A helping hand from the past…

This is yet again a reminiscence! It’s about someone from the past…someone who was part of the past…someone who’s physically dead…but, someone who’s legacy has outlived him and has the power to spur even a corpse into action, especially if you understand what I mean when I say to be dead and walking and living the life of a corpse…

It was a cold, winter afternoon couple of years ago…I was sitting with a friend in her house in Delhi with black tea in hand and wrapped in blankets. Perhaps, I was in the crossroads yet again (perhaps a new job or an important decision-making hour), but I could hardly think or even feel, except for the warm tea and my own silence, which was deafening. After some talking, my friend just looked at me and told me to turn around and see a label that she had stuck on her wooden almirah. What I saw there broke a dam within; it was the poetry of Paash, a Punjabi naxalite poet who died standing up for his beliefs, who lived for his beliefs and his convictions! Yes, his words reached out to someone in the present and gave her life to dream again to struggle and never to give up…the poem was:


The Most Dangerous

Most treacherous is not the robbery
of hard earned wages
Most horrible is not the torture by the police.
Most dangerous is not the graft for the treason and greed.
To be caught while asleep is surely bad
surely bad is to be buried in silence
But it is not most dangerous.
To remain dumb and silent in the face of trickery
Even when just, is definitely bad
Surely bad is reading in the light of a firefly
But it is not most dangerous
Most dangerous is
To be filled with dead peace
Not to feel agony and bear it all,
Leaving home for work
And from work return home
Most dangerous is the death of our dreams.
Most dangerous is that watch
Which run on your wrist
But stand still for your eyes.
Most dangerous is that eye
Which sees all but remains frostlike,
The eye that forgets to kiss the world with love,
The eye lost in the blinding mist of the material world.
That sinks the simple meaning of visible things
And is lost in the meaning return of useless games.
Most dangerous is the moon
Which rises in the numb yard
After each murder,
but does not pierce your eyes like hot chilies.
Most dangerous is the song
which climbs the mourning wail
In order to reach your ears
And repeats the cough of an evil man
At the door of the frightened people.
Most dangerous is the night
Falling in the sky of living souls,
Extinguishing them all
In which only owls shriek and jackals growl,
And eternal darkness covers all the windows.
Most heinous is the direction
In which the sun of the soul light
Pierces the east of your body.
Most treacherous is not the
robbery of hard earned wages.
Most horrible is not the torture of police
Most dangerous is not graft taken for greed and treason.

Translation by Dr.Satnam Singh Sandhu of Punjabi University, Patiala

Ps: You can see some more of Paash's poems here.

Saroja—A Treat Through and Through!

Starring: Shiva, Vaibhav Reddy, Premji Amaren, S. P. B. Charan, Vega Tamotia, Prakash Raj, Jayaram, Kajal Aggarwal, Sampath Raj, Nikita Thukral and Nagendra

Story: Venkat Prabhu
Directed: Venkat Prabhu

I am writing this immediately after watching the Tamil movie Saroja, which was playing on Kalaignar TV as part of their New Year special programs. To say I thoroughly enjoyed the movie would be an understatement! Though I don’t know exactly what they got it right in the movie, it was a wholesome treat!

The movie is about four friends, Ajay, Ganesh, Jagapathi babu, and Rambabu. The two babus are telugu-speaking and are brothers too. What started as just another interesting comedy turned out to be actually a thriller! So, a bit on the plot: these four guys decide to drive to Hyderabad to watch a cricket match, but lose their way and find themselves in extremely weird and life-threatening circumstances. How all of four them make their way out in one piece and also become heroes in their own ways make the rest of the movie.

None of the guys in the movie is ‘hero’ material. They all look and behave like next-door guys! It was easy to believe the movie, and no wonder the viewer is pulled into the magic of cinema in no time. They were no unnecessary fights, pointless dialogues, unnecessary shots that state the obvious, and many such nuances that made this movie truly excellent.

What personally appealed to me was the simplicity of it all, yet the complexity involved in making the whole thing seem so simple! It showed talent, and also how enjoyable the entire exercise (of making the movie) had been to the entire crew! And, building in of the comedy element! Amazing man! Truly, out of this world. I really didn’t know such talent existed here; in fact, in one of the shots, I was referring to how it almost feels like watching some really good foreign cinema; only that the actors spoke Tamil!

