and helped the British to recapture the lost ground. the mutiny failed. Few sparks like Tatya and Rani Laxmi still instill courage in our hearts but what about those who could have fought the British tooth and nail then? Where were Scindhias, Peshwas, Gaekwads, Holkers? Why could they not unite? Where were Nawabs? Why could they not join hands with Rajas? Why did they mis-trust their own countrymen and put their faith in British? They were either too afraid or were sold to the British by outright selling their soul to them against their mother-land.

We say India is a great land, and the knowledge before going to anywhere in the world, stayed here. We knew about the planets and their movements centuries before the West found out. We invented the Zero. but morally we became zero. Gandhi, who recognized this. he instilled the value and virtue of The Truth in the minds of people. and even if he got one follower in one thousand Indians he proved that he was right.

Aren't we passing in the same situation in the first half of this century , today? Which politician is non-corrupt? and which neta is not surrounded by people who make money for him and themselves by supporting him and by people displaying mere sycophancy. We blame them, but aren't we paying those government officers or those hidden policemen in order to avoid rules and laws of the land? How many cases have happened in our Army where the army man, in order to get a medal even created fake battle with the "enemy". and How many officers are paying their superiors to get the desired transfer so that he can make more money.

Even Doctors have ceased to become your "family physician". Once they ask you to go for a check up to a certain pathologist, the pathologist gives the so called "border line" result in order to force you to go for more check ups and then more check ups. Once they learn that you have a mediclaim policy your simple boil will cost your insurance company in thousands. and your insurance company, gets the money from you by not passing the claim for repeated illness and by increasing the premium once you have stacked the claim.

Property dealers and builders are creating riots so that they get cheap property and build malls and commercial places, and the ration officer goes on issuing Ration Card, the basic citizen documents to one and all who can pay mere 1000 rupees, without even bothering to check whether the applicant is from Bangladesh or Pakistan. and if you want to delete a name frodealers arem your Ration Card he will take at-least fifteen days, because you are not paying him.

We are terroized, we are being looted by our own brothers, we try to make two ends meet by what-ever means. Our wants are increased. We have forgotten the basic truth that we require handful of food and cotton or Khadi clothes to wear and we require mear 10 y not be rebFt. place to stay. We require Air-condition, we require Car, we require Bungalows or flat even though a simple One BHK flat is costing 50 lac and above in Mumbai. We visit shopping mall and buy all sorts of things using our credit card dealers arebecause they offer payment "facility" by charging you 40% Pathani interest yearly. Locals beat few people from other states and they run back to their state in thousands fearing for their life. they become refugees in their own country. The same local becomes a par-prantiya in other states and fear to trael in other states.

The situation is deteriorating day by day. Unless we stick to the same magic mantra. Worship the Truth, the doomsday is not very far. If we fight amongst ourselves what will we do when the Chinese attack us via Bomdilla to capture Arunachal Pradesh. They know that they will find many many Mir Jaffers in India, particularly in Bengal and Kerala. What shall we do when USA recognizes Kashmir like they did in Kosovo?

Let us walk together in our march towards the truth. Let us reduce our wants and let us not bribe or not use credit cards in order to save us from the "vish-chakra" of the banks. Come what may we can survive like we survived in early thirties to late seventies. Do not worry. Gandhi may not be reborn but his principals are there to follow. Let us not give our roads the name of M.K.Gandhi , but ourselves walk on the road he himself has created for us. That is the only way. We require Iron will of Sardar Patel. A leader who can display this will, will become Indian PM and lead us to the Gandhian way. Others will be doomed. but we must not wait for that day. United we will survive. divided we will fall.

A Second Chance

2008-03-31T08:55:00.000-07:00

When the day is over,
And the lights fade out
I turn the other way around
The tears, they sting my eyes
As I held my breath, I sigh
Where art thou my love?

He is here, right next to me
Sleeping gently and so carefree
He knows not now
That my love has gone
There is some one else
To whom my heart is bound

Somewhere down life’s road
We took a different path at a fork
The destination should have been the same
His lead to money, and loads of fame
I chose a different path,
Alone, it was not an easy task
As I held my breath, I sigh
Where art thou my love?

Just when the road seemed too long
And the journey difficult and forlorn
I saw a mirage or so I thought
There was another man looking distraught?
In the same path we both had walked
My feet carried me to the same spot
As I held my breath, I sigh
Where art thou my love?

I have been right here
Waiting for you,
It’s been a few months
Maybe few years
Time has been ticking,
But that is okay my dear.
Now that I have found you
I will never let you go
I promise my love,
It’s my solemn vow

The light creeps into our room
I wipe my tears, and gently rise
I kiss the man,
To whom I have lied.
I am not in love, with you my dear
We are poles apart
And now it’s crystal clear

As I walk away, I smile
No more tears, and no more sighs
He is waiting, and so am I
We have started on
A new journey called
“LIFE”
As we hold each other
And dance, I thank God
For a second chance.

Life and Death:mysterious children of destiny

2008-03-30T01:20:00.000-07:00

Manikandan was a final year Engineering student full of energy. He always had people in splits with his sense of humour and had a huge circle of friends. For Teacher's like me,he was an ideal student. Playful but not spoilt, intelligent but not manipulative. Delightful. We thought nothing can go wrong with this 20 year old kid when the unthinkable happened. He attempted suicide. It was a bolt from the blue for all of us. Why?What was the reason?Why Manikandan? Questions flowed and floored the mind. By the grace of GOD he recovered having recuperated in hospital for nearly five weeks. A second life almost.He returned to college after the nearly deathly hiatus and I for one did not open my questions immediately. I was biding my time and allowed him to settle neatly in the college ambience. After this self imposed gestation,I opened up gently one fine day. I made sure no one was overhearing and in the private confines of my secured cabin,I asked ,”What happened,Why did you attempt this”."Sir,I did not want to live".I understand,but why?.Reluctantly he said"Love failure sir".I put an arm over his dropped shoulders and said"Mani,Life is too precious to be given up on such trivial issues"."How do you think the problem would have been solved with your death"."I thought why trouble my parents with my forlorn look, they have always seen me happy".”Good point indeed,but by doing what you did,you would have brought unending sadness and suffering to them. Did you realise that. “

He posed a bewildered look at me."I also wanted relief from my internal suffering sir".”True,we all need relief from pain and suffering. But Mani,One man's relief should not become another man's suffering. That is being selfish. Your death would have brought infinite pain to your loved ones. So how can you justify your act'. He was beginning to understand my insight. “What is the best way to escape from a problem?” “To solve it sir”. “Exactly. Your problem too could have been solved if you had taken into confidence people around you. Parents,Friends,Teachers. Just anyone. One good soul could have changed your Life. Life is not about birth and death. It is a journey of love,success,failures all rolled into one roller coaster ride. It is about taking the bull by the horns,It is about struggle. The world remembers only those who come out trumps. Those who survive as per Darwin's theory. Survival of the fittest.” Mani kept nodding and I could sense a more purposeful ear in front of me. He could sense the message and was eager to hear more. I continued” Mani,finally one last point”Yes sir” “As much as people talk of meaning in birth and life,I feel there should be both meaning and honour in death too.Your epitaph should speak volumes of your life and death. We can't change the way we started,but we can certainly start now and create a new end .The choice is yours.”

