Whither go you?

Rush now! This drizzle ain't gonna stop soon. Why does it have to rain so much in Bangalore ? I am already down with cold and getting wet in this drizzle is certainly not helping me out.

Everything's so wet , dirty and cold. Goddamn these roads. Potholes filled to the brim and rain water splashing onto my pant. Get home fast , its horrible . It sucks boy! I cant see the road ahead clearly and I shiver of the chill that runs down my body. A dry comfort at home would be so good to have now. These goddamn cars, why do they have to overtake on a rainy day, all of them seem to have connived to ground me.

Ah! here comes the hotel. I feel hungry. I should have dinner before rushing any more. I wish I were in home as soon as possible , but as there would be no food back there , I should have my dinner first.Dinner tastes good but waste of time beats against my mind persistently. I am still shivering with cold. Rush to home , how good would it be at home now , in my blanket .

I leave after having my dinner and after a mad driver for few minutes reach my house. Feels good to be back home. Its warm and cozy. I shall take leisure now, the beauty and warmth of my home. Boy! its heavenly.

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I have been lying in here for two hours now, blanket's too hot now. I get restless and look out of the window. Its still raining outside. The rain outside looks so pretty . Its chill and coolness entices me for it. Ahh! how I wish to be out in the rain

Just an another day today.

Just an another day today. Air is dry and Sun is blistering. Wearily I prepare to leave for office. My mind is full of questions. Questions of what? I can't say for sure. I guess that is what give so much intensity to the question. I just reckon the to do's of the day , but that doesn't hold my attention for long. Very frequently the question bangs against my mind. Who am I? What am I? How do I know myself? What is my Identity? How do I travel into the realms of the unexplored domain of mind and search myself. I am my mind, my reason, my logic. But then why doesn't it manifest itself. Am I not an animal, striving to fulfill its needs but could never see the peace within. If my mind is me, why does it thinks against me? If my mind is me why doesn't it seek life? How could my mind turn a traitor against me, thereby against itself. Its paradoxical. Is it self destroying? If so it must have been destroyed by now. I know that it seeks existence, but then why is it that it acts against life.In the Upanishads it is said that our goal is to realize self, its self that gives identity to this world. Where has this self gone? What leashes this valiant mind and subdues it ? What does it fear? What does it want to be? What does it wish to avoid? With the net result of further confusing myself, I leave house with a hanging face.

On my bike now, driving to office. Gentle breeze blows against my face, dead leaves fall off the trees and spread in front of me. Its the spring time, the time when old sheds itself and gives way to new. Lost in these I gaze at the dried branches of the trees around. Barren as they are, yet hopeful of new life. I take a look around me and find multitude of people buzzing. Are they too dead , ready to give way to new life? It seems truer to me in my own context. But to what life have I paved the way?

Wheel rolls at 60Km/ph and I am at office now, weary of beginning the day. It has to begin but. For until I am the dead leaf of the tree of life, I am alive. Till then I know that my mind is alive as well. The struggle between me and my mind shall continue this way, hoping that some day they may reconcile and move together. Digging deep I hit upon a plausible reason of conflict. My mind is a free entity but I am the product of others mind and so are they. I am the part of that long chain of blinded people held together with ignorance. My mind tends to act as my liberator but I tend to be bound. Could they ever come together? I don't know? But a strong conviction that I have in unison with my mind is that knowledge will liberate me and will bring us together. Knowledge is what I should seek for it holds the promise of liberation for me. I could be right this time. It holds the promise for me. Knowledge. It guides me to a purpose. Cautiously optimistic as I am, I feel good about it, but that traitor knows something that I don't and smirks at me silently.

"Slumdog Millionaire". How true in its Intentions?

Slumdog millionaire was just an another movie depicting the tenacity of human survival against all odds. However, its not very unusual about the western world to lap it up, and shower it with numerous awards. It would have had been interesting to see how the same movie would have had fared had it not been based on Indian context.
Slums in India represents a spirit of survival despite all odds, nevertheless, a middle class worker, who toils hard to make ends meet, is no less a symbol of human spirit. One spirit cannot be said to be better than the other one, as both vie for the same goal, existence. However, a movie or a narrative based on that scenario wouldn't draw accolades. As an artist you tend to go to extremes, and the easiest shortcut is placed right infront of you. poverty and filth of India.Every country has its share of issues, so does India.Doesn't this question the ethics of the artist? Isn't he seeking the shortest path to success?
Can they do a self check and ask themselves, what their motive is.Fame or Art?.As of now It seems former is truer.