Next, the most riveting part of the movie was its pace. Not even for a moment did I lose interest. Every shot was so neatly knit with the next one and the dialogues were so succinct and perfectly delivered.

Now, to the most favorite part: characterization. Let’s take for example the character of the main villain, Sampath. He looks all jazzed up with a big moustache and also carries a gun as he ‘prowls’ around. But, at the same time, there’s a side of him that’s vulnerable and human. It definitely takes a director par excellence (at least in my myopic view!) to bring out such contradictions in a very real manner. After all, in reality, each of one us is a bunch of contradictions! And, I think that’s what made the movie so real life. Another thing about the movie being close to real life was the realization that there are no heroes in real life! It’s basically life and its circumstances, one’s convictions and one’s instinct to not give up without a fight (when pushed to a corner) make heroes out of ordinary people. Yes, ordinary people like Ajay, Ganesh, Rambabu, Jagapathi babu, and, most importantly, Saroja.

Watch Saroja if you want a gripping thriller in which you will roll with laughter through and through, yet remain at the edge of your seat!

Destination Pichavaram!

It was yet another christmas morning; I was lazing around rather aimlessly, which is what I have always done all the Christmases I have ‘celebrated’ so far. Well, this one I didn’t celebrate, thanks to evolution, which is happening a little late in my life (anyway, it’s better late than never)! Ok, I was lazing around wondering what to do with the rest of the day, and nothing but only sleep seemed delectably alluring, and as I was about to give in to it, when the little devil at home started one of her songs (this one was called, I will do everything in my power to irritate you into submission) about joining her to Pichavaram (the second largest mangrove forests in the world). So, just to shut her up and since a phone call also confirmed that I wouldn’t be doing much over the weekend (no one else needed me or my company you see, which is how it has always been, hither to…), I set sail on a journey to the mangroves, though with a heavy heart, since I will have to put up with 4 attention seekers! Imagine, giving attention to so many! Nevertheless, I set sail…

At CMBT, we boarded on to this government bus bound to Chidambaram. All of us managed a window seat, but two windows refused to open, and we had to make do with whatever images filtered through the dust-coated glass windows. Of course, the ECR ride was pleasant, filled with memories of other trips on the same road…we crossed Dakshina Chithra, the ECR dhabba, Muthkadu, Croc Bank, etc…by the time, we hit Mahabs, it was dark already and our bladders seemed to be bursting at the seams, and one of us even refused to move even a micro inch for fear of tipping over the bladder! Thankfully, the bus halted and we were relieved. After some stretching and walking, we got into the bus to resume the ride. Do you see the relief on our faces in this picture?



Then, the attention seekers started their own trip of antaksharis and what not; and all I could do was feign a sinus attack and snore. Intermittently, I was woken up by Deepan’s inimitable capacity to catch the most difficult of some Tamil ragas; in fact, he gave me a complex. (Ok, for those of who miss the satire...I can't sing like two lines to save my life. So, does the satire come across at least now??) It seemed like one unending journey, punctuated only by the hungry noises my stomach was making! Mercifully, the journey ended and we could finally grab something to eat. After some essential cleaning up and stuff, we slept, only to be rudely awakened by a radio that blared some gibberish at 6 in the morning! It took Sri some super human effort and ingenuity to figure out how to turn out the damn thing! Anyway, after some more inane things, our journey began…

First, I walked into the Chidambaram Nataraja temple. I must say it was truly a beautiful temple, though hidden under its beauty was untouchability and brahminical fascism. You can read about these here and here. I went around the temple talking to different people about what they felt about the government take over; each one had a different take. One thing that was common was the overall acceptance among people about the brahminical domination over a place of worship! Anyway, the issue is sub-judice. But, that doesn’t mean one should be quiet and let justice take its course, considering it's rather dismal record so far! What’s now necessary is a dialog or a debate on the temple, on who can conduct the poojas, on why one mustn’t sing in Tamil in that temple, on why it’s essential for the government to control the temple and its property! I walked out an agitated woman…wondering what is happening to the case and to the 10-year-old movement spearheaded by Arumugasamy, a Sivan Adigalar who's been waging a lone battle here. Quietly, I boarded the bus to Pichavaram, and as an answer to my various questions, a young man boarded our bus and started talking in clear language about the issue, making the ordinary people understand the importance of thinking, the importance of participating in the change process, and also contributing to making the change!