In due course he changed a new leaf and spent the rest of the final semester involving himself in social events within the college. He organised an AIDS awareness campaign much to the delight of all of us and spoke with vigour on the role of society in caressing diseased people. I was happy at the turnaround and thanked the almighty for keeping an energetic soul alive and kicking. Manikandan today is a successful person in life and shows full promise of walking into the sunset with a matured outlook and a deserving epitaph.In some corner of my heart,I have sculpted this story and never hesitate to share it with my students.

As told and experienced by : VIJAYSHEKAR, Chennai, India.

My Goddess has Feet of Clay

2008-03-25T09:02:00.000-07:00

My protector, my friend, my teacher,
My mother,
My Goddess.
I remember worshiping her
from the day I became me.
The way she combed her hair,
Wore her saree;
The way her lip curved when she smiled,
The smell of her perfume,
The sound of her heart beating,
I remember my Goddess.
I remember every smile,
Every inflection and tone.
I remember her scathing anger
And my eagerness to please.
I remember swallowing my pride
To make way for her ego.
I remember gulping back tears
As she dished out her wrath.

I remember struggling everyday

with my failure to be the perfect daughter.

I remember her look of disappointment.

I remember sobbing myself to sleep

wondering, what did I do wrong?
I remember feeling inadequate
Until I woke up one day and realized,
My Goddess is just human
My goddess has feet of clay.

I Cried in Rain...

2008-03-24T02:15:00.000-07:00

Music of thunder filled our ears that night,
Drenched by the torrent were we.
Droplets like dew,
Rolling down your beautiful face,
Passing the knife sharp nose,
Down to those luscious lips,
Fading in sacred of places.

Shivering with cold and heated by love,
Hoaxed by water,
Visible was your gorgeous curves.
Inhaling your freshness,
Disappearing were those soaked clothes with my,
Act of larcenous.
Downpour was orchestrating the act of love making.

Gone are those days, with a heavy heart,
That still misses you my sweetheart.
Still I like sound of thunder,
That reminds you,
In my heart deep under.
No one will notice my pain,
Because thinking of you, I cried in rain.

A Lucky Shot

2008-03-17T08:22:00.000-07:00

Shanmugam was staring at the photographs mounted on the twin photo frame. On the left, his wife Kamala was just releasing a white pigeon and the picture was frozen exactly at the point of the bird was spreading its wings. He called it a lucky shot much to the annoyance of his twelve year old daughter Subha, on the right, staring at the camera in a defiant pose. “Why don’t you give me credit for having taken a good shot?!” she pouted. Shanmugam was chuckling to himself as he thought of his family thousands of miles away. As the head of a commando unit, he was on call 24 hours and 365 days. Family life was a distant dream. He missed his daughter much and longed to see her grow up. His thoughts were disturbed by his radio-man.
“Sir, urgent message from CRPF control room”
Within minutes, Shanmugam got ready and was driving in his jeep. Militants had made an attempt on the life of a Minister on a visit to the govt.offices on the bund road over-looking the famous Dal Lake. He knew the building very well as it was just two buildings away from the main post office of Srinagar, which he visited with monotonous regularity to post letters to his daughter who insisted that he writes atleast once every week. A quaint building decked with large roses, probably the prettiest post office in the country. But then the whole of Srinagar have roses blooming in every street corner.
The attack was not successful and the militants had tried to make a getaway in a van. An alert patrol jeep had gone in hot pursuit and the militants tried to enter a mosque on the outskirts of the city. Unfortunately for them, the door was locked and so they had holed up in the adjacent building still under construction.
The van was parked at the basement but the militants had made good their escape into the building and seemed to have positioned themselves in the second and third floors. Eye-witness had counted five terrorists and all of them heavily armed. A stand-off situation and that was when his unit was contacted. The militants were firing from a vantage point at anybody approaching the building. Security forces were returning the fire but it was more of a gesture than effective retaliation.
Shanmugam studied the scene. Very difficult terrain for an ambush because the building had open ground on three sides with little or no cover and the fourth side was a mosque. There was no compound wall and the back-side was a steep slope. Anyone approaching the building on foot can be picked off at ease – as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. He had ordered a man to the terrace of the seven storey building at the end of the street and now raised him on the radio.
“What do you see Robin?
“The terrace is plain Sir, without any parapet wall but there is a stair-well which will provide sufficient cover for someone to shoot at an approaching chopper or a parachute jumper”
He narrated his plan to the rest of his men assembled at the lobby of the hotel across the road. “Two of you go into the mosque compound” and before someone voiced his objection, added “just to ensure that the rogues don’t think of taking refuge inside. Flushing them out later will be even more difficult”. “One man behind the sentry kiosk of the hotel and one on the terrace of the hotel, just to keep taking pot-shots at the windows. You never know, you might get a lucky shot. Two men should walk behind the armoured car which will drive slowly up the slope behind the building”.
He ordered a helicopter to keep circling above but told the pilot “ stay on the lee side of the stair-well which will make a man think twice before coming out into the open to try for a lucky shot at the chopper without risking getting shot himself”
His strategy was simple. Keep the rogues occupied and guessing as to which will be the entry point for the commandos. He and two others would storm the building through the main entrance when the opportunity presented itself. Take them by surprise. The plan was put to action. The commandos began firing and drew fire. Two militants at the front windows, two at the back and one at the side. All had light machine guns.
One terrorist did make the mistake of coming out on to the terrace and was immediately cut down by the gunman inside the chopper. Soon the look-out from the seven-storey building reported activity on the terrace. Two men were trying to hide behind drums to drag the fallen body back inside. That was the kind of chance Shanmugam was waiting for. He and his men ran across the street and dived under the half-erected portico and walked without resistance to the first floor. Minutes later, the two unsuspecting men who had vacated their posts were rushing down the stairs and walked straight into a hail of bullets. Three down, two to go. The commandos fortified themselves behind steel drums and sand mounds. It was a waiting game and the fourth militant’s patience ran out. He leaned over the banister rail with his gun barrel poking through first. Shanmugam waited till he could see a fair bit of the man’s body and then squeezed off two shots. He was lucky as they heard the clatter of a falling gun and soon a man’s head became visible as he had fallen face forward in a position only the dead can achieve.
Only one remaining. They decided to wait and see how the ruffian would react to being caught alone. Half-an-hour later, his man from the armoured car radioed to say that the second floor window too had fallen silent. Time to go.
The squad burst through to the second floor, guns drawn and ready to fire. There was but one lone figure in the sprawling hall. A girl, just as old as his Subha, lay slumped over a machine gun mounted on a tripod. Her arms were entangled in the cartridge belt preventing her body from sliding down to the ground. Her eyes were staring at the belt as though questioning it – “Why are you holding me up?” A bullet had hit her exactly at the center of the forehead. Shanmugam stood staring at the lifeless form. He muttered under his breath – “an unlucky shot”.
As he closed the eyes of the girl, he mumbled “Kasturi Tilakam Lalaata Palake…..”

