I typed 'Anartcalledlife' in the URL space and waited for the page to open. But, The page didn't open and the message that showed on the page read -- This page cannot be found. I had apparently typed 'Anartcalledlie'. One letter had transformed my blog from being a simple, sweet blog name to a new blog idea. It was the letter F that was missing, but I wouldn't waste time on the missing letter, coz the word 'lie' has been bugging me.
Lying is an art indeed.
The word lie has various connotations. But, again, I would keep the dirty minds from swaying away from what I mean. I mean the liars lie. ‘You should never lie’ is usually the first lesson for a child. Life however, twists and turns and teaches the child that sticking to the term is the most difficult thing life has to offer.
The first chocolate stolen from a siblings cupboard and when the child is asked if he/she has done it, the answer is a lie. When studies begin, there are exams to be given. Many a times results hidden, albeit for a day or two, to avoid being beaten up. Lying helps in the delay in violence and the child learns the lesson. Of course the parents learn of the mistake and teach him a lesson or two with heaps of advices is an addition.
Come adulthood and the person makes friends from the other gender. In India, these relationships are usually hidden from parents. “Where were you” queries the parent and the answer is a lie. “At a friends place Ma/Pa” The lie is bared open when the couple returns one fine day to announce that they are married!!
The list of lies is endless after this –
- I got late as I was at office
- I love you so much I can’t look at any other woman!!
- I can’t talk to you as I am at an official meeting..
- I love saas bahu serials
- I don’t like watching cricket!! It’s such a boring game
- I can’t live without you etc etc
- I never touch liquor, my friend’s drink but I don’t!
- I NEVER LIE..
Krishna, The only living human God was a veritable liar and how we cherish the tales of lies he dabbed in butter. He lied and the tales of lies are remembered even to this day, to the extent that we declared him God. But then, he was the unsurpassable, avatar of Lord Vishnu and he ought to be forgiven. We are but mortals.
Coming back to the person who lies! He grows older and lies about his feelings, his emotions, his wealth and his age too. Life flashes by when the grey hairs shimmer under light. He realizes Life was an art called lie, manipulated to different degrees at different times.
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
Sunday, 11 April 2010
Storm and I
Half a mile of speedy sunshine, half a mile of breeze
and then there was the rains and storm amongst the breezy trees.
The storm passed through the forest and chased the green leaves,
The girl a boy, a woman a man, wait! please.
It seems to me that something's gone wrong?
A tree has been uprooted and houses have no sound,
The storm had thrown apart human lives,
and left behind people huddled on the ground.
Broken and charred, shattered and marred,
things that once made a home were all ablaze,
The fire in a hut still burnt at it's pace,
People stood and gaped at their lives disgrace.
Nature's fury had taken a toll and how!
It was a few hours of madness and the breeze played foul,
It was meant to be a gentle flow,
Though it turned into an angry row.
Without a thought it swept and blew,
taking with it all, memories - old and new.
What was left behind was a heap of stones,
to be thought of all life and be mourned.
How I wish I could have been the chosen one,
to sleep as the wind blew,
But as luck would have it at all times,
I was away when it passed through.
I am left now, to grieve and mourn ones who lived,
to heal the wounds of others, who hurt and limp,
The sun will shine again and the breeze will gently blow,
But, till then I have a long way to go.
I have the will to make amends and the wish to live,
Life is but just a passing thought.
It is a long chain of emotions and body and soul,
I have to just untie the knot.
and then there was the rains and storm amongst the breezy trees.
The storm passed through the forest and chased the green leaves,
The girl a boy, a woman a man, wait! please.
It seems to me that something's gone wrong?
A tree has been uprooted and houses have no sound,
The storm had thrown apart human lives,
and left behind people huddled on the ground.
Broken and charred, shattered and marred,
things that once made a home were all ablaze,
The fire in a hut still burnt at it's pace,
People stood and gaped at their lives disgrace.
Nature's fury had taken a toll and how!
It was a few hours of madness and the breeze played foul,
It was meant to be a gentle flow,
Though it turned into an angry row.
Without a thought it swept and blew,
taking with it all, memories - old and new.
What was left behind was a heap of stones,
to be thought of all life and be mourned.
