Somebody's gonna get a hurt....

Couldn't stop laughing after watching this.... Somebody's gonna get a hurt real bad!! :-)
Russel Peters is good, but I would rather call him 'America ka Johny Lever'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nn5jlrxcpkI

Banaras

The dark sky merged into a misty morning, as the sun yawned with a smile. The cool air added to the beauty of the morning. The banks of the river was coming alive to yet another day. Four of us walked down the stairs, towards the ghat. The boatmen rushed forward when they saw the perspective customers. We planked ourselves onto the boat and the ride was on. The various ghats in Banaras were gradually waking up. People went about their chores. There were kids doing yoga, sadhus dressed to please the numerous foreign tourists, People bathing. We were in awe of the magnificience of the huge palaces that stood on the banks of the River Ganges. Various kings from all over India had their own place in this holy land of Kashi. Most of them are not used or partially used today. However, they add to the beauty of the place and gives the banks a historical effect.

I remember my first visit to Banaras, when I was a kid. The Ganges didn't seem so pure then, and there was proof that bodies did not always turn to ash. I had seen half burnt bodies lying on the banks, with animals and wild birds trying to get a share of the remains. There were intestines floating on water and the boat ride wasn't half as pleasant as this time. Times have changed and I am glad the river is clean now. The sun crept out and the brightness was
infectious.

There is a belief that if we die and are burnt in Kashi, we will walk into heaven. The huge umbrellas on the ghats are places where people who have lost both their parents sit and pray for the souls. This is to free the souls from their life cycle, so say the priests, and our ancient texts. Hinduism has some strange ways of survival! i say strange because I do not believe in the concept of heaven and hell. I believe that heaven and hell are a part of the life we
live. Our actions or Karma are the only eternal truth. Coming back to the city I was in - We drifted past the Harishchandra ghat where a body was being burnt, and relatives stood by. I thanked my stars that I was there just as a tourist! The boat returned to the banks and we got out.

As we walked back we went into the lane that leads to the Vishwanath (lord of the universe) temple. It was a holy and peaceful feeling. We went to see the Mosque behind the temple and spent time listening to the stories of how Aurangzeb had the temple converted into a Mosque. The priest there had got new 'Bakras' and we could see it in his eyes. We were made to dish out a good amount of money because he had prayed for for our life and after life too. We had
no choice but to believe him. We were starving by then, so we drove into the first restaurant we saw - It was a Keralite restaurant and we hogged on the Idlis.

Since we were tourists, we made sure we go to all the tourist places. The first place of significance was a Sari shop, Well! Banaras is known for it's saris and I was just being a part of it's culture. I glanced at the man with the wallet, who stood beside me and I waited for his nod. One nod from him and the wallet was emptied. (I later realised that I had been duped, and I had bought fake sarees instead of Banarasi ones.. We had to put up a fight to get the
money back and we were lucky we could get it back.) It was then time for a visit to the Buddhist sites. I was comparing them with what I had seen earlier. Nothing much had changed. The Jain temple was an eye opener for my 12 year old and I preferred to ignore the grin on her face. The tour of the other temples in the city had made us weary and the halt at the temple in Banaras Hindu University was a welcome change.

By evening we were back at the ghats of the Ganges to witness the 'Arti'. We perched ourselves in front of the podiums and waited. Seven young priests in saffron dhoti and kurtas in satin, blew the conches and began the ceremony. It was beautiful and yet seemed fake. There was a touch of glamour that eluded the true essence of the evening prayer ceremony. It almost seemed like a concert, especially staged for foreign tourists who sat on the boats and gaped in
amazement. We were selling Hinduism to the outer world and I was witnessing relegious tourism at it's best. According to hindu texts, if we take a dip in the Ganges, we wash away our sins. I remembered my elders saying that, and I went and washed my feet. (Wonder how much of my sins have been washed!) We returned to plunge onto the bed and doze off.

The station is called Varanasi, which is yet another name for the city. 'Varanasi' is the sophisticated sanskritised version and 'Kashi' is long gone into the history books. Kashi reminds one of Tulsi das the great poet who had penned 'Ramcharit manas'. But, I prefer to call the place 'Banaras', as it gives the true picture of the place that is a mixture of rugged and dusty bylanes where a car walks with the people. The place where the electricity wires are entwined
with the telephone cables and yet exist in harmony. It is also a place where the dead meets eternity. It is also moving with the times and tiny shops exist alongside modern shopping complexes. The terms Banarasi 'paan', Banarasi 'thug' (cheater), Banarasi sarees, kachoris, temples, Ganges and it's ghats, widows, yoga, sadhus and crematoriums makes it a contradiction in itself. The contradictions are the essence of the place which i like to call - Banaras.