The Circus Called Cricket

2008-03-16T01:46:00.000-07:00

The circus of cricket continues to create new avatars and from indications, there is real money in playing this game both on and off the field. The players of the bygone eras must be cursing their fates that they were not born later – the crores that keep rolling in to the bank accounts of youngsters from just participating in matches and from endorsements is enough to drive one crazy. Whole new concepts have emerged where not only the persons directly involved with the game but also those who are ordinary viewers can cash in – there are prizes for correct answers to weird questions like who will be the best batsman or the best bowler. When the organizers run out of options, they would include questions like – ‘predict who is the worst fielder’ or ‘the silliest inclusion’ or other such questions. The latest antics of the IPL members are a beginning. The Kolkata team went to town with their launch – named ‘the Knight riders’, it has for its mascot ‘Hoog Lee’, the tiger and its war cry ‘korbo, lorbo, jeetbo’. There were gold plated helmets resembling the Greek soldiers of yore and songs created especially for the occasion and sung by Bappi Lahiri, Usha Uthup and Pritam. The dress is designed by Manish Malhotra. SRK with Captain Sourav Ganguli, the team coach Buchanan and the Cricket Association of Bengal Board chief Prasun Mukherji were a happy and satisfied lot.

This was followed by the Bangalore team– owned by liquor baron Vijay Mallya and captained by Rahul Dravid, it also had a spectacular launch. It is named ‘the Royal Challengers Bangalore Team’ with Mallya trying to promote his United Breweries Group. The team coach would be Venkatesh Prasad. To market the team, the UB Group has tied up with Reebok for the sporting gear and Louis Philippe for formals. Manoviraj Khosla has designed special uniforms for the cheerleaders. Bangalore will host the opening fixture.

Next would come the Mumbai team of Anil Ambani and Sachin Tendulkar.

Expecting these efforts to pay rich dividends, other movie stars are contemplating to cash in on the craze – the teams of the IPL manned by the Zee chief Subhas Chandra and Kapil Dev- Sandeep Patil - Kiran More combine would benefit. Watching these, it is but natural that the focus of parents has shifted to this game and kids all over the country aer leaving no stone unturned to squeeze into the local teams with hopes of donning the India cap before it is too late.

IT’S ALL ABOUT MONEY, HONEY!

2008-03-15T00:30:00.000-07:00

IT’S ALL ABOUT MONEY, HONEY!

There is an amusing story about a middle class man who had got his posting in Shimla. Obviously he was happy anticipating some years amidst the beauty, serenity and wonderful weather of Shimla. His kids and wife were equally excited imagining the ice they’ll enjoy during the Shimla winter, something they were planning to experience for so many years. However in reality, though the excitement did not last for many days, but they were enjoying their stay adapting to the new place. Adding to his joy were some of his friends and relatives, who took all the troubles to travel all the way just to meet him. He even made some friends in his new office.

Things took a different turn when he found slowly that too many of his friends and relatives became keen to meet him. His life in that new place started to settle, and so was his visitors, if someone was leaving a day, someone else was coming the same or next day. Needless to say, these entire guests used to enjoy free and comfortable stay in his house. The number of guest increased to an alarming condition in almost all the seasons. If somebody wants to see the ice in Shimla, somebody wants to enjoy some cool days in Shimla during hot summer. The guests were making his pocket swallow day by day. He was unable to find any way to get rid of so many visitors without hurting anyone, which was disturbing his day to day life as well as financial condition severely. His only console was his friend in his new office, with whom atleast he was being able to share his miseries.

Suddenly one fine day his friend realized that, for some time the man has not complained about his guests. He seemed to be happy too. “The poor guy must have got self actualized and accepted it”, his friend thought. Days passed, and the man continued to look happy without any irritation or complain. The friend could no longer hold it any more and asked the man one day, “What happened to your guest? Have you started enjoying their company?”, to which the man replied, “I’ve found a magic formula”. Obviously the friend became curious to know what the magic formula is. “It’s all about money dear! I’ve started lending money to my poor visitors and taken loan from the rich ones. Obviously, nobody turned up again. Spreading of the rumor about this bad nature of mine did the rest”.

Money in fact plays a vital part in our life and relationship; and the truth is that, in many situations, it becomes a decisive factor. Ask the rich people who says money is not everything, to give you some. Emotions and sentiments has got it’s own share in our life, but in day to day life, our day starts with money and perhaps, ends with money. You can’t imagine a single day stepping out of your home without your wallet. The moment the morning stars, you get ready to go for earning your livelihood. Life is just impossible without a buck in your pocket. Young or old, rich or poor, this is one thing which is equally essential for everyone, something you can’t survive without.

Money is a crucial tasting factor. You can judge the metal of a person when money is involved. Mainly because, its one of the biggest temptations of this world. Is he loyal to you? Is he trustworthy? Is he greedy? Can he overlook the monetary factor for the sake of his heart? Is he ready to part with money for the sake of the relationship you share? A single penny involved can do wonder to you, can be your eye opener. At crucial times, money let you realize on whom you can count & depend on and on whom you can’t, who is your friend and who is your foe. When someone says he doesn’t do corruption in a situation with no opportunity for grabbing money gives its real meaning only when the same person moves around surrounded by easily accessible money and doesn’t even touch it.

Money is one thing which doesn’t have any substitute. Even if your heart breaks today, sooner or later you’ll find someone else to share your grief, to make up your wounds, and to love. It may take time depends on the depth of your relationship and emotions with which you were involved, but it’ll surely heal. This is the reality. Life doesn’t stop for anyone. To put this in the crudest most materialistic way, though there’s no substitute of love, there’s still substitute for your “beloved ones”, but there is no substitute of money. You can’t give up all your money and lead your life with something else. Obviously I’m talking about ordinary people who go to market to buy his essentials, not the saints and extraordinary.