Rejuvenated, I embarked on the rest of the journey. The bus route from Chidambaram to Pichavaram is a picturesque one…vast stretches of green fields, cool breeze from the back waters, canals, birds, snakes, etc dot the road. A Muslim woman was my co-traveller who explained to me many more things about the area and of course even invited us for a fish lunch! Slowly, the green fields opened out to something that looked like a huge lake, but no! It was a bloody sea filled with trees! Check out the pictures that follow. Read here about what a mangrove is. I am stopping here so that you guys can enjoy the pictures…

Tis the season to be jolly…

It’s just another sleepy morning as I wait for the sleepy clouds to clear out and the bright sunny mood to come out. In fact, a colleague remarked that this is not the season to be snappy or even crabby, and as she said to those words, just to irritate her and myself, I started droning (in my besura voice) tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la…

In any case, the post is not about my mood swings, rather a collection of some thoughts that trapeze through me as I negotiate yet another day in this day and time.

Today, I managed to find the ‘right’ bus; an air-conditioned one, which plays FM radio and also provides nice view (the windows remind one of French windows). More about the bus in the next thought. So, as the bus negotiated a turn, where we (the metropolitan bus passengers) get a view of the moffusil buses, my eyes fell on a tall, dark, handsome guy. He had pierced his ears and had also grown his hair just a bit and perhaps was quite aware of the effect he had on women. One thing was writ large on his face though, and it was hope. I started wondering what that hope could be…and my mind whirled past to a rather disturbing article I had read in the Tehelka about many such beautiful young women who alight at this very bus stand with the same thing this young man had: hope! Read the article here to know what a terrible place this city could be for dreamers…
____

These AC buses are something of a novelty to the city. These buses charge 3 times the fare and have conductors and drivers in uniform! Imagine wearing a cap and all in this hot city! A couple of days ago, I had the opportunity to speak to a bus conductor, who shared his story of how terrible their working conditions are. They no more enjoy any kind of job security, or at least the kind ‘government servants’ are supposed to enjoy! In making things ‘better’ for the IT crowd, these buses are quickly replacing the ordinary buses that working class people take to go to work. For example, a construction worker just stepped into this bus only to be shooed away by the uniformed conductor, who anyway has a broad grin for the IT crowd! His grin of course hides all the actual grief and insecurities he has…and, we the IT crowd smile back, hiding our insecurities spurred by recession! At such a state, I can’t even articulate my thoughts…
____

Then, I come to office and my mail box contains an invite (only for people with Christian names; well, didn’t someone know that first freedom one is denied in life is choosing one’s own name!!) for a Christmas dinner! Coz, it’s the season to be jolly…yea, to be jolly! Let’s all be jolly, decorate our plastic Christmas trees (even if buying them means contributing to globalization), make and distribute cakes (even if it means workers at McRennet and other cake shops must overwork and be underpaid), attend our morning services (even if it means being sleep-deprived for the sexton and his family), and order Biriyanis (even if it means an exponential amount of goat slaughter and extensive, back-breaking work for the children who work for a pittance in catering houses!). Yea, let’s all be jolly!

So much for my thoughts, people, this jolly season…

For the Working People!

It was late morning when Dhatichiyani akka, our domestic help, came running to our house last Sunday, when most of our family had gone to church. She came to tell us that she wouldn’t come to work only on that day because a close relative of hers had had a fall. Her relative is a construction worker and so is her husband. They have all migrated into this city in search of jobs, fleeing perhaps caste oppression or agricultural labor, which is again unreliable thanks to the failing monsoons and of course land grab under the name of development! She had to make the arduous trip to another city, with the promise that she will return by the very next day so that she could save her job here, which anyway pays her a paltry sum. In any case, she returned one day late with the terrible news that her relative may not make it after all, or it would be tough to save his life. But, why did she return, if that’s the state of affairs? Obvious: to save her job and also to arrange for the money the family so dearly needed! It’s with a heavy heart, filled with anger, distress, sorrow, and helplessness I make this post, in the hope that we, the ones who have the means to read this post (we didn’t get here only by accident; there’s an entire class/state machinery that’s working continuously to keep us where we are) will think; yes, at least think when a entire generation of humanity is perishing under our very eyes as we surf channels, read the morning astrological predictions, match horoscopes, meditate on world peace, and shop at lifestyle to deal with our depressive episodes!