A few of my Paintings

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varun gandhi's hate speech

Varun Gandhi rose to fame like the Satan. His armoury of words, well sharpened and chiselled to slit the country's secular fabric into tiny bits. The politics of hate was being given a new dimension as this new Gandhi who knowingly spewed venom against muslims and later sikhs. At who's behest did he have the courage to demean a whole section of society, which his mother had nurtured? It couldn't have been just in his power to speak so!

Iniatially one felt that it must have been is innocence and first step syndrome into politics which made him do so, but no one can be wronger in proclaiming so. The whole speech was doctored to feed the publicity frenzy audience, who lapped up each word spoken by him. Media swarmed around him like bees. Writers/critics/editors all had words flowing from their pens and newspapers had got their new poster boy.. EC finds Varun Guilty-- read papers on the morning of 23rd march and the same day news of Varun getting back at the EC were doing rounds throughout the country. BJP, which has got through him, a faint glimmer of hope stands by him. The party with hindutva ideologies, contradicts itself, with the not a tinge of shamefulness. The half sikh, half parsi and half hindu boy, with the most hated surname becomes a mascot.

Varun's speech at Pilibhit has certainly created a furore amongst the intellectuals. But, does one st back and think about what it has done to the masses? Well! it has certainly made heads move. The hindus who have been made to become targets of caste politics with reservation issues and being made targets for speaking fro hinduism are smiling. There is a feeling that the words spoken by Varun have honesty in them. Little do they know that the murky world of politics will wash away the secular character of the nation if we are to indulge in caste politics. And, yet the feeling that the hindus have a voice too is something that they don't want to be deprived of. So while the right wing celebrates the rise of it's prince, the Congress nurtures it's prince further.
The Mahabharata has begun. Brother versus brother.. the country watches on.

Death

Yet another death! I am moved and fell extremely low.. It's only when someone close to you passes away that you realise the importance of life. Just the other day, I cribbed about being bored. "I must do something more, coz life is getting monotonous", was a comment by another family member. Today, as I logged into facebook, I was surprised to receive a message from a close friend, the message said that her husband was no more. Facing death yourself is a different matter, but when some close family member, relative or friend goes away, the vacuum created is irreparable. With that the sense of grief for the people who are left behind. How will they live their life now? is a question I ask.. Life I know will go on.

The fear of other's death is also a reminder of how vulnerable one is. Death is just a few breaths away, waiting with a smile on it's face, It's dark wings darken the shades of colours that exist in harmony. Death, is the ultimate reality, the ultimate end and no amount of philosophical intervention can make me think otherwise. A friend advised me to read 'Many masters many lives' to clear my mind and to realise that there is an after life.. I do not deny the existence of a soul or after life. I just say that death takes away life forever - like time once gone by, which never comes back.

We are left with the realisation that we have to deal with the future. The human gone, it's only the memories that remain.. The deeds done well or the the ones that weren't so good are the only remains. The family and friends that one leaves behind bereaves him, but for how long? Life ultimately moves on.. Death becomes a memory, until it strikes yet again..

It's all in a name..

Who is Shakespeare to tell me 'what's in a name'!! He said so maybe because he had anticipated that he would some day be known to each child that spoke the english language. No one would mis spell his name.

But, I, who still has to create the aura of my name cannot afford to say so. To make matters worse I have to bear the ordeal of getting my name mis spelt most of the time. When someone gets the name correct, they ensure that the surname is surely wrong and vice versa.

Each Indian state has a different version for the simple words that my grandmother decided would be my identity for all times.. (marriage changed that too!) Now, I spend my time correcting people for the blunders that they do with my name.

Could Hitler be called by any other name, or M K Gandhi, or George Bush? Could you, a reader of my blog would approve of your name being shaped into words that you do not recognise? I am sure you wouldn't approve.

The 'name' is the all important facet of our personality. a person may be called 'sundar' (beautiful) and could be the ugliest person on earth, he would nevertheless be sundar to all who know him! In regions of Punjab and Haryana, people use names like Karnail(colonel), Jarnail(general) etc and dream that the kid they brought into the world would some day become what his name depicts. It doesn't happen..( I have never come across a Colonel Karnail Singh or a general Jarnail Singh!)