What I’m trying to say is the “need” about money, not the “greed”. The life provides enough for everyone’s need, but nothing in this world can provide enough to satisfy even a single person’s greed. Money has its own usefulness, but nobody should hanker after money. Everyone’s need of money is different depending on the time, place, situation and lifestyle he follows and one should be satisfied if his need is fulfilled. Or else it will be like running after mirage in the desert.

Another interesting thing about money is, it’s just like a butterfly, the more you chase the more it flies away. This is the irony about money. If you work for money, it hardly comes your way. It is something like a by-product of success. If you are successful in any field or profession, money will come automatically to you.

Money and power are like two sides of a coin. Money begets power and power begets money. This relationship between money and power brings the worst thing about money making it one of the vital causes of many enmity and fights. Take up any episode from history, anywhere of the world, and you’ll find the money as one of the root causes at the centre of maximum battles. I find it really heartbreaking to see this trend growing day by day when people don’t hesitate to harm each others, even own brothers just for the sake of money. After all at the end of the day, what you are as a person is all that actually matters, not how much you own.

Like anything else, money has its own limitations. It’s just a means to give your material comfort and time. It can save you from miseries which can be fought with factors available to purchase, like house, medicine, book, wealth etc. It can’t provide you the food for your heart and soul, your intellectual needs, the serenity & strength of your character, courage & wisdom. It can’t make you satisfied, content, relaxed and happy……….or else we would never had to witness Ambani brothers fight. Not only Ambani, there were and will always be many fights between many brothers, friends, neighbors and foes, or many others, as long as this thing called money keep on playing its crucial role in our lives!

THE SALESMAN

2008-03-13T23:46:00.000-07:00

He is just a normal person

Except when he sees a quarry

Then he resets his face in a hurry

His eyes are warm n beckoning

And he is ready for a reckoning.

He extols the virtues of his product

Or be it his services by his sunny conduct

Waxing poetic in his aggressive sales pitch

Convincing and cajoling till the last ditch

Till none is clear what’s what and which is which!

Once he succeeds in selling an item

He is home free reverting to his usual pattern

Having earned a hefty amount in commissions

He is relaxed n ready for his next sales mission

His face like silly putty due to constant sales renditions

Occasionally when it rains, it pours

And he makes a killing in a sales galore

Other times it is totally dry and arid

Leaving him downcast and quite livid

Yet he ploughs on and on as he is married

The spirit of the salesman seesaws all the time

As his pockets may be flush or without a dime

His sales life is dependent upon his age and agility

So he packs it in tightly to accelerate his salability

Not once worrying about his health or longevity

Thus a salesman whose life is no picnic, is a hero

Call Me an INDIAN

2008-03-10T00:22:00.000-07:00

Going by my passport
They call me Indian abroad
But in my own land
I don’t know who I am.
In South Africa I’m coloured
In the U.S.A. I’m minus red
To the English I am a wog
I still don’t know who I am.
Beyond the Vindhyas I’m a southie
Or more often a Madrasi
In Madras I am a Malayalee
Does anyone know who I am ?

To the Muslims I am a Hindu
To the Hindus I’m a Brahmin
Or some other caste name
Do tell me who I am.
If I am to be known by language
or worse by religion and caste
Sometimes even by my race
Who can say who I am?
I wish they’d call me Indian
And be done with it,
Not bother with anything else
So that for good I know who I am.

Twists and Turns

2008-03-05T04:17:00.000-08:00

Twists and Turns

We had a whale of a time in school.
School boy pranks, playing the fool.
We 2 pals were thick
As a brick.
For his debonair looks, he stood out.
His physique made schools girls shout.
Handsome, the muscles on his arms
Only added to his charms.
While we played sports with commitment and passion,
He excelled without trying, more interested in fashion.
This game we must win, I would plead,
But he was more interested in playing the field.
Me and others were still wet behind the ears, hair full of Brylcream,
He was scandalising us with stories of his latest wet dream.
While none of us would dare look a girl in the eye,
This Don Juan had already bussed his Sweetie Pie.
SSC, he passed without any failure,
Then quickly migrated to Australia.
In days when there were no emails
He wrote long letters, extolling Aussie females.
Eventually he got married, this Rover.
I thought, now his errant ways are over.
Correspondence and contact then diminished
3 years later, he advised that the marriage was finished.
I sympathised but then that’s life.
No one is without worry and strife.
He went off the radar, completely losing touch.
For 25 years or so, I couldn’t do much.
Out of the blue last month, he surprisingly emailed
Why did I not keep in touch, he wailed.
He never married again
But had a live in.
Both were coming to Mumbai for a short vacation,
To show his partner, an old relation.
Would I have time to catch up for dinner?
Sure, knowing him I knew he had bagged a winner.
He insisted they would find their way to my home,
No pick up, They liked to roam.
I drove the wife mad, selecting the menu,
Till she threatened to change the venue.
I could tell, by the way he rang the bell,
Russ was fit and well.
He hugged me warmly but with him was a guy.
He noticed my look quite wry.
Ed, I’m telling you today,
That long back, I discovered I’m gay.
Meet Mike my mate
Believe me friend, he’s first rate.
Was this my school friend who sent girls for a six?
Was his new orientation just a passing fix?
Who am to comment on preferences,
No one even asked me for references.
Russ and Mike made the company so gay,
Oh no, believe me when I say,
Pun not intended at all.
They really held us in thrall.
So knowledgeable, so witty.
The night flew by, in a jiffy.
We met once more and will surely meet again
A friend is a friend- to that, Amen.

I am What I am

2008-02-27T21:34:00.000-08:00

a thousand mask

sacross the world

separated by time

separated by distance

live the same life

as you want them to

monday to sunday

morning to evening

day and night

its the same

same lies

same treachery

for the same love

that you care a dime

i am what i am

i dont want fame

i dont want pity

all i want is love

i am what i am

and nobody else

i am what i am

and not same as everyone else

i am what i am

and not one in a crowd

whereever i go

i know where i stand

i am what i am

i can't be the one you want

i can't be the one you dream of

i am not the "hunk"

i am not the "villian"

i am not the one with the "looks"

i am what i am

don't try and change me

to be the man of your dreams

i am not the guy

with an identity each day

with a mask for each occasion

with a life for each person

i am what i am

just an ordinary guy

sitting next to you

with a single mask for all occasion

with a single identity every day

with a single life for all

i am what i am

the invisible ordinary guy

and the odd one

with an unique identity.

We have such thin skins......

2008-02-27T07:39:00.000-08:00

Some months ago, I got a chance to see Deepa Mehta’s film titled “Water”. It is part of the trilogy of “Fire”, “Earth” and Water. The film had made news for two reasons- Deepa had courted controversy when “Fire” delved into lesbian relationships, and then “Water” began shooing the plight of child widows at Benares, igniting the wrath of religious fundamentalists and also attracting a law suit from the noted author Sunil Gangopadhyay who claimed that the film was based on his acclaimed novel “Those Days”.

