June 21, 2012
The Culinary Adventure of Life
Life is like a culinary adventure full of people who each bring a unique flavor. Some pop up unexpectedly and delight you with their sweetness. Some are so bitter, they make the sweet ones precious. Some play along with you just like tasty snacks; never far from your reach. Some are like bitter gourd. Not many like them because they are bitter, but you do because for you they are good! And then there are those spaces in life, where there's no culinary delight to be sampled... that's the time to burp and smile with the happy realization that you got to participate in this culinary adventure.
October 29, 2011
Story of a Cloud
I've woken up to the realization that I'm floating... high above the earth, and the view is amazing. I see green valleys, meadows, tiny bubbling springs, and the ocean from where I was born. Strange that I do not feel the pangs of separation as I leave the ocean behind to soar above the earth borne on fast winds. But I am young, and the vistas are tempting. I am driven by the urge to see everything there is to see of this beautiful earth. I am young. I have no responsibility - no destination. All I was made for was floating and lazing about, drinking in the sights and quiet of the amazing earth... and growing fatter.
Soon, I leave behind the green hills and cross over to the other side. There are cities here - people are so busy! I almost feel guilty to be the only one up here who has nothing to do, but change shapes and float over the messy problems of city dwellers. Not one eye looks up at me or admires the beauty of my ever-changing shape and color. I can't stop though. I am disinterested, and I'm floating on.
I'm passing over a vast plain now. I've grown fat, so the wind is having a tough time trying to toss me around! My feet are sluggish. I look down. Not a speck of green anywhere - its so arid, so dry. Here and there, I see scattered huts. People too - looking desolate as they toil... trying to make life spring forth from a dead earth. Time and again, they raise their eyes to the sky as if in prayer, shielding their eyes against the harsh glare of the sun. Children cry as their mothers ration out water from the mud pots. Farmers are looking up at me. I see their eyes. They are dead eyes - eyes that have given up hope. I hear a sorrowful moan, and feel a pang of intense grief. A dehydrated infant is staring up at me. My heart grows heavy. I can't bear to see this suffering, and yet what can I do? I am but a cloud.
I try to float on, but can't. My feet stay rooted to the spot. I can't ignore the pain of these poor people - their struggle.
Suddenly, huge drops fall on the parched earth and people look up in surprise. To my dismay, I realize that I'm crying, and its my tears falling on the earth. The earth seems to soak them up like a sponge.
"Rain, rain!" The cries of surprise and joy bring out more people. And as I look at them through my tears, I find the desperation on their faces being replaced by hope and joy lights up their faces! They are happy! That's a little strange, only I can't think about anything right now. My heart is bursting. And I can't seem to stop my tears. I can't explain it.
And when I finally stop crying, I see all these happy people grinning up at me, and I realize... that in feeling their grief, grieving for them, and bringing their smiles back; my identity... my being is lost... forever.
The loss of my being has brought smiles of joy on the face of hopelessness... and I, as a cloud, am no more.
(This was part of a Hindi essay I had written when I was in school, I think in class V. My mother has preserved it somewhere, and I hope to post it soon... in its original and much better version. I didn't know how I could write like that at that age. I guess, children tend to be profound, and we are much better philosphers as children than we are when we grow up.)
Soon, I leave behind the green hills and cross over to the other side. There are cities here - people are so busy! I almost feel guilty to be the only one up here who has nothing to do, but change shapes and float over the messy problems of city dwellers. Not one eye looks up at me or admires the beauty of my ever-changing shape and color. I can't stop though. I am disinterested, and I'm floating on.
I'm passing over a vast plain now. I've grown fat, so the wind is having a tough time trying to toss me around! My feet are sluggish. I look down. Not a speck of green anywhere - its so arid, so dry. Here and there, I see scattered huts. People too - looking desolate as they toil... trying to make life spring forth from a dead earth. Time and again, they raise their eyes to the sky as if in prayer, shielding their eyes against the harsh glare of the sun. Children cry as their mothers ration out water from the mud pots. Farmers are looking up at me. I see their eyes. They are dead eyes - eyes that have given up hope. I hear a sorrowful moan, and feel a pang of intense grief. A dehydrated infant is staring up at me. My heart grows heavy. I can't bear to see this suffering, and yet what can I do? I am but a cloud.
I try to float on, but can't. My feet stay rooted to the spot. I can't ignore the pain of these poor people - their struggle.
Suddenly, huge drops fall on the parched earth and people look up in surprise. To my dismay, I realize that I'm crying, and its my tears falling on the earth. The earth seems to soak them up like a sponge.
"Rain, rain!" The cries of surprise and joy bring out more people. And as I look at them through my tears, I find the desperation on their faces being replaced by hope and joy lights up their faces! They are happy! That's a little strange, only I can't think about anything right now. My heart is bursting. And I can't seem to stop my tears. I can't explain it.
And when I finally stop crying, I see all these happy people grinning up at me, and I realize... that in feeling their grief, grieving for them, and bringing their smiles back; my identity... my being is lost... forever.
The loss of my being has brought smiles of joy on the face of hopelessness... and I, as a cloud, am no more.
(This was part of a Hindi essay I had written when I was in school, I think in class V. My mother has preserved it somewhere, and I hope to post it soon... in its original and much better version. I didn't know how I could write like that at that age. I guess, children tend to be profound, and we are much better philosphers as children than we are when we grow up.)
Life and a Coconut
Life’s sweetest lesson is also its toughest to learn and often delivered like a coconut. Only when you crack the tough exterior, you get to the sweet kernel. The tough part is the realization that most of the people in your life (apart from those rare people like parents, siblings, and a few choice friends who know your heart) are there not for you, but for their own agendas. The sweet part is that after going through the hurt and bewilderment this realization brings, you realize that you are there for yourself always. Unfortunately, most people spend a lifetime trying to crack the tough shell – had they been smarter, they would have gotten a taste of the kernel before their teeth fell out.
On Letting Go...
Letting go - the only lesson that we ever need to learn - the only lesson we never want to learn. In the end, that is all that we can do. If someone says that it is better to have loved once and lost than never love at all, don't believe them. Letting your loved ones go kills a part of you. And watching people who don't care whether you live or die crowd around you traps you inside yourself. At times, I think, maybe life is kind enough to try teaching us to let go over and over again, because that's the only way to go on.
April 3, 2011
VINDICATED!
Poori team ne raavansena ko dhool chatayi, aur Dhoni ne unko dho dala!
And, I am vindicated!
I've no intention of going into the game details - every site has them now. But, there's something to be said about the power of thoughts. Most of us were confident that India wasn't going to let Srilanka slip through their fingers - not after the way they kept their cool with Australia and Pakistan. The only question was how they would do it - after losing prize fighters like Tendulkar and Sehwag. At that point, the people who believed in the team in spite of the rude shocks must have outnumbered those who had less confidence. Prayers went up for Gambhir and Dhoni. And, when a billion zealots put their hearts on the line for the team to win, they just can't lose. This tsunami of support wiped out everything that stood in its way. Harbhajan couldn't have been more apt when he acknowledged this force. This is the kind of support that is needed every time they go out on the field.
While the support was a deciding factor, at least for me, it was obviously not the only factor. Siddhu was bang on the mark when he quoted Zig Ziglar - Men of genius are admired, men of wealth are envied, men of power are feared, but only men of character are trusted. Yesterday, every single Indian player was worthy of that trust. For a crowd of onlookers, its so very easy to say that a player should have done this or that; and the very same crowd that cheers these players when they win, destroys their careers without a single thought, when they lose but once. Ignoring that kind of a risk takes a lot of grit and resilience. Mastery of the fear that strikes a heart cold was on ample display by the Indian team yesterday. They paid no heed to the fact that they had lost two prize wickets, or that their die-hard fans have short memories, or that one mistake could overshadow every hard-won achievement. They stayed strong when everything went wrong, and they earned the trust - penny by costly penny.
Luck always plays a hand in a game, when there is the slightest of laxity. To take away the luck factor from a game means playing with extreme levels of concentration and determination. Our team did exactly that - they left nothing to chance. In a game of this magnitude, they have to play at 200% - that's just what they did. And for this, they deserve a salute from the entire nation!