One alphabet can make a difference of one generation - A certain George Bush and a George W Bush are a good example.. Add the W and you get a whole lot of games on the internet, Can You do the same thing with George Bush? No, you can't.. That's what

murder of awareness or media awareness:

Chat shows and saas bahu sagas on TV are passé and stand up comedies, live dramas are preferred. News has ceased to be just information and is more of tear jerking, emotionally vibrating entertainment. Quick and easy. The day to day violent incidents as being reported calls for introspection in our society, a relook at our roots and cultural value is necessary to detect the virus. Is the society going berserk with murders becoming the order of the day? Do the media by its overindulgence really become the savior or does it hamper the investigations?

Television, the fastest source to bring to us the facts happening around the world spreads its wings and captures stories unheard of. This creates a sensationalism which audiences like to devour. I just witnessed a television show where a mother beat her chest in desperation as she pleaded that justice be granted to her dead daughter, who according to her was a victim of dowry demands. The channel, overtly obsessed with one new story each day, carefully captured each movement, each statement and emotion of the victims’ relatives. It’s a different story that the story became history the next day and rightly so, after all, tomorrow is another day!!

The whole country had been in a state of shock after the twin murders of Aarushi Talwar and the servant. Close to the heels followed the murder of a Creative head in Mumbai by a naval officer. The case was solved as the culprit cowed to police pressure. Another case of murder of a woman and the servant in Delhi took an easy turn with the police cracking the case within a week of the time the crime was committed. The Arushi murder case however; is proving to be the police’s nightmare as the mystery intensifies with each passing day. The over interference of the media was taking the wind out of the sails of the investigating agencies and an appeal by the family had the media introspecting about their role. The frenzy subsided, only to be refuelled by a press conference held by the IG, Meerut Range. That has just added to more speculations without anything concrete being made of the case. The audience irrespective of their age ( children wanted to know more about this case) watches on without batting an eyelid.

Has the media become a Caesarian autocrat, imposing its findings on the public mindset. Such unprofessional investigations to increase TRP’s are constitutional impropriety and will lay a doubt and create misgivings about judicial independence in the country.
There is a desperate drive by the news channels to cash in on the murder mysteries and increase their viewership. What one forgets is the intensity with which the media churns the lives of common people to suit their best interests.

It is very unfortunate that in spite of ours being a functional democracy where rule of the law prevails; the media has taken the onus unto themselves as justice providers. In the age of RTI and a prevailing standing commission of human rights and women commission and boosted with an independent judiciary and a vibrant parliament, does the media need to play such a role? This may augur well in a banana republic but certainly not in the Indian context. Nevertheless there have been aberrations in the Jesssica lal and Nitish Katara cases and media through the public voice has forced the system to have a relook at those cases, but it was not due to institutional faults but because of the game of money and use of unbridled power. The age of information and technology should not blind us creating Dhitrastras all around but should strengthen our resolve and faith in our constitutional and democratic system. In an era of excitement and adventure being derived from live system to e shows, there is little left for analysis and sound judgment. Media with its accessibility and wide coverage is bringing about a social revolution; getting together the best brains to find a solution to this growing malaise.
However, money and power should not influence the media so much that the public views their story as the real story.

It’s for the courts to decide who the scoundrels are and the truth would be unearthed by trained professionals. Too much of interference by the media leads to misleading information by vested interests and other responsible authorities who do so in a bid to protect the guilty. If the media contains its enthusiasm and presents only facts, they would help in being the true sentinels of a civilised society.

However the media in spite of its investigative nature in bringing case after case to foregone conclusions has in the recent past been a more helpful tool than the government agencies to bring certain cases to its logical conclusions. One such case is the Nitish Katara case where in spite of the prosecution being so powerful, they came within the ambit of law with the courts delivering a landmark and historic judgment in favor of the defence. Kudos media ! job well done. It is pertinent to mention here that the electronic media has played on the national strength of unity in diversity and created public opinion which has assisted in the judicial process. Government agencies dealing with high profile cases have been ticked off by the judiciary for their lackadaisical attitude , thanks to a vibrant and interactive media. At this point it would not be wrong to say that due to its forthrightness and sincerity the media is the fourth independent pillar of our democracy.
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raghrajpur