“Water” is a pale shadow of what it might have been. After shooting was disrupted at Benares, the cast as well as location got dismantled; Deepa Mehta shifted her location o Sri Lanka and recruited a new cast. She tried to recreate with very plastic success, the ghats of Benares in Sri Lanka but the artificial umbrellas and ghat props would not deceive any one who has been to Varanasi.

Of course “Water” is not the only film thus affected. Films in recent memory that have run into problems include the recently released “Jodhaa Akbar”, The Da Vinci Code, as well and of course politically tinged films like “Mangal Pandey-The Rising”, Shyam Benegal’s film – “Netaji, the Forgotten Hero”.

The Indian Express has been worrying about a growing tribe of Indians who have a thin skin and flaunt it too and is wondering as to why we are so quick off the block to take offence? It is an important question to ask ourselves. Of course the editorial speculates that perhaps the reason is that India is a democracy all right and so there is freedom of expression and which people feel free to use but society is not liberal enough and so the space for tolerance is limited.

But perhaps the issue to investigate is not so much the problem but the solution. Yes India is a democracy but we have a long way to go and to so we have learnt to take the freedom of expression that the constitution has given for ourselves but perhaps not learnt to provide the same right to others who think and act differently from us. But since India is a society which is millennia old, it can not easily shed its norm cannot be dragged by the scruff of its neck into a liberalized climate. So perhaps, while learn to accept the fact that we do indeed have a thin skin, perhaps we should also look at solutions that provide platforms for various points of view to be expressed in a way that is not so openly divisive.

Is that possible? Can we at least become thick skinned enough to at least others to speak, write and make films of their kind and at least allow them to live even if we never get to quite like them? A truly liberal society of course would allow a climate where a lot could be said and then the dissenters would also know how to express their dissent without fear of either courting or cultivating civil unrest. But we are yet far from those gates.

In school, there was a word that we learnt – xenophobia – the fear of all things foreign. In all those years since school, it seems that the word and the world in which we live today have both shrunk their borders and today the line between “them” and “us” is often as fragile as glass. Or to put it differently, if you are not with me in my opinions and it may be in the shallowest of matters, you are against me and different from me.I have neither the time nor the inclination to look for signs of our common humanity and build on that. I would rather reach for the stone that will smash your window pane or your head, so that I can retreat to the privacy of my den and preen that I have been a bully yet one more day, ridding the world of that dreadful menace – those who do not think the way I do. Yes, Xenophobia is a frightening word, especially when it has shrunk so much that the borders are constantly closing in around us.

Musically Challenged!

2008-02-26T06:08:00.000-08:00

Musically Challenged!

I enjoy music.Blues, Carnatic, Classic, Country, Filmy, Folk, Ghazals, Hindustani, Jazz, Metal, Pop, Rap, Rock, Techno… you name it - I like it. The more discerning music lovers amongst you must have realized by now that I am a write-off when it comes to music. Seriously, anyone who makes any claim to know and understand music cannot enjoy Carnatic and Metal at the same time or Classic and Folk for that matter. My Uncle, a Carnatic aficionado, otherwise a perfect gentleman, crinkles up his nose and swears under his breath when he hears anything from the likes of Metallica or Aerosmith. And my friend Venkatasubramaniam, whose long tresses and tattoos bear testimony to his love for Rock would not be caught dead in a Hindustani concert. But me? I could lose myself in Eric Clapton’s “Tulsa Times” or in Mangalampalli Balamuralikrishna’s “Gam Gam Ganapathim” or Alisha Chinai’s “Kajra re” with equal ease. With such a wide ranging, and therefore, surely corrupted taste (if you can even call that so) in music, I would not dare sound pretentious by claiming to be ‘musical’ in any sense of that word.I realized pretty early in life that something was wrong with my musical ability. When I was ten, my childhood chum Roy who was musically gifted, tried to teach me a song to perform in a school competition. It was a foregone conclusion that he would win in the Solo as well as the Duet / Group sections too. He did win the Solo prize. But, being the good friend that he was, he decided against his better sense to let me sing with him in the duets / groups section. That proved to be his undoing. The “My Bonnie lies over the ocean” that I rendered that day with him turned out to be my last public performance for a long long time. Roy, to his credit never spoke a word about it ever again and its for nothing that he remains my oldest and most respected friend to this day. After that experience, my teachers however, would completely ignore me when they chose students for musical performances during School Day and other such events.

