A visit to the market was due, and when we finally reached the shop which i visit every month, I was surprised to see an empty shop. There was no one to cater to the customers. "Where is everyone?" i asked myself with a quizzical look on my face. An old man pointed towards a group of people staring at something. I held my breath and kept my fingers crossed. "Dear God! please don't let it be an accident." I treaded ahead with hopes that there had been no accident. I tore across the crowd and plunged ahead. But, before I could reach the place where lay the centre of attraction, the crowd cheered.
I leaped to find myself facing a portable TV. Dhoni had just scored a century and the crowd was ecstatic. I looked at the countless faces flushed with a glow of victory. A certain happiness which can be felt when a person himself/herself or a close family member or close friend achieves something was writ on their faces.
"Aaj India Kirket match jeet jaaega medum," cheerfully claimed a young lad in his teens. "Dhoni bhaiya ka ban gaya century" he added. By the time I could move ahead and ask him any question he was back into the shop. I followed him into the shop only to find him straight faced and businesslike in attitude.
What is it with Cricket that captivates a whole nation. Well, maybe two nations or maybe more countries. Is it just the game that fascinates all young and old or is it the surprise element attached with it that has people attracted towards it. Is it the glamour or just the money? I have too many questions on my mind and all that coz i do not really enjoy the game. I however, never miss an India Pakistan Cricket match for obvious reasons.
The late night news said India had won the match. I could see smiles around me. Half of India would have slept peacefully too, I 'm sure..
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Thursday, 22 October 2009
To turn into stone
Black statues, beautifully made to match original people are an artists delight. It is equally amazing for the onlooker, to see metals or stones carved into forms of real people. Admiration for the artist is writ all over the onlookers face and the thought that the person who has faded away into eternity, will still be a part of their lives is a relief. It is a relief only till statues are few. When one comes across a replica of any person at every crossroad, what do you do? Mayawati is the person who comes to mind every time we say statue. The obsession to live on forever has taken away the sense of compassion that exists in a human being.
I for one do not want to be turned into stone, for the simple reason, that I don't want birds sitting over my head and painting my face in streaks of white!! To live on forever, is every creator's dream. One wants to live on in the minds of people and be remembered even after they are gone. But, there surely are other ways of becoming immortal. One doesn’t have to be turned into stone to live on for eternity, because for all you know, the statue might be brought down by angry crowds. Haven’t we as an international community witnessed statues of Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Hitler and a few other men/women being brought to dust!! I
My mind however, has often floated on a cloud and seen myself being turned into stone. I imagine myself as a statue and what do I find! A lonely sentinel, standing tall amongst heavy traffic with cars, trucks, two wheelers etc coughing up smoke and pollution at it’s worst best. A family of eight kids, of all ages, lying, crying, laughing and joking at my feet and the house of rags, waiting to fall apart would add to the beauty of the surroundings. If the city governing body did take note of the neglect meted out to the statue, then the family would probably be shifted to a residential area, or else I would have company, much to my disgust..
The scenes during day would change with time. Rush hour would see school and office goers rushing past. Afternoons would be quieter, but, come evening and the world would go bonkers again. Honking cars, hooting buses, chugging trains, wailing and whizzing two wheelers would all whizz past. Night would be the time of bliss, but that would be so awfully lonely that the statue would look forward for the sun to shine back. The statue would bear the scorching heat of the summer sun, and the bitter cold of winters. It would brave rough weather every time it rains, and yet would never change the near perfect smile on the face. I am me and I have no similarity with Ms Mayawati, and that’s an indication that I have no inclination towards having my statue constructed, especially when I am alive. To be placed as a statue in some park or crossroad, I’ll have to shift base to another world. But, I do not want to die yet. There are lots of things I still have to do. The statue will have to wait to be constructed, for what time?? Eternity!!