Two formidable forces came together yesterday - the confidence of the Indian "janata" who didn't lose faith even when nothing went right, and the focused determination of the Indian team to give lady luck not a single chance to direct their game. The synergy of such powerful forces is indeed a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
If people say that Dhoni is arrogant, I'd say he earned that right. Personally, I've yet to see a display of arrogance from him. The confidence that comes from hard-won success is not arrogance.
And lastly, what a fitting tribute the team gave to the God of Indian Cricket - Sachin Tendulkar! The crowd had all but forgotten him after his exit from the match. But not so, the Indian team. To see them hoist the Master Blaster on their shoulders and offer the victory to him was a touching moment. Virat couldn't have said it better: Sachin bore the weight of the nation for 21 years. Its now time for us to bear his weight.
The stalwarts who won the World Cup had tears in their eyes yesterday. But, that's what we Indians are all about. We are that rare mix of vulnerability and strength, of zeal and toil, and of emotion and practicality - that sets us apart from the rest of the world. If we can just believe that we are worthy, we can win - even if the odds are stacked against us. If we can just keep our self-confidence intact - we become unstoppable.
And if we can just make it a habit to be unstoppable - then, even the sky will shy away from being our limit!
And, I am vindicated!
I've no intention of going into the game details - every site has them now. But, there's something to be said about the power of thoughts. Most of us were confident that India wasn't going to let Srilanka slip through their fingers - not after the way they kept their cool with Australia and Pakistan. The only question was how they would do it - after losing prize fighters like Tendulkar and Sehwag. At that point, the people who believed in the team in spite of the rude shocks must have outnumbered those who had less confidence. Prayers went up for Gambhir and Dhoni. And, when a billion zealots put their hearts on the line for the team to win, they just can't lose. This tsunami of support wiped out everything that stood in its way. Harbhajan couldn't have been more apt when he acknowledged this force. This is the kind of support that is needed every time they go out on the field.
While the support was a deciding factor, at least for me, it was obviously not the only factor. Siddhu was bang on the mark when he quoted Zig Ziglar - Men of genius are admired, men of wealth are envied, men of power are feared, but only men of character are trusted. Yesterday, every single Indian player was worthy of that trust. For a crowd of onlookers, its so very easy to say that a player should have done this or that; and the very same crowd that cheers these players when they win, destroys their careers without a single thought, when they lose but once. Ignoring that kind of a risk takes a lot of grit and resilience. Mastery of the fear that strikes a heart cold was on ample display by the Indian team yesterday. They paid no heed to the fact that they had lost two prize wickets, or that their die-hard fans have short memories, or that one mistake could overshadow every hard-won achievement. They stayed strong when everything went wrong, and they earned the trust - penny by costly penny.
Luck always plays a hand in a game, when there is the slightest of laxity. To take away the luck factor from a game means playing with extreme levels of concentration and determination. Our team did exactly that - they left nothing to chance. In a game of this magnitude, they have to play at 200% - that's just what they did. And for this, they deserve a salute from the entire nation!
Two formidable forces came together yesterday - the confidence of the Indian "janata" who didn't lose faith even when nothing went right, and the focused determination of the Indian team to give lady luck not a single chance to direct their game. The synergy of such powerful forces is indeed a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
If people say that Dhoni is arrogant, I'd say he earned that right. Personally, I've yet to see a display of arrogance from him. The confidence that comes from hard-won success is not arrogance.
And lastly, what a fitting tribute the team gave to the God of Indian Cricket - Sachin Tendulkar! The crowd had all but forgotten him after his exit from the match. But not so, the Indian team. To see them hoist the Master Blaster on their shoulders and offer the victory to him was a touching moment. Virat couldn't have said it better: Sachin bore the weight of the nation for 21 years. Its now time for us to bear his weight.
The stalwarts who won the World Cup had tears in their eyes yesterday. But, that's what we Indians are all about. We are that rare mix of vulnerability and strength, of zeal and toil, and of emotion and practicality - that sets us apart from the rest of the world. If we can just believe that we are worthy, we can win - even if the odds are stacked against us. If we can just keep our self-confidence intact - we become unstoppable.
And if we can just make it a habit to be unstoppable - then, even the sky will shy away from being our limit!
April 2, 2011
This is IT!
As I watch team India get ready to take the World Cup today, I'm also looking at a wave of cricket frenzy building up into a tsunami of support. Wherever I look, I see zeal and confidence. I have a feeling that nothing can go wrong today.
When a billion hearts KNOW that India is bringing this world cup home, there's nothing anyone can do to take it away from us. The surge of energy that I'm witnessing is a once-in-a-lifetime thing to experience. Watch out little island - this is a tsunami that'll wipe you out. This is no longer about 11 players of India. This is about those 11 players cemented into a rock-solid team by a billion zealots. Zealots who don't know what turning back means. Zealots who will write history just by the roar of their support for team India. Listen for that roar and watch the lions march out.
Go India, take that cup!
When a billion hearts KNOW that India is bringing this world cup home, there's nothing anyone can do to take it away from us. The surge of energy that I'm witnessing is a once-in-a-lifetime thing to experience. Watch out little island - this is a tsunami that'll wipe you out. This is no longer about 11 players of India. This is about those 11 players cemented into a rock-solid team by a billion zealots. Zealots who don't know what turning back means. Zealots who will write history just by the roar of their support for team India. Listen for that roar and watch the lions march out.
Go India, take that cup!
January 21, 2011
Musings of a solitary wanderer
Life is tasty because its bitter when you are tired of all the sweets.
August 14, 2010
Freedom
Freedom? When were we ever "not free?" Which "foreign government" can bind the spirit that expresses its superhuman strength in every motivated action we undertake? For me, Freedom is an acknowledgment of the spirit within us that never ever gives
up - no matter what. The fight against a foreign domination was but
symbolic of what the... free spirit does - every single moment.
up - no matter what. The fight against a foreign domination was but
symbolic of what the... free spirit does - every single moment.
June 12, 2010
Valentine's Day - The Reds and The Blues
Valentine’s Day – The Reds and The Blues
India is catching on to V-Day in a big way! We get to hear snippets about people violently opposing this “culture” by going on marches, or more prominently, RJs babbling about love on the radio. Not to be outdone, if you are a Vodafone user, you will at least get 5 messages per day that urge you to send your “heartfelt message.” If yours is the “prize-winning message,” it will be displayed on a huge hoarding in the centre of the city! Talk about excesses.
The rage of the day seem to be quick-beauty-fixes that will plump up your lips so that you look more kiss-worthy to your valentine, or quick-Botox treatments that will give you smoother skins, quick-fix weight-loss and trimming solutions, and so on and so forth - all this in the name of something very elusive - beauty. Looking at this craze as a distant observer, one is left with an impression that the beautiful, and the beautiful alone, are lovable!
Are we now looking at a culture obsessed with love – something akin to past cultures that were obsessed with wars? If so, this certainly is a good time to be living!
But, looking deeper under the tumultuous, wind-swept, stormy waves of love on this particular day, I can’t help seeing an ocean of loneliness. As “individuals,” each one of us seems to be looking for that one person who will understand, care, forgive, and accept, and on top of it, also manage to be the handsome/beautiful man/woman of our dreams. Few people seem to be smiling in contentment at just “being.” We search, search, and search. And most of us give up, because that’s what we learn to do. We learn to be afraid of giving too much of ourselves, since we are not sure that the person we give our love to will know its value. Thus, we put a lid on our natural feelings. Alas, loneliness is self-pity behind a mask.
We also realize that the beautiful are worshipped. Whoever heard of a God that was not divinely beautiful to look at? And whoever heard of film stars who are not as divinely beautiful as gods or goddesses? And therein lies the trap! We realize that making ourselves beautiful is “possible” – thanks to the advances in cosmetology! And thus, we learn to hide behind masks, both physically and mentally. In our attempts to be physically beautiful and thus worshipped, we hide our real selves that are so amazingly more beautiful. This is why people strive to make themselves more “presentable.” “Impressing” becomes all-important. People hide behind masks, both physically and mentally. And when we do find someone who seems to be the kind of person we seek, we go all out to impress, own, and possess. Alas, love can not be possessed.