How I wish I could have been the chosen one,
to sleep as the wind blew,
But as luck would have it at all times,
I was away when it passed through.
I am left now, to grieve and mourn ones who lived,
to heal the wounds of others, who hurt and limp,
The sun will shine again and the breeze will gently blow,
But, till then I have a long way to go.
I have the will to make amends and the wish to live,
Life is but just a passing thought.
It is a long chain of emotions and body and soul,
I have to just untie the knot.
Monday, 15 March 2010
Talk of Patriotism!!
These pictures were forwarded to me some time back. In today's age of dhongi baba'a and equally dhongi mata's, when faith is being held at ransom by a handful of intelligent business people, isn't it not so surprising to find our National Flag lying at someone's feet??
This audacious behaviour meted out to the Nation's symbol of existence is certainly not acceptable. I hope to meet this Godwoman soon and make her realise the importance of the Tricolour. God save her!!
Monday, 22 February 2010
If only..
If only time could stand still sometimes!!
==========================================================================================================================================================================
Thursday, 4 February 2010
some pictures gone wrong
These blurred pictures were supposed to look clearer but they turned out to appear the way they are.
The second picture had me in a daze as I had taken the picture from under a peepal tree. I like to believe I had captured ghosts from my lens but believers of science have contradictictory views.
==========================================================================================================================================================================
The second picture had me in a daze as I had taken the picture from under a peepal tree. I like to believe I had captured ghosts from my lens but believers of science have contradictictory views.
==========================================================================================================================================================================
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Calling names
A little girl in a smart cotton frock walked into the Principal's office. It was 11.00a.m. and the parents sat outside waiting for the child to emerge. After a good 15 minutes the child came out smiling with a chocolate in hand. "Conratulations, " said the clerk there, "Your child has got admission into school". But what did they ask you? asked the over eager parents. She asked" what is your name? i said my name and then she asked my Father's name and i said Mr AK Mukherjee". Then? was the blank expression on the parents faces. The mother was evidently glowing as her daughters answers were exactly what had been taught to her. "She also asked My mothers name", said teh little girl as she gobbled the chocolate in her hand, "and what did you say", the mother almost cried because she had forgotten to teach the daughter her mothers name. "I said My mothers name is Shuncho Mukherjee", the girl replied casually. The parents looked at each other, amused at the casualness of the statement and then both of them burst out laughing. The child did not understand what made her parents so happy.
This is just a small example of what a womans name is reduced to after she becomes a mother. It's surprising the child did not call her by any other name. It's simply because she had never heard her mothers name being said anywhere. She had used her intelligence and recalled her dad using the term 'Shuncho' every time he addressed her mother.
I too, had grown up thinking my mother's name was 'Sunti ho'. I remember wondering what kind of parents would call their daughter by such a weird name. It was one afternoon at my grandparents place that I discovered that my mom had a beautiful name nd that 'sunti ho' was just a term used by my dad to address her. Sunti ho, btw, means are you listening? and my moms hearing abilities were far too superior, considering the expertise with which she knew where we were in the house without moving out of her room.
This is a phenomenon that's so common in the whole country. A woman in India is reduced to being called a 'bahu, bhabhi ji, aunty ji, chachi ji, mami ji etc after marriage. The arrival of a baby into her life endorses her Aunty ji image for life. The name her parents had given her is a thing of the distant past and any reference to the name is bound to well tears into her eyes. Things have changed for the better and now girls like to be referred to by their first name, whether they are working women or home makers and not as some Mrs so and so. They retain their maiden surnames too in some cases.
But! weren't just women supposed to abstain from taking their husbands names! What was this then? role reversal or what!! Over the years I realised that women across the country in most Hindu families underwent such risky branding of their names. If you're in Punjab and happen to walk down a sarson ka khet, you are bound to meet a 'simpu di mummy'. Punjab is one place that's very gender centric and relates to father with the male child and mother with the female child. Eg: Buntoo de pappa te Nippy di mummy!! Move down to Haryana and the wife become the 'gharaali'. No man dares takes his wife's name. It's always, 'mharo gharaali versus thaaro gharaali'. Outsiders just avoid them. Come down south and 'terms change to 'yeevandi' or an amma at the end of their first child's name. Chinni's mother becomes chinnamma, missa's mother would be termed missamma and so on and so forth.