Why did this person have to fall? A skilled worker, who has experience in construction for the last 10-15 years, falls just like that and crashes his rib cage! This is how safe our construction companies are! And, the metro bridges crash in Delhi is of course not old news as yet. And, in this case, apparently the construction company, which must be grossing its profits in crores, has the murderous gall to say that the worker must have been drunk and so missed his step and fell! And, these companies will even be recognized with standrads adherence awards for their excellent working conditions (spit on you, you murderers!). In this case, I do not think the worker was drunk; even if he was drunk, why does he have to work under such high risk areas for such something as meager as Rs. 150 (or even less) for a day? And, our dear army personnel are paid in lakhs because they risk their lives every day; and, of course it is a separate matter that they also rape and murder women as part of their job requirements in Shopian and Meghalay! If it’s not bad enough that the worker had to fall in this manner when his management is distorting the case to save their skin, the civil society/government (the great welfare state that we are) doesn’t even have proper hospitals that can give him proper healthcare (where will our government have the time when it brings out stamps to commemorate the great service renedred to the uppermiddleclasses by private hospitals?). Of course, not to mention that the worker has been admitted in a ‘service-minded’ Christian hospital for better healthcare; the hospital apparently says they can’t do much, but please get a hefty amount ready, for which our domestic help rushed back!

Tell me, all of you, who is to blame? Is there a real way out of this capitalist mess? Is there any hope to redeem humanity? Can we really hope to make a new world? Can we break out of this tapestry of violence spun only by greed and selfish motives?

Only these words come to my mind; does anyone have any other alternative? (words in bold are my additions):

The Communists everywhere support every revolutionary movement against the existing social and political order of things.
In all these movements, they bring to the front, as the leading question in each, the property question, no matter what its degree of development at the time.
Finally, they labour everywhere for the union and agreement of the democratic parties of all countries.
The Communists disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.
Working People of All Countries, Unite!
----The Communist Manifesto.

In the Eyes

Do eyes really speak a million stories?
Of the million moments
They traversed
Through the sandy waves of time

Of the smiles that lay buried
That refused to play
With the lips

Of the tears that lay heaped
That shied away
From the lashes

Of the wordless language
That communed to itself
And not you

Of the intoxication that spreads
Unslurred by reputation lords
Guarding the divine

Of the potent dreams that spin
Pain and poison and hope
In the grey tapestry of freedom

Welcome back, Sir

Yes, sir, welcome home
You must be tired.
After such a tiresome, fearsome company
With only your wall flower to accompany
You
In your partying with sashas and michelles
In their designer clothes
Sashaying to the melodious ringtones
Of our very own
Musical, global Indian.

Yes, sir, welcome home
You must be tired.
After such an eclectic, learned company
With only your few Ratans and Ambis to accompany
You
In your forking and corking with the fates of millions
Whose blood have reddened your fingers
And you think
Of liberation through your liberalized open-door

Yes, sir, welcome home
You must be tired.
After such a momentous, first-time affair
Or, should I say, a coitus forbidden
Only by the blood of millions before
Which you today spat on
With your spot-on deals and pacts
Of stealth, greed, and blood thirst

Like a ...