Most of us, being practical, accept our failings, find someone who seems okay (easy to live with perhaps?) and settle down into the institution of marriage. We learn to smother our dreams since dreams don’t come true and “adjust,” and being educated people, we blame ourselves day in and day out for not living our dreams! Sometimes, we also choose to be sensible and try to create love where there was none before. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we fail.
And sometimes, something happens to make us see things in a slightly different way and we join the ranks of the few who are smiling in contentment. It might be a very simple thing - maybe a sudden desire to give a box of chocolates to the kids performing acrobatics on the street signals in the hope of getting a 1-rupee coin from you? Or it may be a sudden impulse to buy a nice saree for your grandma or a kurta for your grandpa? Or maybe, you get the sudden insane desire to buy gifts for all your dearest friends and family on your birthday? That’s your real self shining through the cracks in the façade that the world sees. And that is the person your loved ones know and treasure.
Sometimes, we suddenly realize that love comes in all shapes and sizes and myriads of colors - not just red! It comes in the shape of the small puppy huddled at your doorstep. Sometimes it comes in the shape of a delicious treat prepared by your mother as a surprise for you, or a watch from your father when you win a competition. Sometimes it comes in the shape of a small hand-crafted pendant your spouse made especially for you on V-Day. We feel “touched.” Maybe this one word explains the warm feeling of having our real self appreciated? At moments like these, no one wants make-up, Botox, a fancy dress, fancy cards or gifts, or a candle-lit dinner at a fancy restaurant to feel beautiful – and loved!!
India is catching on to V-Day in a big way! We get to hear snippets about people violently opposing this “culture” by going on marches, or more prominently, RJs babbling about love on the radio. Not to be outdone, if you are a Vodafone user, you will at least get 5 messages per day that urge you to send your “heartfelt message.” If yours is the “prize-winning message,” it will be displayed on a huge hoarding in the centre of the city! Talk about excesses.
The rage of the day seem to be quick-beauty-fixes that will plump up your lips so that you look more kiss-worthy to your valentine, or quick-Botox treatments that will give you smoother skins, quick-fix weight-loss and trimming solutions, and so on and so forth - all this in the name of something very elusive - beauty. Looking at this craze as a distant observer, one is left with an impression that the beautiful, and the beautiful alone, are lovable!
Are we now looking at a culture obsessed with love – something akin to past cultures that were obsessed with wars? If so, this certainly is a good time to be living!
But, looking deeper under the tumultuous, wind-swept, stormy waves of love on this particular day, I can’t help seeing an ocean of loneliness. As “individuals,” each one of us seems to be looking for that one person who will understand, care, forgive, and accept, and on top of it, also manage to be the handsome/beautiful man/woman of our dreams. Few people seem to be smiling in contentment at just “being.” We search, search, and search. And most of us give up, because that’s what we learn to do. We learn to be afraid of giving too much of ourselves, since we are not sure that the person we give our love to will know its value. Thus, we put a lid on our natural feelings. Alas, loneliness is self-pity behind a mask.
We also realize that the beautiful are worshipped. Whoever heard of a God that was not divinely beautiful to look at? And whoever heard of film stars who are not as divinely beautiful as gods or goddesses? And therein lies the trap! We realize that making ourselves beautiful is “possible” – thanks to the advances in cosmetology! And thus, we learn to hide behind masks, both physically and mentally. In our attempts to be physically beautiful and thus worshipped, we hide our real selves that are so amazingly more beautiful. This is why people strive to make themselves more “presentable.” “Impressing” becomes all-important. People hide behind masks, both physically and mentally. And when we do find someone who seems to be the kind of person we seek, we go all out to impress, own, and possess. Alas, love can not be possessed.
Most of us, being practical, accept our failings, find someone who seems okay (easy to live with perhaps?) and settle down into the institution of marriage. We learn to smother our dreams since dreams don’t come true and “adjust,” and being educated people, we blame ourselves day in and day out for not living our dreams! Sometimes, we also choose to be sensible and try to create love where there was none before. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we fail.
And sometimes, something happens to make us see things in a slightly different way and we join the ranks of the few who are smiling in contentment. It might be a very simple thing - maybe a sudden desire to give a box of chocolates to the kids performing acrobatics on the street signals in the hope of getting a 1-rupee coin from you? Or it may be a sudden impulse to buy a nice saree for your grandma or a kurta for your grandpa? Or maybe, you get the sudden insane desire to buy gifts for all your dearest friends and family on your birthday? That’s your real self shining through the cracks in the façade that the world sees. And that is the person your loved ones know and treasure.
Sometimes, we suddenly realize that love comes in all shapes and sizes and myriads of colors - not just red! It comes in the shape of the small puppy huddled at your doorstep. Sometimes it comes in the shape of a delicious treat prepared by your mother as a surprise for you, or a watch from your father when you win a competition. Sometimes it comes in the shape of a small hand-crafted pendant your spouse made especially for you on V-Day. We feel “touched.” Maybe this one word explains the warm feeling of having our real self appreciated? At moments like these, no one wants make-up, Botox, a fancy dress, fancy cards or gifts, or a candle-lit dinner at a fancy restaurant to feel beautiful – and loved!!
A Child's World
A Child's World
The little babe toddled along,
one little finger in his mouth,
his tiny hand grasped in his mother's.
He tripped on a stone and stumbled,
and let out a long, indignant wail.
His mother gathered him into her arms,
and dried his tears with her kisses.
Then she stooped and hit the stone.
She scolded it hard for daring to trip her darling.
The child stopped wailing!
He climbed down back to the ground,
and slapped the stone with one tiny hand,
scolded it just the way mommy had.
And then, all troubles forgotten,
he reached back for his mother, climbed into her arms, and crooned,
one little finger in his mouth.
It is a child's world…
The world is His!
The little babe toddled along,
one little finger in his mouth,
his tiny hand grasped in his mother's.
He tripped on a stone and stumbled,
and let out a long, indignant wail.
His mother gathered him into her arms,
and dried his tears with her kisses.
Then she stooped and hit the stone.
She scolded it hard for daring to trip her darling.
The child stopped wailing!
He climbed down back to the ground,
and slapped the stone with one tiny hand,
scolded it just the way mommy had.
And then, all troubles forgotten,
he reached back for his mother, climbed into her arms, and crooned,
one little finger in his mouth.
It is a child's world…
The world is His!
June 8, 2010
Circle of Life
A Circle of Life
July 26, 2007
(Geeta Arya alias Diane Raine)
A tender shoot breaks open the hard earth and reaches out to the warm skies—luxuriating in its new-found freedom after a tough struggle—hopeful and expectant. The moment it takes its first breath of free air, it is in danger. Its tender leaves are nibbled away by wandering cows. The careful gardener protects it by building a small fence of thorny twigs around it. As the shoot flourishes and breaks into a flower, it is in greater danger of being destroyed by passers by who break its branches and leaves and snatch its flowers without a second thought. The fence is made stronger. But the young tree is growing faster.
Hopeful hands tie threads around its slim trunk and put bangles on its stems praying for wishes to be granted. They worship the tree hoping it will somehow reach beyond the clouds and make the Gods yield to the prayers of mortals existing on the earth.
The still young tree bears fruit for the first time. Eager hands snatch and grab all it can give. The fence is now a brick wall around the tree—so it is safe and protected from wandering cows, passers by and outsiders. The tree keeps growing.
Then one day, insensible hands wield an axe and rip off its trunk leaving a stunted stump of what was going to be a haven of shade and cool breezes. The wall is broken down. It is no longer required.
Still, they tie threads around the stunted stump because the old ones were left in place. Still, they worship it in hopes of wishes to be granted. There is no gardener to water the stump now. Still, it survives, grows out new branches. More bangles are put on those branches. And since they cannot support the weight of those bangles, the branches are tied with ropes to other trees.
A season of drought comes. Unseen ants eat at the tree roots and weaken its hold on the earth. The worship goes on. At times, people look at the stump curiously and wonder.
Then one day, the stump is uprooted completely in a storm and falls. The ropes were tight. The branches break and are left hanging with the ropes. If something is left of it that is not rotten, it will be used for firewood.
This is the life of a woman in India—the land that worships mothers and goddesses.
Satya looked at the words she had typed on her computer screen. Her mind was blank. Where had these words come from?