But I would not be convinced of my lack of musical aptitude. Hope springs eternal when one is fourteen or fifteen. And it feeds dreams. My parents would leave no stone unturned in helping me in realizing mine. Love, even parental love, is blinding and in their case must have been deafening too. It did not take much effort on my part to pursue them to get me enrolled for music classes.We went to meet Mr. Williams, the neighborhood maestro.“What instrument would you like to like to play?” he asked.“The guitar” I said without any hesitation. Even at fourteen I knew that I knew there was something romantic about strumming a six-stringer and crooning “Oh, my love, my darling...” a la the Righteous Brothers.“Alright” said Mr. Williams. “Let’s hear you sing. If you are going to learn the Guitar, you should also be able to sing a little”I cleared my throat and began the one song that I knew well. After all Roy had made me practice that one a thousand times a few years earlier.My bonnie lies over the ocean, My bonnie lies over the sea…Well, I never got beyond that Scottish Seas. A startled Mr. Williams interrupted me rather rudely.“I think you should choose the Violin” he said in a decisive voice.So I chose the Violin - the king of all instruments as Mr. Williams called it. So what if I could not sing, I would make the strings sing. A shining new fiddle in a smart black carrying case and “A Beginners Guide to Western Musical Notations” were purchased and the classes began.It was then that the deluge hit me. A deluge of staffs, treble clefs, alto clefs, minims, quavers, semidemiquavers, slurs, legatos, flats, sharps, chords and countless other select enthusiasm -dampeners whose existence that I had never before imagined. The first month went in just learning to hold the violin up under the chin with the left hand and the bow with the right. It isn’t easy as it sounds. One is supposed to hold the bow with the right thumb touching the frog, with the other fingers wrapped around such that the middle finger is placed opposite the thumb, all the while ensuring that the wrist is at the correct angle, the left elbow tucked in, and the shoulders aligned with the hips. I am not even going to begin about the way the left hand is used on the strings. Just thinking about it makes my fingers curl into painfully spasmodic positions.I practiced. Diligently. At least two to three hours a day. My parents bore it with exemplary stoicism. In retrospect, I realize that we were blessed with such wonderful neighbors those days, for I don’t remember any major protest from any of them when I repeatedly climbed up and down the musical scales in search of the perfect note. I enjoyed the sawing of the fiddle initially. But its soon began to tire me out. The neck would ache, my arms would grow stiff and my wrists felt as though they were wrenched apart at the joints. But I sawed… I mean soldiered on.Mr. Williams’ patience was being put to test like never before. Against all his commands, cajoles and threats, my shoulders wood droop, the elbows would fan out and the bow refused to stay neatly across the strings as it was supposed to. I would unintentionally slur the notes which were meant to be played singly, my semiquavers would get prolonged into quavers and quiver rather unbecomingly, sharps had a tendency to fall flat and in short I would create a maddening ruckus each time I picked up my fiddle. The strain began to show on Mr. Williams face. The jolly good man lost a couple of kilos in six months and began to appear rather gaunt and resigned.The six months finally saw me graduate to playing my first melody. I insisted on playing it to my next door neighbor Smitha and was delighted beyond words, when on the fourth forced encore she did finally recognize it as “Happy Birthday to you…”. In my ecstasy, I promised to play it for her on her next birthday. But it was not to be.An unscheduled flying summersault attempted from the saddle of my BSA SLR bicycle put us all out of our misery. My left hand stayed in a plaster cast for ten weeks, and the violin has stayed in its black case ever since then. For some reason no one ever talked about me resuming my classes even after the hand had healed and had proved itself in many ways.My dormant musical desires resurfaced again when I started a new life away from home in a medical school campus. There were many self-proclaimed singers - wannabe Kishores, Rafi’s, Kumar Sanus, Lathas and Ashas in my college those days and the common bathrooms in the hostels would always be buzzing with songs. I too started my riyaz under the shower and on the potty. That was a mistake. Word soon spread about my unconventional voice and my reputation was so tarnished even before it was formed that I had no chance of getting on the stage with a microphone.There was one other option left. I convinced my innocent friend Ramesh to be my team mate and enrolled for the Antakshari competition during the annual inter-class cultural festival called Kalaspandana. That’s how my dream of singing on stage came true for a second time. One may argue that reciting a few lines in an Antakshari does not count. But I capitalized fully on my opportunity. I insisted on singing not only the mukdas but entire compositions including the repetitions of the chorus lines, every time. Ramesh was a gem of a guy and let me bask in the limelight without as much as a whimper. The damn judges however, inexplicably reduced the number of rounds from eight to four and in all their ignorance, ruled that some of my songs were not appropriate and denied us an opportunity to qualify to the next round. I swore I would return for the next year’s competitions. Ramesh, bless his soul, promised to team up with me again. I shan’t ever forget him for that. But, again, it was not to be. During the vacation that followed, Ramesh was killed when the van he was traveling in overturned. I never found another partner for Antakshari.As a postgraduate student, some of us took the initiative to organize a cultural festival to promote interaction between teachers, post-grads and under-grads. The entire college was divided into four ‘houses’ and we would compete in different events. Needless to say, I had a hidden agenda. I prevailed upon the music group of my ‘house’ to include me. All was well till the first practice session. Then it took some more prevailing to keep me in the group. But I had an inkling that this could well be my last chance and so piled up all the prevailing that I could muster together and managed to hang on.So, on the evening of the 17th day of November, in the 99th year of the 21st Century of the Common Era, my dream of singing, on stage, in a propah musical event finally came true. My eyes are turning misty even as I type this and I need to find some tissue to stop myself from messing up my keyboard. We sang what was in those days a great hit…Kya Ada Kya Jalve Tere Paro(Oh Paro!)Dil Ke Tukde Ho Gaye HazaaaronJayegi Ab Jaan Bhi Meri Aankh Na Maro....(Haiya)I stood second from left in the third row of a fifteen member chorus. We were to provide vocal support to the lead singer in the chorus. Specifically, we sang the parts in italics, within parenthesis (three words in total). The group leader, a nineteen year old under-grad, a musical genius, personally came to adjust the microphone for the chorus and made sure it was placed at the right hand corner, as far away as possible from me. The performance was a smashing success. That night I felt such an immense sense of achievement that has not been matched since. Not even when I received a University Gold medal a few years later.Life got busy, I got hitched, and life got busier. Music took a back seat, until a couple of years ago when I stumbled upon Fruity Loops. But then that’s another story, which I think I will keep for another day.

Black Hole

2008-02-24T22:14:00.000-08:00

My heart it broke a long time ago,

at the hands of an,

insatiable ego.

Broken pieces,

thousands lying around,

quietly cracked,

no sound.

In some part of my mind,

thoughts I presume,

killed before bloom.

Insanity creeps in softly,

gentler than it ought,

to gather the broken shards,

of my once upon thoughts.

Today they take my body,

an empty shell really,

I had to save my soul,

from living in this black hole.

And no this isn't about me I am not about to end it all...yet. It could be about Ms nasreen, or any one who's been forced into isolation... just wondering ...

A Man's Best Friend

2008-02-23T21:26:00.000-08:00

This poem compares the way people treat their dogs and about the way they treat their Self. (It is about the need to have yogic discipline and is in no way critical of being a pet owner and loving dogs.) Controlling desires is the key to happiness and the key to yoga, union with God. We try to control the impulses our pets, but shouldn't we do the same thing with our own impulses?

A Dog Owner Who Loves Her Self, a computer drawing by Harry Kottler

A Man's Best Friend

We get our dogs to roll over.
Do we toss in our sleep at night?
We restrict the diets we feed them.
Do we eat a diet that's right?

We keep our dogs on leashes.
Do we keep a leash on our minds?
We muzzle them if they get naughty.
Do we muzzle our tongue's words unkind?

We get our dogs to sit quietly.
Do we roam constantly in our thoughts?
We get them to fetch upon command.
Do we think God's commands are for naught?

If we are good dog owners,
why can't we be good to our souls?
Some say, “A dog is a man's best friend,”
but our own Self should take on that role.

................

Words are Weapons

2008-02-22T05:31:00.000-08:00

It disappoints and frustrates me to see that so many children are so often unkind to one another and so quick to make foolish comments that have no constructive purpose. Yet it's even more troublesome when adults engage in the same senseless behavior. I frequently find myself inwardly wincing & then silently mentally correcting, or simply protesting against unnecessary and unkind comments passed by these so called Adults , comments which are certain to anger or wound the person they are directed at and predictably evoke counterattacks that fill the air with nastiness.

It may be a husband's unfiltered remark about his wife's skills behind the wheels or maybe the new dress she bought, or it may be a parents' comment, "That's why you have no friends" or 'Why can't you be more like your brother?" or an aunt's unwanted advice, "If you want to get married, lose weight."