Whoever said Men in India do not respect women!! If respect meant not addressing a husband by his name then women have been doing their job well and so have the men.
Ask an Indian army jawan about how things are at home, on his return from leave and his reply could be,"Phamily agley maheene ke 8 taarikh ko bachcha paida karne ke liye taiyar hai shreeman!" and a sharp salute follows. The officer who must've asked the question is bound to put up a brave front and avoid any show of amusement. His laughter is ofcourse vented out once evening dawns and patiala pegs go down his throat.
I personally have no problem whatsoever with what someone calls his/her spouse.
The 'a ji', 'suniye ji' brigade is almost extinct now and names are here to stay. The Feminist movement to get women equal rights with men has come of age too. Women call men by their names and men call them by their names too. But! wasn't that what was happening earlier too. Anyways. While I'm sitting here trying to figure out this grave issue, I can hear someone shouting out for a cup of tea. It's my 'woh', and now, I must go..
This is just a small example of what a womans name is reduced to after she becomes a mother. It's surprising the child did not call her by any other name. It's simply because she had never heard her mothers name being said anywhere. She had used her intelligence and recalled her dad using the term 'Shuncho' every time he addressed her mother.
I too, had grown up thinking my mother's name was 'Sunti ho'. I remember wondering what kind of parents would call their daughter by such a weird name. It was one afternoon at my grandparents place that I discovered that my mom had a beautiful name nd that 'sunti ho' was just a term used by my dad to address her. Sunti ho, btw, means are you listening? and my moms hearing abilities were far too superior, considering the expertise with which she knew where we were in the house without moving out of her room.
This is a phenomenon that's so common in the whole country. A woman in India is reduced to being called a 'bahu, bhabhi ji, aunty ji, chachi ji, mami ji etc after marriage. The arrival of a baby into her life endorses her Aunty ji image for life. The name her parents had given her is a thing of the distant past and any reference to the name is bound to well tears into her eyes. Things have changed for the better and now girls like to be referred to by their first name, whether they are working women or home makers and not as some Mrs so and so. They retain their maiden surnames too in some cases.
But! weren't just women supposed to abstain from taking their husbands names! What was this then? role reversal or what!! Over the years I realised that women across the country in most Hindu families underwent such risky branding of their names. If you're in Punjab and happen to walk down a sarson ka khet, you are bound to meet a 'simpu di mummy'. Punjab is one place that's very gender centric and relates to father with the male child and mother with the female child. Eg: Buntoo de pappa te Nippy di mummy!! Move down to Haryana and the wife become the 'gharaali'. No man dares takes his wife's name. It's always, 'mharo gharaali versus thaaro gharaali'. Outsiders just avoid them. Come down south and 'terms change to 'yeevandi' or an amma at the end of their first child's name. Chinni's mother becomes chinnamma, missa's mother would be termed missamma and so on and so forth.
Whoever said Men in India do not respect women!! If respect meant not addressing a husband by his name then women have been doing their job well and so have the men.
Ask an Indian army jawan about how things are at home, on his return from leave and his reply could be,"Phamily agley maheene ke 8 taarikh ko bachcha paida karne ke liye taiyar hai shreeman!" and a sharp salute follows. The officer who must've asked the question is bound to put up a brave front and avoid any show of amusement. His laughter is ofcourse vented out once evening dawns and patiala pegs go down his throat.
I personally have no problem whatsoever with what someone calls his/her spouse.
The 'a ji', 'suniye ji' brigade is almost extinct now and names are here to stay. The Feminist movement to get women equal rights with men has come of age too. Women call men by their names and men call them by their names too. But! wasn't that what was happening earlier too. Anyways. While I'm sitting here trying to figure out this grave issue, I can hear someone shouting out for a cup of tea. It's my 'woh', and now, I must go..
Sunday, 17 January 2010
Jyoti Basu - the light that would never fade
A man whose name was synonymous to Bengal and Communism had finished his work here on this planet and it was time for him to bow out. Yes, Jyoti Basu passed away after struggling for 17 days. The 95 year old Communist King was laid to rest in peace. In 2000, after having lead the state of West Bengal for 23 years, Jyoti Basu had handed over the responsibilities to Budhdhadeb bhattacharya. He however remained the father figure in the communist world.