Inevitably, she retreated deep within her grieving self seeking shelter from the raging firestorm that was threatening to burn the life out of her very soul. Her mind flew back to those years of her childhood—a time she didn’t really want to live again. She had always wanted to grow up and be free. She never had been given the chance. Now, she was on the brink of a gaping hole in time. She was soon going to lose what little freedom she had been given till now.
Why was she thinking like this? Had she gone nuts or something? Those other women at her office thought her writing was sad, depressing. They said women were not what they were a decade ago. They were always urging her to put out those silly thoughts from her head. Times had changed a lot. This was the twenty first century. No more satis now. No more dowry deaths. Women lived as they liked these days.
Is it true?” Satya wondered. “Are women really living the way they want to? I am not. My life is still like that tree—and so was my mother’s, my sister’s. God only knows how many other women live like me and never speak about it. God only knows how many women willingly accept whatever life gives them. God only knows how many fight for what they want—how many can—how many get the luxury to choose.”
I don’t have a choice.”
Satya.” That was Chand calling out to her. Chand was her boss. A small curly haired, dark-eyed young lady of 30 who was as wise as an old lady of 90. “Satya, you’ve got some work. Check your mail.”
July 26, 2007
(Geeta Arya alias Diane Raine)
A tender shoot breaks open the hard earth and reaches out to the warm skies—luxuriating in its new-found freedom after a tough struggle—hopeful and expectant. The moment it takes its first breath of free air, it is in danger. Its tender leaves are nibbled away by wandering cows. The careful gardener protects it by building a small fence of thorny twigs around it. As the shoot flourishes and breaks into a flower, it is in greater danger of being destroyed by passers by who break its branches and leaves and snatch its flowers without a second thought. The fence is made stronger. But the young tree is growing faster.
Hopeful hands tie threads around its slim trunk and put bangles on its stems praying for wishes to be granted. They worship the tree hoping it will somehow reach beyond the clouds and make the Gods yield to the prayers of mortals existing on the earth.
The still young tree bears fruit for the first time. Eager hands snatch and grab all it can give. The fence is now a brick wall around the tree—so it is safe and protected from wandering cows, passers by and outsiders. The tree keeps growing.
Then one day, insensible hands wield an axe and rip off its trunk leaving a stunted stump of what was going to be a haven of shade and cool breezes. The wall is broken down. It is no longer required.
Still, they tie threads around the stunted stump because the old ones were left in place. Still, they worship it in hopes of wishes to be granted. There is no gardener to water the stump now. Still, it survives, grows out new branches. More bangles are put on those branches. And since they cannot support the weight of those bangles, the branches are tied with ropes to other trees.
A season of drought comes. Unseen ants eat at the tree roots and weaken its hold on the earth. The worship goes on. At times, people look at the stump curiously and wonder.
Then one day, the stump is uprooted completely in a storm and falls. The ropes were tight. The branches break and are left hanging with the ropes. If something is left of it that is not rotten, it will be used for firewood.
This is the life of a woman in India—the land that worships mothers and goddesses.
Satya looked at the words she had typed on her computer screen. Her mind was blank. Where had these words come from?
Inevitably, she retreated deep within her grieving self seeking shelter from the raging firestorm that was threatening to burn the life out of her very soul. Her mind flew back to those years of her childhood—a time she didn’t really want to live again. She had always wanted to grow up and be free. She never had been given the chance. Now, she was on the brink of a gaping hole in time. She was soon going to lose what little freedom she had been given till now.
Why was she thinking like this? Had she gone nuts or something? Those other women at her office thought her writing was sad, depressing. They said women were not what they were a decade ago. They were always urging her to put out those silly thoughts from her head. Times had changed a lot. This was the twenty first century. No more satis now. No more dowry deaths. Women lived as they liked these days.
Is it true?” Satya wondered. “Are women really living the way they want to? I am not. My life is still like that tree—and so was my mother’s, my sister’s. God only knows how many other women live like me and never speak about it. God only knows how many women willingly accept whatever life gives them. God only knows how many fight for what they want—how many can—how many get the luxury to choose.”
I don’t have a choice.”
Satya.” That was Chand calling out to her. Chand was her boss. A small curly haired, dark-eyed young lady of 30 who was as wise as an old lady of 90. “Satya, you’ve got some work. Check your mail.”
May 1, 2010
INDIAN – The World in a Word
We receive countless “please-forward-otherwise-you-will-have-bad-luck-for-seven-years” mails nearly everyday. But sometimes, we also receive mails that we are not likely to forget in a hurry. One such mail I received a long time back had a photograph that I have given below. While the photograph is self-explanatory, I can’t help penning down a few thoughts about it.
I don’t know where this place is or who took this photograph. I just know that when I looked at it, I felt stunned, euphoric, intrigued, and proud, all in the same moment.I wonder who wrote that board. And I realize that it’s just another Indian. Who else would find one common thread of unity hidden behind seemingly unrelated words?
To me, being an Indian means so many feelings rolled into one complex, inexpressible, and strong emotion. It’s so electric, sometimes it shakes me. And I find most people around me reacting to patriotism just as strongly, sometimes even more.
As India celebrates its 61st anniversary, I find myself wondering what India would look like if she were a living, normal person like one of us. Would she appear as a woman in a white saree with a crown on her head and a trident spear in her hand? Or would she appear in chains like the freedom-fighters used to portray her in the pre-independence years – dejected, defeated, and waiting? Or would she just look like a proud, happy mother who has just witnessed her child taking its first steps?
Two hundred years is a long time. It is not easy to shrug off the chains that bound us for such a long time. Sixty years, however, is a remarkably short time for the amazing feats we have accomplished! And yet, it is not just scintillating achievements that make an Indian uniquely different. When I try to see beyond the stoic face of today’s Indian professional who carries a smart phone in one hand and a laptop in the other, I find a complex individual sculpted by years of tradition, hard work, conflict, struggle, and persistence. I see a human being who recognizes freedom of the mind and spirit as top priority, who despises unfairness, and reaches out to help someone less fortunate. I find a spirit that loves laughing and expressing; a person who has worked really hard to be successful and takes pride in achievements. I see strong emotions, easy expressions, and great patience. I see righteous anger against biases of all kinds, whether it be based on gender or religion or caste. I see stress, tension, declining health, and pressures unimagined 50 years ago. I also see a lot of faith, trust, and sincerity and the dogged determination to change things for the better.
That is the Indian I see in each of us – the personality I can identify with. Just such a one as you and me – discovered that an Indian is not just a Hindu, or a Muslim or a Sikh, but the complex whole of all religions, traditions, and cultures melted and fused together to form the rarest of personalities.
“India is like a palimpsest upon which layer upon layer of thought and reverie has been inscribed and no succeeding layer could completely erase what was previously inscribed” – wrote Jawaharlal Nehru in The Discovery of India. Indeed, India’s personality is multifaceted as a diamond, reflecting myriads of lights and colors in startling ways. India is a melting pot of numerous cultures. This is the one land where mighty warriors came to conquer and were conquered themselves.
Refreshingly humorous, deeply understanding, infinitely expressive, thoughtful, kind, generous, and wise beyond the collective age of humanity – that’s what I see India as. And, the Indian of today carries all that within.
Diane Raine alias Geeta Arya
Terrorism Is Back – Who Is Playing God This Time?
Today, I was surprised to find myself reluctant to look at the newspaper. This is a first in my life because I’m a voracious reader and literally devour anything readable that I can put my hands on. I blame this on the return of terrorism to India.
I have had my fill of the battered, dying, or dead faces staring up at me every other day from the front page of the newspaper. I cringe inside when such images are thrust upon my consciousness. I am not the leader who will rally the nation around and do a Gandhi Act. I know too well my convictions and courage, and also the thinking patterns of the people of my country, to even attempt that. And I do not have a shield to prevent me from hearing my readers cry “shame” in denouncement of my meek acceptance of the situation. But, I can club myself with them and every other soul who dares not.