“When you can’t get to the city, work so hard that the city comes to you” many wise men said that to the youngsters of the tiny hamlet of Raghurajpur, who dreamed of travelling to lands beyond their reach. While some paid heed to the advices, other youngsters packed their bags and migrated to lands of opportunities. Some were successful. One such youngster who paved a way from himself beyond the confines of his village was Guru Kelu Chandra Mohapatra, who is a legend in himself. His name is synonymous to Odissi dance. But there was one man who stayed on and made the city travel to him. He is the exponent of the Gotipua style of dancing. After having seen 85 summers the man is still young at heart and rejoices at the mention of his dance. “I still dance but just sometimes. It’s the youngsters who have taken over” he says, with a toothless smile, as he points to some young children who throng the place. The children, mostly in the age group of 7 to early 20’s have long hair “that’s to give an impression that women are the performers, as the name so ‘gotipua’ so suggests” says saral, one of the dancers

The village of Raghurajpur is just 10 kms away from Puri and Intach declared it a heritage village. The village, is a travellers paradise. One is welcomed by the artistic twists of the dusty village pathways winding through coconut groves. Lines of houses that seem to be vacant come alive as the car comes to a halt and many faces run up to invite one to view what they have in store. It’s only when you are politely cajoled into one room full of artistic ‘patachitras’ that you realize that it’s an artists workshop too. Patachitras are the beautiful art forms on traditional art word drawn on silk cloth or palm leaves. The themes are mostly derived from Hindu mythology and are all surprisingly original. No two paintings are similar. Watching the artists brush out minute lines is a learning process. The whole village is involved in promoting the art form, though around 25 families here belong to Bengal and have now settled down in this village to make it their own. “Six other nearby villages are involved in painting patachitras,” say’s Sanatan mohapatra .
The village has been declared a heritage village, but it ought to set a precedent for the other villages of the state. The other villages which form a proof of poverty must be transformed into modern villages as well. The sooner the work commences the better it is for the development of the state that is bent upon indutrialisation. Industrialisation in itself is bound to set the state in a mode of development.

widow.. window

I have been following the serial 'balika vadhu' thats quite a rage in India today. It traces the issues of child marraige and beautifully.. This one episode on the death of the a little girls husband has my brain cells at work yet again..
Why is it that widow remarraige is considered immoral in India? In earlier days a widow was considered an outcaste, so much so that her existence on any occasion was considered a curse. She was ostracised from the society.. With child widows it was worse. A little girl who didn't know the meaning of the word marraige was made to live a life of pain and suffering. In some parts of teh country the heads of girls were shaved off. If i do not mention the white sari, I wouldn't be doing justice to the description of a hindu widow.
As though the trauma of a life full of loneliness is not enough, the widow is forced to stay away from all worldly pleasures. A life of renunciation for no fault of hers!!
I remember distinctly my grandmother, a lady with radiant skin and the most beautiful wrinkles. Her hair as white as the snow, freshly fallen on the ground. Her face as fair as the moon and a cute smile. But it was the colour of her sari that always troubled me. "Why do u wear a white sari always"? i remember having asked her so often.. I also asked whether she missed my grand dad.. I had never seen him. Her eyes lighted up as she spoke of him.. and then i had dropped the question that had always haunted me.. "Eya, (thats what i called her) baba ki death kab hui? ( when did grand pa die) The question set her into a haze, her eyes moistened and then she got into her shell and moved towards the bed.
Evening came and with that the answer to my question, but from my dad.. "He died in the year 1959" he said... That made it 30 years!!!! God! 30 years of loneliness.. My heart went out to the woman who I always thought was a terror, trying to control our lives. I was 19 and would get married within a month.
I knew i had to make peace with the woman on whose lap i had spent my summer holidays. Whose stories sounded like lullaby's. Whose soft white sari was the perfect bed for me. Whose soft wrinkles and toothless smile made me smile. I saw her sitting near the window and went up to her. Not a word was spoken - we looked each other in the eye.. and after what seemed like forever, she smiled at me. I saw a flash of pain, joy and love in her eyes, all at once.
And there by the window, I was one with my grandmom.

it 's been a long day. didnt want to write but thought would write something. My paintings not getting into shape. I am at a standstill and dont know what more to do. The present scenario of paintings is vague and i'm still trying to come to terms with mingling my emotions into turns and curves. The great artists have inspired me to be me and thats what i intend to be. My knowledge of painting may not be vast coz i havent attended any art college, but i know it in my heart that colours are made to be mixed and matched to sooth the eye. The colour black is magic. white lively, green is glory, red- passion, blue- soothing, yellow- sun....

colours make my mind tick and they weave patterns in my brain. They touch my heart and make me alive. I look at the sun each morning and thank the it fr rising, fr making the world look like it does.