Once while we were travelling to Calcutta, I remember our journey of 4 hours being stretched to 12 hours. The train travelled at snail's pace and stopped at each station on the way. At times the chain was pulled and hordes of people entered the train. It was a sea of people who were all heading to Calcutta. They were all going to attend a rally by Jyoti Basu. I remember that train journey just too well because that was when I realised what hunger was. We hadn't carried much of food stuff as we would reach Calcutta in just 4 hours and when the train got delayed, there was nothing anyone could do. The stations where the trains stopped did not supply any eatables. I remember staring hungrily at an old man, who opened a box that contained rice and dal and chewed on the contents at a leisurely pace. I do not know whether he chewed so luxuriously to while away his time or whether his teeth had worn away, making it impossible for him to eat fast. Whatever the reason, he has been immortalised in my memory. I know I will never be able to forget the expression of contentment on his face after he had had his last handful of rice. He drank water straight out of an earthen pot that he carried and sat back and burped.
My stomach wailed and my father managed to buy some cucumbers for all of us. We were more than happy to lay our hands on em. The train reached Calcutta at 8:00 next morning and my uncle was there at the station. We were more than thankful to see him. There were red flags all around. There were cheers and slogans all around. Roads had ceased to be black topped. It just seemed that the whole world had swung into action and everyone wanted to hear what Jyoti Babu had to say. I had no clue of the difference between the words communism and communalism and turned around to ask my dad the meaning of communism.. " A form of government in which all meant to be equal", he said. I did not understand. I had more questions, but by then the elders had engaged in social pleasantries. My questions weren't answered but the man whose face was postered all over the streets of Calcutta was embedded in my mind. This man with whom i shared my first name with was a man who had taught me unknowingly that hunger has to be curbed.
That all men are born equal and they have the right exist in the world, was something I had learnt onboard the train to Calcutta. His name was heard in every political forum not only in India but also over seas. His name is etched in gold in the creation of India's social fabric. It seemed like he would live on forever, but like all other thing that are born, he had to go away too. But, He has touched too many lives and will live on forever, in memories, for time immemorial..
Once while we were travelling to Calcutta, I remember our journey of 4 hours being stretched to 12 hours. The train travelled at snail's pace and stopped at each station on the way. At times the chain was pulled and hordes of people entered the train. It was a sea of people who were all heading to Calcutta. They were all going to attend a rally by Jyoti Basu. I remember that train journey just too well because that was when I realised what hunger was. We hadn't carried much of food stuff as we would reach Calcutta in just 4 hours and when the train got delayed, there was nothing anyone could do. The stations where the trains stopped did not supply any eatables. I remember staring hungrily at an old man, who opened a box that contained rice and dal and chewed on the contents at a leisurely pace. I do not know whether he chewed so luxuriously to while away his time or whether his teeth had worn away, making it impossible for him to eat fast. Whatever the reason, he has been immortalised in my memory. I know I will never be able to forget the expression of contentment on his face after he had had his last handful of rice. He drank water straight out of an earthen pot that he carried and sat back and burped.
My stomach wailed and my father managed to buy some cucumbers for all of us. We were more than happy to lay our hands on em. The train reached Calcutta at 8:00 next morning and my uncle was there at the station. We were more than thankful to see him. There were red flags all around. There were cheers and slogans all around. Roads had ceased to be black topped. It just seemed that the whole world had swung into action and everyone wanted to hear what Jyoti Babu had to say. I had no clue of the difference between the words communism and communalism and turned around to ask my dad the meaning of communism.. " A form of government in which all meant to be equal", he said. I did not understand. I had more questions, but by then the elders had engaged in social pleasantries. My questions weren't answered but the man whose face was postered all over the streets of Calcutta was embedded in my mind. This man with whom i shared my first name with was a man who had taught me unknowingly that hunger has to be curbed.
That all men are born equal and they have the right exist in the world, was something I had learnt onboard the train to Calcutta. His name was heard in every political forum not only in India but also over seas. His name is etched in gold in the creation of India's social fabric. It seemed like he would live on forever, but like all other thing that are born, he had to go away too. But, He has touched too many lives and will live on forever, in memories, for time immemorial..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)