Yes, terrorism is back – and with a vengeance. In the past few months, repeated bombings and killings in several key cities have rocked the core of India and what it stands for. This time, terror is not nameless or faceless, or even difficult to identify. It has simply mutated itself into a hundred-headed demon, showing itself openly and feeding off the media. It is no longer the world against Osama. This is insane, but in today’s “modern India,” it is “high-caste” against “low-caste” as well. And of course, there is the latest twist to the saga of terrorism – Hindus against Christians!
It often seems to me that we are never lacking for reasons to die or kill. Isn’t it true that if there is no natural calamity facing us with the threat of mass deaths, we invent an excuse, sometimes as flimsy as a sneeze at the wrong time, and start killing our fellow human beings in the name of God? History is written and re-written every year and stands testimony to the brutalities we repeatedly inflict on our fellowmen for the sake of so-called Religion. We never learn, do we?
Some years ago, there was the incident of 9/11. Everybody unanimously agrees that America will never allow the world to forget that date. What about the recent bombings that killed so many in India in the past few months? Are we even thinking about these mass murders? They strike again and again – and again. With America, it was just one strike, for which it is exacting retribution to this day. What of India? What exactly will it take to shake us out of our apathy? I am horrified with the realization that the bomb blasts in Delhi have merely been on the front page for just a few days, because it shows how apathetic and meekly accepting we are of what a bunch of terrorists choose to do to us. And, just how foolish are we to allow anyone to think that there is such a thing as “Hindus” against “Christians” or for that matter even “Muslims.” I have yet to encounter a Muslim or a Christian or even a Hindu who actually wants to kill his neighbors because they belong to a different religion. Who then are these people who burn the cities and kill us all in the name of your religion and mine?
Can you hear the voice drumming in your head – “What if your neighbor lifts an axe against you? How do you trust anyone? Whom can you trust?” You tell yourself that you can trust your neighbor but the voice asks “What if…” And therein lays the catalyst that turns a small isolated incident to a civil war or a world war.
Whose voice is that? Who is urging us to mistrust and kill?
I say, let us destroy that nagging voice.
I say, this is WAR – The “Third World War” prophesized centuries ago and feared by us in every age and every era. What else do you call a situation where man rises against his fellow men with the intent to kill and destroy? Have you ever given a thought to what would be the result if everyone was a “staunch believer of their God” and started killing all those who did not believe in the same? Who could survive such a war?
I am a common Indian. So, I know that the common Indian does not have the time or resources to go help those ravaged by bombs or even natural calamities – nor can he do anything else but hide in his house when a riot is raging outside. That common man quietly pays tax to the government and goes about his business of saving money for his daughter’s marriage or his son’s education, and entrusts the job of keeping his home and loved ones safe to the government. He knows that his family depends on him. He hides, not because he is afraid of dying, but because he is needed by his family and that smothers his courage. I want to know who will stop this mind-numbing cycle of terrorism and mass murders. Who will finish off this saga for good so that terrorism becomes a nightmare of the past? Which government should I place my faith in? Which Indian political party can guarantee that I will return home safe tomorrow?
I believe that as long as there are petty distinctions, there will be unrest. I say that the Indian government should abolish all distinctions between Indians based on caste and religion.
These distinctions will disappear, sooner or later. I do not see myself growing old as a Hindu hating a Muslim or Christian. Neither do I see myself wasting time in useless defense of my so-called higher caste. Indeed, had I the power to do so, I would remove all distinctions, all differences, all traces of identity except one – that of being a human. One day, this will happen. Maybe not in my lifetime, but try I will – to make it happen at least for the coming generations.
My question is, do we – the common Indians – wait for a miracle to happen, or do we dare and send a message across to all those gloating “terrorists” out there – NOW? Do we dare to stop being a Brahmin or a Kshatriya or a Hindu or Muslim or Christian?
Do we dare to create a new identity for the entire human race?
I have had my fill of the battered, dying, or dead faces staring up at me every other day from the front page of the newspaper. I cringe inside when such images are thrust upon my consciousness. I am not the leader who will rally the nation around and do a Gandhi Act. I know too well my convictions and courage, and also the thinking patterns of the people of my country, to even attempt that. And I do not have a shield to prevent me from hearing my readers cry “shame” in denouncement of my meek acceptance of the situation. But, I can club myself with them and every other soul who dares not.
Yes, terrorism is back – and with a vengeance. In the past few months, repeated bombings and killings in several key cities have rocked the core of India and what it stands for. This time, terror is not nameless or faceless, or even difficult to identify. It has simply mutated itself into a hundred-headed demon, showing itself openly and feeding off the media. It is no longer the world against Osama. This is insane, but in today’s “modern India,” it is “high-caste” against “low-caste” as well. And of course, there is the latest twist to the saga of terrorism – Hindus against Christians!
It often seems to me that we are never lacking for reasons to die or kill. Isn’t it true that if there is no natural calamity facing us with the threat of mass deaths, we invent an excuse, sometimes as flimsy as a sneeze at the wrong time, and start killing our fellow human beings in the name of God? History is written and re-written every year and stands testimony to the brutalities we repeatedly inflict on our fellowmen for the sake of so-called Religion. We never learn, do we?
Some years ago, there was the incident of 9/11. Everybody unanimously agrees that America will never allow the world to forget that date. What about the recent bombings that killed so many in India in the past few months? Are we even thinking about these mass murders? They strike again and again – and again. With America, it was just one strike, for which it is exacting retribution to this day. What of India? What exactly will it take to shake us out of our apathy? I am horrified with the realization that the bomb blasts in Delhi have merely been on the front page for just a few days, because it shows how apathetic and meekly accepting we are of what a bunch of terrorists choose to do to us. And, just how foolish are we to allow anyone to think that there is such a thing as “Hindus” against “Christians” or for that matter even “Muslims.” I have yet to encounter a Muslim or a Christian or even a Hindu who actually wants to kill his neighbors because they belong to a different religion. Who then are these people who burn the cities and kill us all in the name of your religion and mine?
Can you hear the voice drumming in your head – “What if your neighbor lifts an axe against you? How do you trust anyone? Whom can you trust?” You tell yourself that you can trust your neighbor but the voice asks “What if…” And therein lays the catalyst that turns a small isolated incident to a civil war or a world war.
Whose voice is that? Who is urging us to mistrust and kill?
I say, let us destroy that nagging voice.
I say, this is WAR – The “Third World War” prophesized centuries ago and feared by us in every age and every era. What else do you call a situation where man rises against his fellow men with the intent to kill and destroy? Have you ever given a thought to what would be the result if everyone was a “staunch believer of their God” and started killing all those who did not believe in the same? Who could survive such a war?
I am a common Indian. So, I know that the common Indian does not have the time or resources to go help those ravaged by bombs or even natural calamities – nor can he do anything else but hide in his house when a riot is raging outside. That common man quietly pays tax to the government and goes about his business of saving money for his daughter’s marriage or his son’s education, and entrusts the job of keeping his home and loved ones safe to the government. He knows that his family depends on him. He hides, not because he is afraid of dying, but because he is needed by his family and that smothers his courage. I want to know who will stop this mind-numbing cycle of terrorism and mass murders. Who will finish off this saga for good so that terrorism becomes a nightmare of the past? Which government should I place my faith in? Which Indian political party can guarantee that I will return home safe tomorrow?
I believe that as long as there are petty distinctions, there will be unrest. I say that the Indian government should abolish all distinctions between Indians based on caste and religion.
These distinctions will disappear, sooner or later. I do not see myself growing old as a Hindu hating a Muslim or Christian. Neither do I see myself wasting time in useless defense of my so-called higher caste. Indeed, had I the power to do so, I would remove all distinctions, all differences, all traces of identity except one – that of being a human. One day, this will happen. Maybe not in my lifetime, but try I will – to make it happen at least for the coming generations.
My question is, do we – the common Indians – wait for a miracle to happen, or do we dare and send a message across to all those gloating “terrorists” out there – NOW? Do we dare to stop being a Brahmin or a Kshatriya or a Hindu or Muslim or Christian?
Do we dare to create a new identity for the entire human race?
An Ode to the Earth – My Home
I forget what it is to feel the first rays of the sun,
I live under the glare of artificial lights.
I forget what it’s like to feel the rain on my face,
I am too busy trying to avoid the next pothole.
I forget what it is to feel the earth beneath my feet,
I see only paved concrete wherever I go.