Like a clear cool stream that meanders on
Unaware of its trails
Of the puddles it created
The little moth houses it filled
The thirsts it quenched
Flows the never ending song of solitude
A song in search of its tune
A homeless bird in search of a nest

Like a gusty gale that rages on
Completely aware of its ravages
Of the houses it broke
The trees it uprooted
The seas it parted
Blows the east wind of passion
A flood in search of an unbuilt dam
A tidal wave shying at the shore

Like an innocent little bud that blooms
Oblivious to the fragrance it spreads
To the hopes it builds
The beauty it spreads
The dreams it spins
Plays the music on the harp of eternity
A note in search of a composer
A rain drop in search of its poet

Please don’t disturb; great mind at work

Sometimes, I wish I could hang that board around my neck or in a way that would tell the world not to mess around with me, especially when I am processing an important thought or trying to catch an intricate tune, not that I can reproduce the tune!

Ok, this post is basically about how people get irritated with some of my responses, especially when they startle me when all that they did was just a happy nudge or a warm hug!

Today, I was listening to the radio on my new, beautiful cell phone, and they were playing an old Illayaraja number (must have been a tame channel like Rainbow, for the tame and tepid souls like mine) as I got off the auto and my eyes beheld the beautiful clouds (shaped like two, smoky, pristine white monsters about to get into a cloudy fist fight) against a clear blue background, flood lighted by the sun! Can you guys feel the joy I would have experienced at that moment; the way my sense of being came alive with the miracle of the earth? Extending that moment blissfully, I trudged along, only to be brutally shaken out by a colleague! Well, she didn’t mean to be violent; she’s in fact one of the most soft, petite and pretty women in my office, who is also quite friendly with me (which is a rare combination; I steer clear of anybody who remotely looks pretty, fair, or beautiful...in the conventional sense; in any case, my friends are the most beautiful people on earth!).

Back to the episode: it was a brutal snuffing out of the moment, and understandably I was disoriented! And, I kind of collected my thoughts and tried to listen to what she was saying; nothing, just a hi and then she disappeared, because she had some work!

Heaving a helpless sigh at social etiquette, I trudged along, getting back to the song. And, in no time, I was lost in the ocean of music; how Illayaraja had knit one raga with another without any trace of a bump; a journey he had created to be enjoyed each time your mind and soul came together on that road. And, just when SPB was hitting a high note, my phone shrilled deep into my ears! It was a phone call…sigh! The world seemed committed to getting me out of my world! Well, and the world has the gall to call me an Attention Seeker, when the world wants my attention all the time!

Well…yet another morning…another bag full of goodies. :)

Another Morning

It’s another morning here, miles away
No, lifetimes away
Away from the evenings of shared smiles
As we straddled, haggled with the vendors

I see another row of neatly arranged boxes
No, cartons that carry food
Not just to exist, but survive
Survive the mundane conversations on right and left

Another sun here shines bright at my smile
No, a stifled sob, a swallowed grief
On the murder of throbbing life
Painted on the outside with hollow laughter and love

Yet another ride, high over the seas
No, over the highway of life
Only, I don’t fear the potholes of your tradition
Of love paid only through the needle of your sacred thread

It’s another evening here, dreams away
No, nightmares away
Away from the mornings of prayerful submission
To purified stone gods that putrefied the soul

I see another of row of bright yellow flowers
No, little love poems floating in my garden
Not just to cuddle, but live
Live to see the face of truth, face of pain, the face of God

Things to do while it’s raining cats and dogs outside

Basically, you must be in a room (preferably alone, an occasional company is also acceptable) with a warm bed that faces the TV and any musical instrument. Importantly, the room must have a window that allows you to stare at the rain.

Now that you are in the room, you can:

1. Read a nice little novel munching a pack of chips, listening to the rain.
2. Watch an interesting, riveting movie with a nice drink in hand (I mean tea, coffee, or juice ;)).
3. Cover yourself with a blanket and use a torch to read old letters.
4. Switch off lights and fans, open the windows, hear the rain, and lull yourself to sleep.
5. Listen to old rain songs, I suggest Illayaraja, and hope someone special calls; most often, this wish isn’t granted, so don’t hope this.
6. Switch off lights, cover yourself with a blanket, and stare at the rain, leaves, little insects, and the street light.
7. If you have a door that opens outside, write little poems on strips of papers and float them.
8. Lie on your bed and remember all those things you never wanna forget.
9. Call people; well, only those who will like to receive your call; this is again a sticky area, so tread carefully.
10. Draw/paint or hum a tune.

So, if guys can think of anything else that you can do, let me know.