I for one do not want to be turned into stone, for the simple reason, that I don't want birds sitting over my head and painting my face in streaks of white!! To live on forever, is every creator's dream. One wants to live on in the minds of people and be remembered even after they are gone. But, there surely are other ways of becoming immortal. One doesn’t have to be turned into stone to live on for eternity, because for all you know, the statue might be brought down by angry crowds. Haven’t we as an international community witnessed statues of Stalin, Saddam Hussein, Hitler and a few other men/women being brought to dust!! I
My mind however, has often floated on a cloud and seen myself being turned into stone. I imagine myself as a statue and what do I find! A lonely sentinel, standing tall amongst heavy traffic with cars, trucks, two wheelers etc coughing up smoke and pollution at it’s worst best. A family of eight kids, of all ages, lying, crying, laughing and joking at my feet and the house of rags, waiting to fall apart would add to the beauty of the surroundings. If the city governing body did take note of the neglect meted out to the statue, then the family would probably be shifted to a residential area, or else I would have company, much to my disgust..
The scenes during day would change with time. Rush hour would see school and office goers rushing past. Afternoons would be quieter, but, come evening and the world would go bonkers again. Honking cars, hooting buses, chugging trains, wailing and whizzing two wheelers would all whizz past. Night would be the time of bliss, but that would be so awfully lonely that the statue would look forward for the sun to shine back. The statue would bear the scorching heat of the summer sun, and the bitter cold of winters. It would brave rough weather every time it rains, and yet would never change the near perfect smile on the face. I am me and I have no similarity with Ms Mayawati, and that’s an indication that I have no inclination towards having my statue constructed, especially when I am alive. To be placed as a statue in some park or crossroad, I’ll have to shift base to another world. But, I do not want to die yet. There are lots of things I still have to do. The statue will have to wait to be constructed, for what time?? Eternity!!
Monday, 12 October 2009
Cooking it up
When you are surrounded with people who are always hungry, there's not much you can do but 'cook'. Cooking gets even more happening when you know someone's waiting to gobble all the food up. The pleasure of frying pakodas increass when pakodas vanish from the plate as you keep frying them. Time has run past me, and the hands that stole cookies and ate are now the ones that cook.
It was just yesterday that I would spend afternoons in digging out the home made cookies that my mother hid in the last shelf of the kitchen cupboard. She was one great cook and would make it a point to have a kitchen ful of cookies and cakes and other yummy stuff. But, afternoon was her time off and she would retire to take a quick nap. That was action time for the brothers and sisters in crime. A few friends would also join in and once the mission was accomplished and the box of cookies was recovered, it would be treat time.
The box would be emptied in no time and then was kept back in the same place, like it had never been moved. The crime reporters were bullied and bribed into taking a bite of the grub so that they didn't go yapping about the afternoon exploits. The crime was discovered when guests came home. The box was brought down and opened by the home maker, and to her dismay, teh box would be empty. Bang!! Bang!! Bang!! the reaction spelled. The guests would somehow be treated to some other freshly made snacks (those were the days when atithi was still the devo!!). I remember a time when I prayed vehemently " God, please let the guests live with us here", simply because i feared the wrath that we would have to face later. But, my prayers were turned down. I, the master of sin, would have to face the gallows. The exit of the guests was sign that our time was up. We would be made to own up our faults. But, I
ensured that if I went through hell, I had my gang along with me.
These things usually happened during vacations, when we had the time of our lives. Tele Vision was still not a part of our drawing rooms! Mornings were well spent in finishing off the burdensome holiday homework, which mostly consisted of creative work. But, that wasn't our age to realise we were doing something constructive. Howebver, we somehow slogged to get things done. Evenings began early and went on till the street lights would be switched on. So, it was only the time in between that had to be utilised. So, My mother cooked and we ate. We feared her anger, but, we always missed out on the little smile she always had on her face on discovering the emptied boxes. Our emotional hiccups didn't allow us to see her joy.
I had to go through the entire process of life to discover the magical joy on the faces of people who I live with (my family members). Today, I wait for invisible hands to whisk away the goodies I make. Some do not turn up. I hide the boxes of cookies too, but when I open them up, the things are always there. The present generation is growing up way too soon and in the bid has deprived me of the little joys. In a few days, my home will be bubbling with laughter and with people who will be talking at the same time. I will listen to it all and store it in a can and place it all in a corner of my heart. The one compliment that will surely come my way would be, "Mom you are the best cooker!!". My reaction - a smile and a whistle..
It was just yesterday that I would spend afternoons in digging out the home made cookies that my mother hid in the last shelf of the kitchen cupboard. She was one great cook and would make it a point to have a kitchen ful of cookies and cakes and other yummy stuff. But, afternoon was her time off and she would retire to take a quick nap. That was action time for the brothers and sisters in crime. A few friends would also join in and once the mission was accomplished and the box of cookies was recovered, it would be treat time.