I forget how blue the sky can sometimes be,
I can’t see past the skyscrapers any more.
My flat is in the heart of the city,
My heart is still searching for my home.
I ache to be free from within, I ache to belong.
I want to feel in my soul, the bliss of being in my own home.
I lose you everyday in a thousand different ways.
And I can’t take it any more.
I will fight to keep you healthy, not for a coming generation or for a cause.
But because, you are me and I can’t let you go like this.
I live under the glare of artificial lights.
I forget what it’s like to feel the rain on my face,
I am too busy trying to avoid the next pothole.
I forget what it is to feel the earth beneath my feet,
I see only paved concrete wherever I go.
I forget how blue the sky can sometimes be,
I can’t see past the skyscrapers any more.
My flat is in the heart of the city,
My heart is still searching for my home.
I ache to be free from within, I ache to belong.
I want to feel in my soul, the bliss of being in my own home.
I lose you everyday in a thousand different ways.
And I can’t take it any more.
I will fight to keep you healthy, not for a coming generation or for a cause.
But because, you are me and I can’t let you go like this.
June 5, 2007
In Pursuit of A Dream
When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it’s never good news - especially when you look out the peep hole and find a big curious eye staring back at you. Enough to divest you of whatever traces of sleep was left in your system. I knew only one person who stares back through peep holes – my aunt. I opened the door with growing trepidation, and was assaulted by a chorus of sing-song voices saying “Surprise!” – I found myself blinking at an assortment of relatives of all sizes ranging in age from 5 to 80. Just seven of them.
My aunt, her husband, their son and daughter-in-law and their three kids – I couldn’t help but notice the enormous amount of luggage either – I counted 15 bags. Typical – each person carries at least two, and the strongest gets to carry three – the logic being that one has to carry at least one more bag than they can. Guess it depends not on what you need, but on what you think you need.
My relatives straightaway proceeded to consider my 1-bedroom flat their own. As they treated themselves to cold drinks and chocolates from the refrigerator, I gathered that they were here to see the ‘sights of the city.’ My aunt, who had discovered ice cream in the refrigerator and was treating herself to generous dollops of it, said between mouthfuls, “We were just talking about you the other day. How we have not seen you for 10 years and all that… So, we just decided to pack up and come along to see you. And in the process, we can see Bangalore too. We didn’t want to disturb you, you know! So, we just came from the station ourselves. Horrid, these autowallahs are! They charged 200 rupees for just 3 kilometers, saying it was “odd time!”
“But,” she added, “It’s nice to have relatives in strategic places you know!” Sure, I know!
I took a deep breath as my gaze wandered around the pitifully tiny flat that had been my pride until then. I couldn’t help but wonder at the storm that seemed to be rocking it right at the foundations. I wondered how kids can have the energy to play Dracula at 3 am in the morning. They were all over the place – hiding and laughing and screaming their lungs out when discovered by their fellow Draculas. Even as I tried to understand the mystery of their high energy levels, a piercing shriek designed to leave me permanently deaf popped my heart out of its rhythm and set my ears ringing for 2 scary minutes. Some lung power!
I managed to drag out an old mattress and quickly made make-shift beds for the kids and their parents. The “master bed” of course went to my uncle and aunt. And that was about all the furniture I had. I found a bed sheet and spread it out in the 3 x 5 ft dining “space.” No pillows left. I pulled out some clothes from the wardrobe and tried to make myself comfortable enough to get some sleep. But I was not destined to sleep. Draculas and one-eyed monsters kept invading my dreams.
I woke up sore and tired at 5 a.m., only to find my aunt chanting away to glory. I first cursed at having my restless sleep destroyed so completely by her mumbo jumbo. And then I found myself listening more closely. I hadn’t heard those verses since I was a kid. Fascinated in spite of myself, I listened for a while…
Office! I have to get to office. No time to listen to all that chanting stuff – even though it reminded me of cold mornings of long ago when I used to sit at the kitchen door steps in the patch of sun light that filtered through the dense trees growing in our back yard, drinking Bournvita my mother used to prepare for me just the way I liked it.
I quickly went into the kitchen – only to find that tea was already prepared. Not quite the way I like it these days, but still reminiscent of a time when I wasn’t so picky about adding generous amounts of milk and sugar. I decided that if I had to get to office on time, I needed to capture the bathroom ASAP. But of course, someone else was already ensconced in there, a second ahead of me. My uncle has this habit of singing out aloud his devotion for the creator as he performs his daily ablutions and bath. Unfortunately, uncle also does not come out of a bathroom before the proverbial hour is up – He takes his time. I knew I would get in trouble again in office for coming late. This time the fault wouldn’t be mine. As if that matters.
My cousin and his wife, thankfully, were still asleep with their kids. I finally got to capture the bathroom, but couldn’t manage a reasonable length of stay inside. The mini-Draculas were up and in great form. One of them wanted immediate occupancy of the bathroom. I had to relent.
When I next entered the kitchen, I found that the breakfast was already prepared and a lunch box had mysteriously appeared – all packed and ready. My aunt wrinkled her nose as she placed the lunch box in front of me, “Don’t eat things from hotels outside. Verrrrrry dirty! You never know what diseases they breed out there. I’ve cooked some rice and dal. Have that.” I stared at the steel box and wondered how I would fit it in the laptop bag. Home made rice and dal – not bad I guess.
And as I was stepping out of the house, she said, “Oh! By the way, don’t forget to get some fruit. Your uncle is fond of apples. You know – the Washington ones. Get two kgs of those. And get some more ice cream for the kids. Your fridge is practically empty. And there seems to be some problem with the geyser. Send some electrician to get it fixed. And here is the list of groceries you need to get today evening. I am going to prepare your favorite aloo paranthas today for dinner.” Aloo paranthas – my favorite? Still, it was something to look forward to at dinner.
I realized I didn’t have my cell phone with me. So, I went back in. It was not in its usual place on the TV stand. I hunted around a bit. My aunt told me that one of the mini-Draculas had been playing with it. I found it in the tiny hands of the youngest Dracula. Predictably, the screen saver, ringtone and everything else that could be changed had been changed.
I managed to reach office on time. I marveled at the mysterious ways of the universe!
This was pretty much my routine for the next week. My relatives knew more of Bangalore than I did by the end of the week. I was surprised there was so much to this city that I had been working in for the past five years. Neighbors started dropping by to visit. I had never known that the family living next door had a kid who was mentally retarded.
But, I was tired of the constant screaming of the little Draculas. I wanted to eat something I had cooked myself in my own style. I wanted to watch TV without having three pairs of eager hands grabbing at the remote. I wanted to have nothing to do with neighbors who kept popping in and out asking for sugar or a tomato or a potato and sometimes my laptop. I didn’t want to have to hunt for my own phone every time I needed to make a call. I wanted to enjoy peace in my own house. I struggled to come to grips with the change that had suddenly taken over my life.
But just as quickly as they had come, they were gone. I heaved a sigh of relief as the train bore them away on a fine Sunday afternoon. I was eager to get back home and sleep on my own bed.
But when I opened the door, the quiet was a bit scary. The house looked like a cyclone had just passed through it, so I started cleaning it up. I restocked my refrigerator. I flipped through channels on TV for a few hours. I tried to sleep, but sleep eluded me. I picked up the phone and called my mother. I spoke with her for fifteen minutes and told her all about “aunt’s trip to Bangalore.” Then I went up to the terrace and watched the sunset. I wondered why I was not relaxed – now that the storm was past.
“Maybe I should finish some work instead of wasting my time,” I thought. I switched on my laptop and stared at the screen for an hour before realizing that I wasn’t getting any work done. The house was too quiet.
“No matter,” I told myself, “Time flies… Tomorrow will be another day. I will probably thank my stars that the house is quiet after I come from office tomorrow.” This time, I couldn’t stop that nagging question from popping back into my head – again. Is this the dream-life that I have struggled so hard to achieve?
What have I given up to achieve this?
Geeta Arya, writing as Diane Raine
My aunt, her husband, their son and daughter-in-law and their three kids – I couldn’t help but notice the enormous amount of luggage either – I counted 15 bags. Typical – each person carries at least two, and the strongest gets to carry three – the logic being that one has to carry at least one more bag than they can. Guess it depends not on what you need, but on what you think you need.