An allegorical act

Like a rodent it maneuvers to manage its fodder. Hiding and slithering through the surreptitious hides, it arranges the food for itself. How was it supposed to know the difference that the brains created. A motley collection of wayward thoughts, a precarious sense of achievement and a gloomy sense of loss. Despite of all the chances that it had , it stayed far away from achieving the impossible.

An excursion to remember

It was to end the way it had started. We were devoid of all enthusiasm and energy. It was all drained out. Even the start wasn't a convincing one. Despite of all odds we managed to go ahead with a fragile plan. Weather was chilling us when we began, just as the way sweat was drenching us few hours later.As we moved ahead mist engulfed us into its bosoms , wind started howling into our ears and the earth shaked us from beneath. Eyes were moist the face was frost. A stream dripped off the nose and road ahead was lost. But We were in motion, oblivious of ourselves, but nevertheless in motion.

Just then a strong beam of light emanated from the front. It was the ray that came out from heaven itself. It blinded us all for a moment and we didn't knew when it went past us. It was all back to normal again. The mist had disappeared and the azure sky loomed large in front of our eyes, It was not the sky however, which was to be conquered, it was that hill in the near distance. Zenith had reddened with the sign of an imminent sunrise and encircled us . The redness of the circumference appeared like a fiery tiara on the head of the hill.

To be continued ...

Jattan

It was power cut once again."Jattan! It seems out phase only has blown up, no one else is at home now, go to the main pole and get it fixed now. Its too very hot today."

Ram Jattan, a pseudo servant serving his master , in gratitude of a government job of peon arranged by his master , ten years ago, was completely unaware of the process to fix that blown up phase. He though at once of refusing but his inner self chided him at this thought. This mere idea of insolent behavior on his part was utterly unacceptable to his self.He had seen other people fixing it by poking their stick at the wire junction on the electricity pole, but, he had never done it himself, and more so he wasn't sure if this would work as well. However, bound by his obeisance to him he decided to give it a try. It was getting late anyways and he had to go back to his home as early, as he had to go to railway station early morning tomorrow to fetch his sahab's elder son.

A letter to editor.

Sir,
Referring to the editorial by Mr. Harish khare, I would like to second the concern raised by him. These tendencies towards a "fascist" rule supplanting a democratic rule must be avoided. The bourgeois class of India has no faith left politicians post Gandhi/Nehru era, and it just serves to disseminate those tendencies, however, the way out is for them to take part into the mainstream democrcay , rather than standing on the sidelines and intermitteltly raising slogans slamming the system. Politicians come from our society itself and they are as good as people themselves.
Its time that the self-indulgent middle class looks beyond its immediate personal interests and be an active participant in the building of the nation.If the voices are to be raised ,they should be raised for a more efficient, inclusive and non-corrupt democracy. That would serve the purpose better than cutting itself out and giving rise to fascist tendencies.

Indians and their gods.

"God is an infinite source of energy", said a plank put up by our physics teacher. During those adolescent days, when questions had begun to unrest the soul, it seemed as a perfect haven for peace. Being born in a Brahman family, I was close in quarters with this idea. Daily prayer after bath, reciting chalisas to elders, listening to the daily litanies of elders shaped my faith. It built in me a notion of an unknown supreme power moving along , to whom if I paid daily reverence through my prayers and right conduct , I shall be rewarded with His blessings. I am the story is almost the same for almost all middle class Indian households, more so in middle and lower middle class.

Bombay attacks response - A sham or a sincere outcry?

Mumbai has been under attack once again, no, not by Raj Thackrey and his goons, they are hibernating for some time now, rather its an attack by other terrorists , purportedly , sent from our neighboring country, belonging to a certain “difficult to be pronounced” militant outfit.

Newspapers, TV channels, Ministers are on a roll, doling out their condolences to the nation and pledging to avert this next time. I guess they are pledging to take the vow of eradicating it if it happens again. That’s not a small gesture on their part. People have been held hostage in Taj and Oberoi, however, their round the clock status is reaching us every moment. Thanks to our “responsible” media. All the technical as well as political aspects of this attack is being vociferously debated on News channels by hyperactive hosts. They are fighting a parallel battle as NSGs are in Taj and Oberoi, in terms of who could pose the ,most difficult question, most witty remark and shout at the top of their voice. In their small TV studio they seem to reach a final consensus which they believe represents Indian masses. All the future “to be done” steps have been finalized by them together with some eminent dignitaries. Huh!
Enough of this sham! Put it off!