Sometimes it's the tone or timing of an otherwise proper statement that makes it sting. We have to remember that words are weapons, sometimes very lethal ones at that !Verbal assaulters may defend their unguided missiles with claimed innocence: "I didn't mean it that way" when the real question is "How was the remark likely to be received?"

Another lame excuse is "I was just telling the truth" without considering whether that truth needed to be said. Honesty does not preclude tact.

We may not always be able to shield ourselves from the darts and arrows of inconsiderate or mean-spirited folks, but we can resolve to be more thoughtful in our own communications.

We can be more kind more consistently. We can follow the Golden Rule. Remember, character counts. This holds true for the world of Bloggers too. More pertinent in this case because this world purely comprises of "words". No facial expressions, no body language to accompany the delivery of these words in Blogosphere. Only words. Pure and simple. Maybe not so pure and not so simple too in some cases. But words, nonetheless. Words which are written by a blogger to put forth the thought churning in the head at that given moment of time. A brilliant idea, or maybe just a harmless flight into the fantasy world. And then words of the "comment giver" at how well or how badly the said delivery was recieved.Oftentimes words are strung together to share some personal experiences here while at other times they can be representing an anguished cry for help under a shroud. Whatever be the "Title" of the blog, the blogpost tries to deliver the feelings of the person writing the blog at, different levels & in all so many different ways and words. And then starts the trail of comments in the words of the readers. Here again, some words are scribbled to encourage the blogger while some are written to write the person off ! Bouquets or brickbats ? Praise or weapons, you see ? We can convert the words at will. Words indeed are a powerful media. They can easily be used as weapons, irrespective of the fact whether they are spoken or written words.

The Sleeping Sun

2008-02-21T06:51:00.000-08:00

The Sleeping Sun

Into the sleeping sun,
Of a parabolic freedom,
I want to escape.
to the woods.
to the silence,
where words kill.
Into the melancholic evening,
of an enthralling beauty,
I want to break free.
from the boundations.
from the death and hush,
where you can’t say what you want.
Into the utopia of my dreams,
Of an euthnasic way to awakening,
I want to lie forever.
in the laps of the angel.
in the greens of my past,
where deceptions stop.
Into the night stretched to eternity,
Of an enchanted star studed sky,
I want to steal the world.
to keep them to myself.
to let them live with me,
where separation never comes.

STOP NEGATIVITY AND THINK POSITIVE

2008-02-19T07:01:00.000-08:00

STOP NEGATIVITY AND THINK POSITIVE

There are some bloggers, whatever they write, it becomes a hit. Be it a short-story, quotation, poetry, article or anything. There can be just two reasons behind this wonder. First and foremost, they are very good writer, so good that their every word wakes the reader out of others. Or, secondly, they have a good fan following, who likes their writings and reads them, or likes them so much that even if the writing is not good, they still reads them. (It’s not only blog, it’s true everywhere. Personally I don’t need to read review or even see the title to decide to buy a Paulo Coelho, Dr. Brian Weiss or even Erich Segal book). And unfortunately, you are not one of them. Apparently you feel, there’s nothing wrong in your writings, they are indeed good enough (well, who thinks that their writings are not good?). People read them; find them good, everything is okay. There’s nothing wrong anywhere. But still you feel something is missing. You don’t have ‘that spark’.

Then what’s your option? You can’t change your writings overnight; you can’t have that fan following overnight. In short you have no idea how to enhance the quality of your blog. At times, if you take this affair called blogging too seriously, taking to heart, you may find it frustrating. But there’s hardly anything at your hand to do. At this point, one of the most natural human behaviors is, stop blogging, stop appreciating other’s works; stop reading other’s blog, and stop leaving your footprint on their blogs. In short, be completely indifferent about others. They had been indifferent about you, why won’t you? This is exactly what is called ‘Negative Thinking’.

Blogging is just one example that has come to my mind while I sat down to write this article. It can be anything. Can be ones’ profession, family life, friend circle, hobby………the failure can come anywhere anytime. You can judge a person in two occasions, when either he makes a great success or suffer a big failure. Negative thinking is a silent walker. You never realize how and when it enters your brain, especially when you are at a down phase of your life. It’s more important to keep the positive energy burning during these phases. Of course, it’s easy to tell other’s to ‘be positive’, but in reality, it is easier said than done. Failure is a part of life, which is no way something like avoidable. But negative thinking is indeed avoidable.

Negative thinking stops you from taking any advice or criticism gracefully and constructively. You tend to take it always otherwise and find fault on others. You’ve made a genuine mistake and your Boss calls and tells you about it. (Well……Bosses are like that only, isn’t it?). But what the negative thinking inside you would provoke you to do? You come out of the Boss’s room and tell others that “he (the boss) is a frustrated lot and it’s not your fault, it’s just way of taking out his frustration on someone”. This is one situation that keeps on occurring regularly in office. It will have more negative impact on you than anyone else. This mental block will never allow you to see and understand your mistake, and naturally you’ll not be able to correct and improve yourself, which is severely required for your growth.

Negative thinking is like a disease. It is easily contaminated and takes more time for the person to be completely healthy even after the ailing is over. One needs real strength, will power and time to recover from this mental block. When you are under this disease, your life takes a complete U-turn. Your development slows down and stops and you start blaming everyone around (except yourself) for not meeting your expectations.

Our mind and body are not two completely different entities. They are in fact closely related to each other and can affect the health of one another. The same way, this negative thinking can have real impact on one’s physical health. The mental ill health that was starting with simple jealousy and anger can seriously lead to worry, lack of sleep, depression or something more serious. (Medical science is not my cup of tea. The doctors can tell the rest).

This negative thinking is a trait that is easily identifiable in people. They lacks the heart to appreciate others good thing, always have the tendency of using ‘attacking language’ against everybody. They like to criticize and oppose everyone’s opinion. In short, they always like to disagree, with everything and everyone. They prefer to live within their ‘cell’ and feel that they have nothing to do with the rest. Another significance of people of negative thinking is that, in spite of improving upon their weaknesses, they camouflage it by criticizing others or by illicit behaviors with all the wrong reasons, sometimes to be in the limelight or sometimes creating scene.

Honestly speaking, negative thoughts are as much part of our life as positive thoughts. They come to everyone of us at some or other point of time. Thumb rule of the person with ‘positive thinking’ is try to push them away and don’t let them create mountains out of mole holes within him. I don’t think there are any magic formula about how to keep these negative thoughts away. But at times, some small techniques can do big wonders.