My relatives straightaway proceeded to consider my 1-bedroom flat their own. As they treated themselves to cold drinks and chocolates from the refrigerator, I gathered that they were here to see the ‘sights of the city.’ My aunt, who had discovered ice cream in the refrigerator and was treating herself to generous dollops of it, said between mouthfuls, “We were just talking about you the other day. How we have not seen you for 10 years and all that… So, we just decided to pack up and come along to see you. And in the process, we can see Bangalore too. We didn’t want to disturb you, you know! So, we just came from the station ourselves. Horrid, these autowallahs are! They charged 200 rupees for just 3 kilometers, saying it was “odd time!”
“But,” she added, “It’s nice to have relatives in strategic places you know!” Sure, I know!
I took a deep breath as my gaze wandered around the pitifully tiny flat that had been my pride until then. I couldn’t help but wonder at the storm that seemed to be rocking it right at the foundations. I wondered how kids can have the energy to play Dracula at 3 am in the morning. They were all over the place – hiding and laughing and screaming their lungs out when discovered by their fellow Draculas. Even as I tried to understand the mystery of their high energy levels, a piercing shriek designed to leave me permanently deaf popped my heart out of its rhythm and set my ears ringing for 2 scary minutes. Some lung power!
I managed to drag out an old mattress and quickly made make-shift beds for the kids and their parents. The “master bed” of course went to my uncle and aunt. And that was about all the furniture I had. I found a bed sheet and spread it out in the 3 x 5 ft dining “space.” No pillows left. I pulled out some clothes from the wardrobe and tried to make myself comfortable enough to get some sleep. But I was not destined to sleep. Draculas and one-eyed monsters kept invading my dreams.
I woke up sore and tired at 5 a.m., only to find my aunt chanting away to glory. I first cursed at having my restless sleep destroyed so completely by her mumbo jumbo. And then I found myself listening more closely. I hadn’t heard those verses since I was a kid. Fascinated in spite of myself, I listened for a while…
Office! I have to get to office. No time to listen to all that chanting stuff – even though it reminded me of cold mornings of long ago when I used to sit at the kitchen door steps in the patch of sun light that filtered through the dense trees growing in our back yard, drinking Bournvita my mother used to prepare for me just the way I liked it.
I quickly went into the kitchen – only to find that tea was already prepared. Not quite the way I like it these days, but still reminiscent of a time when I wasn’t so picky about adding generous amounts of milk and sugar. I decided that if I had to get to office on time, I needed to capture the bathroom ASAP. But of course, someone else was already ensconced in there, a second ahead of me. My uncle has this habit of singing out aloud his devotion for the creator as he performs his daily ablutions and bath. Unfortunately, uncle also does not come out of a bathroom before the proverbial hour is up – He takes his time. I knew I would get in trouble again in office for coming late. This time the fault wouldn’t be mine. As if that matters.
My cousin and his wife, thankfully, were still asleep with their kids. I finally got to capture the bathroom, but couldn’t manage a reasonable length of stay inside. The mini-Draculas were up and in great form. One of them wanted immediate occupancy of the bathroom. I had to relent.
When I next entered the kitchen, I found that the breakfast was already prepared and a lunch box had mysteriously appeared – all packed and ready. My aunt wrinkled her nose as she placed the lunch box in front of me, “Don’t eat things from hotels outside. Verrrrrry dirty! You never know what diseases they breed out there. I’ve cooked some rice and dal. Have that.” I stared at the steel box and wondered how I would fit it in the laptop bag. Home made rice and dal – not bad I guess.
And as I was stepping out of the house, she said, “Oh! By the way, don’t forget to get some fruit. Your uncle is fond of apples. You know – the Washington ones. Get two kgs of those. And get some more ice cream for the kids. Your fridge is practically empty. And there seems to be some problem with the geyser. Send some electrician to get it fixed. And here is the list of groceries you need to get today evening. I am going to prepare your favorite aloo paranthas today for dinner.” Aloo paranthas – my favorite? Still, it was something to look forward to at dinner.
I realized I didn’t have my cell phone with me. So, I went back in. It was not in its usual place on the TV stand. I hunted around a bit. My aunt told me that one of the mini-Draculas had been playing with it. I found it in the tiny hands of the youngest Dracula. Predictably, the screen saver, ringtone and everything else that could be changed had been changed.
I managed to reach office on time. I marveled at the mysterious ways of the universe!
This was pretty much my routine for the next week. My relatives knew more of Bangalore than I did by the end of the week. I was surprised there was so much to this city that I had been working in for the past five years. Neighbors started dropping by to visit. I had never known that the family living next door had a kid who was mentally retarded.
But, I was tired of the constant screaming of the little Draculas. I wanted to eat something I had cooked myself in my own style. I wanted to watch TV without having three pairs of eager hands grabbing at the remote. I wanted to have nothing to do with neighbors who kept popping in and out asking for sugar or a tomato or a potato and sometimes my laptop. I didn’t want to have to hunt for my own phone every time I needed to make a call. I wanted to enjoy peace in my own house. I struggled to come to grips with the change that had suddenly taken over my life.
But just as quickly as they had come, they were gone. I heaved a sigh of relief as the train bore them away on a fine Sunday afternoon. I was eager to get back home and sleep on my own bed.
But when I opened the door, the quiet was a bit scary. The house looked like a cyclone had just passed through it, so I started cleaning it up. I restocked my refrigerator. I flipped through channels on TV for a few hours. I tried to sleep, but sleep eluded me. I picked up the phone and called my mother. I spoke with her for fifteen minutes and told her all about “aunt’s trip to Bangalore.” Then I went up to the terrace and watched the sunset. I wondered why I was not relaxed – now that the storm was past.
“Maybe I should finish some work instead of wasting my time,” I thought. I switched on my laptop and stared at the screen for an hour before realizing that I wasn’t getting any work done. The house was too quiet.
“No matter,” I told myself, “Time flies… Tomorrow will be another day. I will probably thank my stars that the house is quiet after I come from office tomorrow.” This time, I couldn’t stop that nagging question from popping back into my head – again. Is this the dream-life that I have struggled so hard to achieve?
What have I given up to achieve this?
Geeta Arya, writing as Diane Raine
December 8, 2006
A Small Dissection of… (Oops, Sorry!) A Dissertation on A Lit Fest and A Movie
I admit it. This is more of a dissection than a dissertation.
Why did I go to the first Bangalore Literature Festival yesterday?
For a new experience, to be perfectly honest.
Did I get it?
Yes.
What did I take away as learning from those few hours?
That next time when I go to a place I’ve never been to before, I should make proper arrangements to transport myself back home. And, I should know the way; at least theoretically.
That’s all I took back?
Yes, and no.
What does that mean?
I went home shivering in the December cold, against which my hooded sweater proved to be sorry protection. All my thoughts were on getting home. And when I did, I didn’t want to waste a Friday night. So I watched Step Up Revolution, expecting to be disappointed with it, because I’d read reviews and that’s why never bothered to watch the movie in the hall in the first place. I got a surprise. The movie was good. And it was when I compared both experiences; that of going to the lit fest and that of watching this movie; that I came across a little discovery.
I realized that I’m not really interested in purity; culturally-speaking of course. Step Up was all about new and inspired dancing versus rule-based dancing. I thought back to what one of the most respected writers of Kannada literature was saying when I reached the Bangalore Literature Festival venue. He was talking aobut Kannada literature being so rich that people should stop ignoring it in favor of English literature. I’ve irreverently but respectfully forgotten his name (maybe because it was so purely Kannada, or more honestly because I wasn’t “listening”). There were a couple of foreigners in the crowd. I don’t know what they understood. Then, an impressive lady, Shashi Deshpande (I’ve heard her name somewhere, but I just can’t remember where), spoke next and “apologized for speaking in English because she was not as fluent with Kannada.” I had actually admired the beautiful purity of the words the previous speaker had used in spite of not understanding much of what he said. But when she said this, I felt like someone had just dunked me in cold water. Brrr! My only thought was, “Give it a rest people.”
So, I tuned out and waited for Gulzar to come on stage.