With the Indian masses it has been always the same. At any time when their vested interests have been hurt , their has been a huge uproar. Responsible citizens would come to the fore and criticize the government. They will light candles to commemorate the dead. They will gather together to pass there message to the government. And everyone will shout at the top pf their voice, “ System needs change”.

My intentions over here are not to rebuke any such person who mourns for the dead. I too sympathize with the victims from the very core of my heart. However, I am pointing to the other problem. The problem that the Indian Middle class doesn’t budge until and unless it hits them directly. Our country isn’t an affluent country and a vast swathe of population is still very poor. Around 35-40% of them are facing acute food shortages. But these problems don’t attract their attention.They are not vehement in their demands of change at that time. Where were these eminent citizens lying when Raj Thackrey and his goons were committing atrocities on the poor mass of Bombay , in which few succumbed to death as well . There wasn’t even a single public demonstration. Where was this public anger when vast swathe of farmers committed suicides in Maharashtra and in several other areas. There is no uproar from our eminent citizens when our country is ranked 66 out of 88 countries in GHI (Global Hunger Index). 17 Indian states have an acute food crisis, but they never gathered the attention of our “sincere” and “concerned” middle class. With every passing day I seem to concur more and more with Pavan and his findings. This Indian Middle class, is so much engrossed into its own vested interests that it will only serve to destroy what has been earned by our forefathers.

Put this pretense of being “concerned” citizen to back burner and go and have your drinks. You were never concerned for the nation.

Nehru - A Revelation.

Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, our first prime minister of sovereign India , has been my object of study in recent weeks. It was a rewarding experience to go through his autobiography. The rewards cannot be materialistically listed by me, but one of the primary gift that it had for me was "revelation". Revelation of Nehru himself, revelation of an India before the years of Independence, revelation of Gandhji's ideals and his social standing in that era, revelation of socialistic values , revelation of the bourgeois nature of our Independence movement, revelation of liberals etc .. the list would be too long to put in here.

His appeal primarily lied in the fact that he had a wider view of the world while at the same time he had a cognizance of the plight of peasants. He bore an open mind towards Industrialization and socialism , unlike Gandhji, and more so he was a staunch supporter of Poorna Swaraj from the very beginning. It was rather he who bought this idea into forefront.

Throughout the book , he has questioned existing order of our country then and he also drew himself into the ring of debates. He had been in gaol seven times till 1935 and it was during his last jail visit that the got into writing his autobiography. This book , I feel to be important to me as it revealed to me an India before that D day of 15th August. It revealed to me an India that existed before it , and the importance of those days which led up to that momentous night.

He was an avid reader of books , and it is through these roots that he gained an impartial view of the world and thus could identify strongly the position of India. He had largely differed with Gandihjee on several issues and has revealed it thoroughly into this book .
Throughout this book his soft spot towards animals and nature has been amply demonstrated during his stays in gaol. He made friends with many of them and those were his chief companions during his stay there.

Besides these, going through several topics that he has dealt with in his book would convince you that he was a visionary .Even when the country was creeping under the mighty British dominance , he saw India in future. He saw the future of country and its social upheaval. He was largely against the existing social order of country, opposite to Gandhijee, but he thought gaining independence was of foremost importance at that time for our country and other changes will then gradually follow .

His sacrifice and diligence towards that single cause moved me very much and I can certainly say that I know him better now as a person. This is always the case if you read autobiographies. The enigma created by mass disappears and you know the person in its pristine form. It was a pleasure knowing this man , after I have already read about Gandhijee, and I hope that the ideas that he had so strongly endorsed encourage us to look beyond our own personal selves to the greater social good and in the process an upliftment of personal soul and knowledge and experience.

Paranoia

You wouldn't believe me if I tell you the truth. No! Not because you are a liar , rather you are an epitome of truth and anything resembling it, however,you have become so very much inured to it that its presence doesn't seem possible. Its paranoia , really, it is so. I am typing this blog here sitting in office , fearing that no one catches me doing this. Driving to office poses a challenge in keeping the fear of being hit , subdued. And then when I reach the outskirts of my workplace a mild fear of collapsing building and collapsing economy slithers into my mind. I bet it does with you too, only you have got too inured to it.

Aravinda and Pavan

Who are they ? Well I am sure you know Aravinda Adiga much better than Pavan K Verma. Reason. Former has just won the prestigious Man booker prize for his book, The White Tiger , while latter is the author of a critique of Indian masses "The Great Indian Middle Class". Last week, I had been reading these two and I almsot felt like I am reading the same book. One treats the same issue in an aesthetic manner while the other takes us through some glaring facts.