1. Believe firmly that whatever happens, happens for something good only.
2. The age old theory, forgive and forget.
3. Be responsible for your each and every credit and discredit, failure or success.
4. If you are thinking that you are not being fortunate, look at others who are less fortunate than you. I don’t remember the author, but remember the quotation……… “That I felt sorry for myself for I had no shoes until the day I found a man who had no toes”.
5. Even if somebody was not being good to you, you’ll give that unimportant person more importance by spoiling your mood thinking about him (negatively). Remember that he is not worth spoiling your peace and happiness. Aren’t you paying too high a price just for nothing?
6. Just remember that “ANGER”, one natural negative outcome of piled up suppressed negative thinking, is just one alphabet less to “DANGER”.
7. The most important healing factor ‘time’ is always there and whatever worse is the phase, it is going to pass sooner or later.

Now back to the example of blogging and think positively. In this example you’ve just failed to understand the simple thing. That actually if people are not appreciating your writings, there’s nothing wrong in ‘others’, it’s in ‘you’. When you’re in a game, there’s no substitute but to perform and perform better, no matter whatever is the game. If you are really the best, you don’t need any trait or tricks to be on the top. If people are not supporting you, are not being your fan, it’s your problem, not others. And you are one who is solely responsible for it. Either you are not writing well, or you’re not popular enough to get that support from others to overlook your flaws. Or if everything is just fine, maybe you don’t have that finishing touch in you, “the humility factor”. Or maybe, you are yet to learn how to promote your good work. (I think this is most common reason). In this era of competition, attractive packaging is as important as the good product. Many people are selling equally good product, why someone will buy yours one? Well…….I think this is the crucial role of marketing (that I myself lack completely). The reasons can be many more. The ‘positive thinking’ provokes you to find out the reason and then find ways to rectify them.

So, cheers. Think positive, be positive, “Keep your face into the sunshine and you won’t see the shadows”.

[P.S. This is my humble submission that I'm not any way competent to give advice on these issues. I'm just sharing with you all what works for me when I feel low.]

You left me

2008-02-18T06:03:00.000-08:00

You left me

You left me
An ocean of reminiscence
A perpetual holiday
To flirt with my heart.

You left me
The bundle of joy
The never ending love
To live with my heart.

You left me
The burden of truth
The mountains of sorrows
To survive with my heart.

DO WE REALLY NEED THIS VALENTINE'S DAY?

2008-02-17T01:41:00.000-08:00

DO WE REALLY NEED THIS VALENTINE'S DAY?

Finally the hype called Valentine’s Day is over. Personally I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day. Do we really need a day to love someone or express our love? Love, for me, is a process. The process through which two persons discovers each other, discovers each other’s virtues & vices and discovers that they love each other with all the virtues and vices of each other.

Love is not a statement to be given in a day. Neither it is a decision to be taken a single day. It is a bond between two hearts, two bodies and two souls which is far more overflowing than what a day can contain. Love means to see the whole world in his eyes and his eyes in the whole world. Love means to love the other person, irrespective of his feelings towards you. If you love him because he loves you, it’s a deal. If you love him because he can’t live without you, it’s a charity. If you love him because you can’t live without him, it’s rather selfishness. If you love him because you find him attractive, it’s rather infatuation. Love him just because of love, nothing less and nothing more. Love has no reason; love should never have any reason why, except love!

Once I read a story about a young couple, madly in love with each other. The girl, like any other girls wished to be praised by her loverboy for her beautiful face, sweet voice and all the other factors which makes her attractive, like the way she talks, the way she looks, her gestures, postures. However to her dismay, the boy never spoke words like, “I love you because of your beautiful face”, “I love you because of your sweet smile” etc, irrespective of her repeated question, “Why do you love me”, which was making her really angry and disappointed at times. Unfortunately one day the girl met an accident which damaged her quite severely and she went to coma. She was lying in her hospital bed, who could neither speak, nor smile. Even her beautiful face was damaged and no longer beautiful. Her loverboy was sitting by her hospital bed, and for the first time, he spoke to her about why he loves her. “If I loved you for your beautiful face, that beauty is not with you now. If I loved you for your sweet voice & smile, you can neither speak nor smile now. If I loved you for your gestures and postures, well…..you are motionless now. If I loved you for your feeling towards me, you can’t feel anything now. But I loved you for the person you are; I loved you for the soul you are. And you are the same person and same soul, which neither time nor tide can take away from you, whom I still love”.

During growing up years, most of us, from the time we understand and feel the meaning of this attraction called “love” towards the other side, or at times without even understanding, create the images of our beloved ones. He will be like this, he will be like that, he will speak like this, he will behave like that……..the never ending picture of our prince and princesses portrayed in our heart with all the naïve emotions & imaginations. But many times it happens that, we never meet our dream mate in reality. Rather we start loving and learning to adjust with the person of our real life. However, sometimes in our subconscious mind we still carry our dream lover and intentionally or unintentionally try to change the real person to our dream mate. Love means to love him for the person he is, just the way he is, without trying to change him to the image of your dream mate or anyone else. Love means to let him be the person he is. He may not be the best person on this earth, but if you let him be the person he is, he will make this world better than the best place to live this life.

Love is like a flowing river. Over the time span it flows continuously, as an emanation from source, deeper than itself. Like any other river, if you block it’s natural way unnaturally, it will either find some other way or become stagnant. The stagnant water loses its beauty, growth, flow, power, cleanliness and all other characteristics that define a free flowing clean river. Give your loved one’s the breathing space he needs to grow and live this journey called life, let your love also flow in it’s own natural motion, which will then grow day by day, making your every tomorrow brighter and better than today.

Love doesn’t mean acquiring your beloved one. Love means to think for his happiness and only his happiness. If you are lucky enough to meet your dream mate, love him & be loved by him and then live happily ever after, nothing is better than that. But it doesn’t happen always. Many times, the person you love doesn’t love you in return, and in some unfortunate situations, even when both of them love each other, still they remain apart being unaware of each other’s feelings. Trust me, it really happens, there are more mismatch in life than any book of mathematics. Love means to be ready to give up all your expectations just for a single smile on the face of your beloved one. Love means to be happy when you see your beloved one being happy, doesn’t matter where he is, with whom he is, doesn’t matter for whom he cares. ”Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to be involved with them. Love is not a bandage to cover wounds”. (Hugh Eliott)

Still…….the Valentine’s Day was in the air and it’s not easy to be indifferent about it. The truth about this Valentine day was that the media, the press, the card galleries, the gift galleries, the mobile services, etc, everyone was making money out of this celebration called Valentine’s Day. From time immemorial, people were loving each other, expressing love for each other. But never before, there was this much huge need to celebrate a day exclusively named as Valentine’s Day, especially in India. If your heart is full with love, you really don’t need an expensive gift or a special day to show off your love. When the whole life is filled with overflowing love, every day of the year is a Valentine’s Day.

Let me stop here with the age old quotation on love:

“If you love something,

Set it free;

If it comes back,

It is yours;
If it does not,
It never was (yours)”.