That experience was not disappointing at all, because of the element of honesty in it. I think what I was really looking for in the lit fest was “honesty” in massive amounts. So, I was mollified and even went on to feel something like “a small case of goose bumps” when Gulzar read out his beautiful Urdu poetry. The one that really stands out in my memory is one that I think is titled Total Solar Eclipse. Here’s a rough translation: In the romantic days of college, in the last benches; two hands would sneak furtively, slowly, towards each other. And then suddenly, one of the hands would grasp the other and cover it completely, lovingly. Today, the sun has covered the moon just like that. That one made my mind pop open.
Did I rush to take his photograph and want to have his autograph or want to talk to him about something?
Ah, another revelation. No, I did not. He is a grandfatherly (he called the MC “beta” not realizing that his mike was on and respectfully said “Ok, ok, two or three more poems. Ok) and very ordinary person just like you or me, who just thinks with his soul and puts that in words. I was more impressed by his humility in not accepting a pedestal meant for extraordinary souls, his honesty about what he really feels like, his wit and dry humor that is so gentle that it just brushes you like a feathery touch of something loving, and his innate love for life and his understanding acceptance of it in all its diversity. And as I write this, I realize… “Wow, he’s a great man. He really is that extraordinary soul he tries so not to be.” So, I did take something away other than that transportation lesson. Hmm.
And then, like a star being brought on stage… complete with a “guess who’s waiting back stage for you to call out his name… c’mon call out his name and he will appear” speech by the MC, Chetan Bhagat came on stage.
Another honest person who doesn’t pretend to be an extraordinary orator. People kept asking questions of him. He tried to answer his best. The questions were inane. And I don’t remember much of the answers. He has written books, for God’s sake. Read them if you want to know what he really thinks like. People were so moved by his “star-like” status, they wanted to know what he likes… as in does he like South-Indian women. I think that one topic took up 15 minutes, after which there wasn’t much time for the more serious questions. Someone asked: “Your work was very idealistic when you wrote Five Point Someone. You wanted to change the world then. Now that you are in a position to do so, what does it feel like?” Or something like that. I remember thinking, “now that’s actually a good question.” Chetan replies saying he was an extremist then and thought extreme change was needed, but now, he realizes that change cannot be brought about by extremism but by being moderate. For example, if you order a person to move and give you space, he won’t move. But if you ask that person like you would ask a friend, they would do it! Great point, that one. I liked it.
There was also some discussion about his frequent TV appearances. I’ve not seen a single one, so I wouldn’t know. I don’t watch that much TV! To that, he says, “well, sometimes, it is like, aye chikne (chikne could be a derogatory word – depends on how it is used), tu aja. Aj koi nahi hai.” Meaning, he is often called upon to fill space when no one else is available because he looks good on screen. Haha! Then he was asked about his belief that today’s youth were selfish and just wanted a good job and a good love life. Hah. That one went on and on, and I tuned out somewhere in the beginning. Was this tied in with the moderatism and extremism thing he said? Maybe. I was feeling a little cold by then, and looking at my watch wondering if I should leave. I did hear a few snatches from the audience. Things like, “he is giving all stupid answers,” (to which I thought “umm... not really”) I also heard things like, “he is being honest,” (to this I thought “hmm, reasonable assessment”). I had a sudden vision of myself sitting on that stage and answering questions instead of Chetan Bhagat. I think my answers would have been the same in tone and honesty.
What did I feel though? Nothing. I only gathered a little more courage and went took a snap of him myself instead of asking my friends to do that and asking them to “Bluetooth it over” to me, which is what I’d done with Gulzar (I guess I was a little awed by his persona).
Did I want to take his autograph and ask questions? I had nothing to ask. I left a few minutes before the session ended and spent the next half an hour shivering in the cold waiting for an autorickshaw.
My massive ego did not allow me to board the first one that came my way because the guy asked for an extra 20 bucks. My massive ego dwindled within minutes like a deflated balloon when no other auto even stopped. I had crossed over to the other side of the road and waited; so I decided to change tactics and re-crossed the road and went to stand in front of the gate again. I think I don’t need to say here that I felt a little worried because my friends were on their way home assuming I’d already found my transportation and my sister was worried sick because I called her up and worried her as much as I could. I decided to think of this as an adventure. Now why did I say that when I needn’t have? Silly me.
An auto came and I got in meekly when he demanded those extra 20 bucks again. I made him take a U-turn and go in the direction I was informed was the correct one. He obediently and conveniently forgot that it was really the wrong direction. He “remembered” after about two kilometers; and then took a U-turn again in the “right” direction. My freezing head and open mind just wanted to get home safe, which I did. And then I promptly proceeded to get something in my now-empty stomach and plunked myself down in the cold bean bag, wrapped up like a mummy in a lighter and slightly less effective version of a proper blanket, to watch Step Up Revolution. What a revelation.
I’d read reviews (must’ve been people who really don’t like dancing) and never bothered to watch this movie in the theater. I wish I hadn’t done that. If I could just delete some of the “pure salsa” (but even that was beautifully executed), it was a really good watch. I love dancing… as in I can’t dance but I love watching. I only ever truly dance inside my head where my mind conjures up fluid images of dance moves that are in tune with the music I’m listening to. This is my favorite pastime, when I’m forced to pass the “hours” on my everyday cab journeys to and from office. But the whole point is this: It is time to go beyond the defined rules and seek newness. The movie revolves around the antics of a band of dancers who call themselves "The Mob" and who do flash mobs in the most unlikely places in the most beautiful ways to get their voice heard. The movie shows dancing in a way that is totally new. Its got nothing to do with pure dancing styles. Its a radiant, vibrant, living mix that grabs your attention and holds it and then injects you with the germ of free thinking.
That's how I came to my biggest realization of the evening – that I’m not interested in cultural purity.
Here’s my explanation for that bland statement:
Just like the dances in the movie were "inspired and new" and not just the same rule-based dances we know about, culture too needs to change and renew itself. We often talk about culture like it is a set of rules that we should live by. That actually translates to outdated rules for an era that is not the present and can never be. To me, cultural purity means an old way of life that is no longer applicable now and is best “preserved” in photographs, paintings, and books – not in present-day living. I’m not really interested in the “fact” (translation “rule”) that we do namaste with folded hands. I’m more interested in finding out why we do it. If the reason appeals to me, I’ll do that namaste… when I feel like it, not when I “should.” If it doesn’t, I’ll forget about it and go hunting for the reason behind the next cultural symbol.
Since literature and culture are so inseparably mixed up in our minds, I think literature will be the first thing to be impacted by any conscious effort to change.
In this day and age, we really can afford to let go of the safety of some of the outdated community rules and think a little bigger… as in “global” instead of “local.” The present generation is doing it… hesitantly but visibly. I think that change is being invisibly guided by modern literature, which in turn is being moulded into its newest avatar by free thinkers.
Like they say, change is the only constant. And anything that doesn’t change, stagnates. It putrefies. Gulzar made a reference to the stagnation of religion in a poem of his as-yet unreleased book, and I loved the depth of truth behind those words. He said that medicines have an expiry date for a reason. Once the date crosses, they are not that useful any more. And if they are “preserved” even longer, they putrefy. They decay and after some more time of “preserving them as they are,” they turn into poison. Religion has crossed its expiry date.
Okay, that was what gave me the goose bumps.
Culture is much like that. Like religion, culture is a way of life. And while the entire environment and ecosystem changes constantly, culture cannot be kept “the same.” Culture means growth, change, and a healthy dose of irreverence. I cannot identify culture with over-respectfulness. Do you eat “outdated” food? I don’t either. Why should we settle for an “outdated” way of living then, especially if culture is almost as important as food. This brings me back to the concept of “cultural purity.” This is the era of globalization – a time of blending. This is the time of revelations and newness. We are discovering the shining threads of oneness that run just under all our radical differences. We are eating pizzas and raviolis these days, and we are discovering that tacos and burritos are not that different from rotis, rice, and vegetables. Why not sample the different cuisine and enjoy a new flavor, a new taste? Why not challenge the norms and create a new and more loving and inclusive way of life – a more human one… a spicier, exciting, and enriched global culture, and enjoy not just the process of creating it but the day-to-day living of it?
Why not create a new recipe?
Dec 8, 2012
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