I will discuss them individually, however.

The White Tiger.

An epistolary, highly criticized, facile English book by a novice author. I had my own misgivings about this book after having read so many bad reviews about the authenticity of the tale and blah blah. However, I took a chance and it paid. For this is an awesome book by an Indian foreigner, who has critically or rather cynically taken up the case of lower strata of Indian society. He portrays a devilish picture of Indian rich class and sad and gloomy picture of a Indian Poor. He has portrayed with craft and ingenuousness of Balram Halwai, the protagonist, the hardships of a poor man and the exploitation of poor by rich and powerful. He has been utter;y cynic in his description of a parallel India that exists and is untouched by the boon of developments. All the rhetoric of Indian economic upheaval are nothing but a lie on their face. He has taken liberty to create self conceived notions of poor people and his metaphor of Village as Darkness would but only enrage many. He could be vindicated on the ground that he has taken up a work of fiction, and in fiction you need to go to extremes to draw out the contrasts.

However, the base story wasn't something which an Indian reader would feel as a novel one. They see it around themselves daily. Maybe foreign readers would find this very surprising, considering the image of Indian they have post Globalization boom. It was the narration which was interesting. The base lacked in originality and authenticity however the topping was good.

The Great Indian Middle Class:

This book is by an erudite author, backed by his IFS post in Indian government, which leaves no opportunity to look for any trace of an inauthentic book. Rather , its a revelation of the way things are around us. The country is doing well in economic terms , but how much share has the 40% of the lower strata of this country have had? He asks this question on your face, and along with that he brings out beautifully the central theme of Indian Middle Class. How it has evolved, what are its inner landscapes and how it has continuously failed to read the writing on the wall. He appreciates the tenacity of ,middle class as successful entrepreneurs, labors ,winners despite all odds, however he shuns them for their inability to look beyond their own personal gain. He shuns the short sightedness of this class and ridicules the way they have got inured to the pandemic poverty around them, forgetting even that it exists. This book beautifully discusses the transition of middle class and their ideologies from pre -independence to post independence to the era of economic liberation [1991] . How has this particular class ,which always looks for an ideology to live by , in lack of it, has become a consuming giant , not looking beyond its own personal interest. He also points out that in a country which is still so vastly poor it doesn't make sense for the middle class to be so ,lost in itself. If they don't see the writing on the wall now, it could lead to a deeper chasms between two classes and also a breakage of social fabric and more so in his own words ,

"If it [the middle class] does not [look at it] , the India of today will be the envy of amoral,cynical,economically lackluster and debilitatingly divided nation that can emerge tomorrow. the harvest of an opportunity lost, a heritage wasted"

Personally , I liked the starting the book a lot , wherein he raises a pertinent question that when at the stroke of midnight India became free , Nehru delivered his speech in ENGLISH, certainly not the language of common masses. He has very beautifully brought forward a relevant point about the Indian freedom movement and freedom. Quoting him over here,

"On 15 August 1947 the bells of freedom tolled for all Indians, but they tolled specially for those who inherited the paraphernalia of giving shape to independent India"

A ride to ....

A gift for you on your birthday; a constrained choice of options and possibilities. What shall I gift you? Shall I weave a dreamland for you or shall I net a fairy tale? I wish to take you to the land unknown, my pen would love to do so.
Come! Lend me your hands! Hold my hands tight for it will be a long flight into those lands. We are out on a long journey. Hearken now the gurgling of waters in the stream flowing down, the chirping of birds and the whistle of the wind welcomes us. Moon shines there , half naked, in the sky. Feel its silhouette on your face. And now hold my hands tighter for we shall go further now to those distant parts , where no one knows us.

Clouds shroud the moon intermittently and so does it do with your basking face. Open up your hands wide and feel the wind on your face, allow it to dissolve you in itself. Watch trees there, reveling in joy with the wind. Come ! we too shall dance with joy and forget the why.

And now the night has grown darker as the moon has faded away. Wind moderates into a gentle breeze. Lets rest now for a while. Put your head on my shoulders and hear our breaths racing against each other, listen to the beats of our hearts creating a symphony by taking turns. You lend yourself to me and I take in the whole. Your warm breath soothes me and makes the cold night bearable.

A symphony arises out of our union and falls on our hearts , spell binding it. Mind goes numb and we get lost into each other. The journey isn't drawing to close however we get lost, never to be found again. And in one last moment of sense I kiss your eyes and whisper into your ears , " Happy Birthday".

A lonely night

Loneliness is the poverty of soul. I have had heard that somewhere, and was observing now. A silent roar was running through my body producing a deafening silence. Things are moving in front of my eyes in one moment, and in other moment they are still. A chaos was running through my room , things were falling apart. Strong wind gushed into my room and it became pitch dark. A thunder growled heavily and I cowered with fear and closed my eyes and ears, and shrieked. Calm down! Peace!

A cultural miss

Being born in Bihar, brought up in present Jharkhand and growing in Karnatka , I have always had an implicit phrase imposed on me that I have had a "cultural miss". I feel alienated to all these cultures that I have lived in. While at my hometown I am being looked as an outsider with an inside root.And while I am in Bangalore I represent a Bihari culture in their eyes. Its difficult for me to deny any of these remarks put upon me, all these tags are stamped on my face by people around me.

My moments

Every few moments
I get a sense of being alive.

At times its the sight of beauty,
and mostly its the call of duty,

Beauty lends itself in munificent ways,
from a charming lady to bright sun rays.

Pulses rejuvenate at the sight of it,
defying any morals that may defy it.

Call of duty, puts all aside;
forced to take strident and long strikes.

What lies then in between those moments,
a lethargy, a tardiness an unnamed power, which clips me down and bringeth the silence.

Ahh! questions comes back looming large.
Am I in search of the peace or do I possess it in those moments.

Or its just an another view of the moment.
I may never know this, and for the moment I shall be the moment,
that lies in my laps.

My pen and me...

My pen swings out of desperation to weave a blanket of words.A blanket that would engulf me into its majesty, hide me in its bosoms, away from all the joys and sorrows , and would take me to a land that promises nothing yet delivers all.

Rudderless boats would get a complex from the wandering course that it takes. Its ramble is hard to be put together in a logical chain. Weave a cozy blanket of love, a poem of beauty, or an epic of duty. Its aspirations are boundless, higher than the sky above and deeper than the faith.

A story to tell, a joke to spill, a night to glorify , a dress to be revered , all seems possible with it. They just wait for their turns, who knows which way shall this philanderer turn the next moment.

Aimless and directionless though it is, however, a solvent of time couldn't be better. A loving friend mostly , a boring pal at times, a critique more often and an element of envy in some moments. It never leaves my life free of its influence. Come O! friend , lets move to where we take each other.

A paean for her.

A dusky beauty, on my laps.
Squirming her body, and fluttering her flaps.


Squirrel eyes and elephantine ears,
laughs at what she sees and all that she hears.


Intermittent though is her smile,
appears to be a laughter wrapped in frivolity.


Pedaling of legs and beating of hands,
weariness of days and waking of nights.

A tryst with nature on the way to ...

It was cold inside , and tired of the continuous boredom I came out of the chamber. It wasn't hot outside, although it was humid. It was around afternoon and skies bore the signs of an imminent shower. A deafening silence prevailed in the surroundings, although there were many things in motion, which either didn't produce any noise or may be their noise was smothered by the gloom in the air. Feeling calmed, I sat at the opening to marvel at the picturesque nature lying in front of me.
Everything has been soaked in rain and bore the wetness. The panorama had a large field in front and a narrow street laid down by its side. Sun shone furtively through the clouds and embellished the scenery with its dusky shine. There were men moving along the track waiting impatiently and helplessly for the signal. In the near distance a crow perched over an electric pole and croaked intermittently. Its harsh noise served as an indication that the world was still moving. Perhaps, it served as a placeholder of human commotion for the moment and thus added to the vitality of the scenery.

The 25th Birthday

With a tick of clock at midnight I turned 25. What did I say ? I turned 25. Whoop! Really! Its only when time has passed away, you find that you have lived through it. A silver jubilee of my birth, and just like that.
Like any other silver jubilee celebration, mine too was nonetheless grand, and the beauty was that I didn't had any idea whatsoever that it would turn up this way. Multitude of gifts, equally greater number of wishes, and much more love. I couldn't have had expected more than this. It was a fresh 25th Birthday of mine.

Adding to this joy was birth of my bhaanji Aahana, the very next morning. Now her fate has been attached to mine, inseprarble and inextricable fate. Not only by dates but also by stars. I have opted the name for her and it means "First rays of Sun", which she would be for many.

And in the end, just one more thing. Its when you expect the least that the best of the things happen, as was my 25th Birthday. Thanks a lot, to all of you.