The box would be emptied in no time and then was kept back in the same place, like it had never been moved. The crime reporters were bullied and bribed into taking a bite of the grub so that they didn't go yapping about the afternoon exploits. The crime was discovered when guests came home. The box was brought down and opened by the home maker, and to her dismay, teh box would be empty. Bang!! Bang!! Bang!! the reaction spelled. The guests would somehow be treated to some other freshly made snacks (those were the days when atithi was still the devo!!). I remember a time when I prayed vehemently " God, please let the guests live with us here", simply because i feared the wrath that we would have to face later. But, my prayers were turned down. I, the master of sin, would have to face the gallows. The exit of the guests was sign that our time was up. We would be made to own up our faults. But, I
ensured that if I went through hell, I had my gang along with me.
These things usually happened during vacations, when we had the time of our lives. Tele Vision was still not a part of our drawing rooms! Mornings were well spent in finishing off the burdensome holiday homework, which mostly consisted of creative work. But, that wasn't our age to realise we were doing something constructive. Howebver, we somehow slogged to get things done. Evenings began early and went on till the street lights would be switched on. So, it was only the time in between that had to be utilised. So, My mother cooked and we ate. We feared her anger, but, we always missed out on the little smile she always had on her face on discovering the emptied boxes. Our emotional hiccups didn't allow us to see her joy.
I had to go through the entire process of life to discover the magical joy on the faces of people who I live with (my family members). Today, I wait for invisible hands to whisk away the goodies I make. Some do not turn up. I hide the boxes of cookies too, but when I open them up, the things are always there. The present generation is growing up way too soon and in the bid has deprived me of the little joys. In a few days, my home will be bubbling with laughter and with people who will be talking at the same time. I will listen to it all and store it in a can and place it all in a corner of my heart. The one compliment that will surely come my way would be, "Mom you are the best cooker!!". My reaction - a smile and a whistle..
Friday, 9 October 2009
Perception
I took this pic on one of my trips to interior Orissa. The Picture reminded me of the old man and the sea, just that this old man was rowing his boat in a river. Such scenes are common and yet capture our imagination. I was lucky enough to click this one..
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
The man and mask
The man, a mask and his crooked walk, had faded out of sight,
His lonely tooth, his toothless smile, his eyes moist and bright,
He swung on his way, singing gung-ho hey, and held on to the bottle of wine,
Alas, he was gone and not seen at all, his footprints proof; he was fine.
His mask had weathered with time, but he held it close to his heart.
It had after all been his face, when his smile grace and youth were his part,
The colours may have faded with time, but it had stood by him as a friend,
And now the man and his mask had aged but together years they would spend.
If the years to come were of grief, they would cry together for sure,
If happiness came a visiting, they would share the feelings pure,
And if came death, with arms wide open, they would both embrace
A life that had been entwined by two faces would fade away in a face.
The mask had been the man, when he searched for himself in youth,
The two together, were but one, but for a fateful day in June,
The day that seperated the man and the mask, was when he fell from a height,
He got back on his crooked feet and bent too much to his right
And then he walked to the place on the wall and took off the mask and said;
"Friend! oh friend, you are me and together we will be,
In sickness, health or better days,
You and me, you and me, you and me..
His lonely tooth, his toothless smile, his eyes moist and bright,
He swung on his way, singing gung-ho hey, and held on to the bottle of wine,
Alas, he was gone and not seen at all, his footprints proof; he was fine.
His mask had weathered with time, but he held it close to his heart.
It had after all been his face, when his smile grace and youth were his part,
The colours may have faded with time, but it had stood by him as a friend,
And now the man and his mask had aged but together years they would spend.
If the years to come were of grief, they would cry together for sure,
If happiness came a visiting, they would share the feelings pure,
And if came death, with arms wide open, they would both embrace
A life that had been entwined by two faces would fade away in a face.
The mask had been the man, when he searched for himself in youth,
The two together, were but one, but for a fateful day in June,
The day that seperated the man and the mask, was when he fell from a height,
He got back on his crooked feet and bent too much to his right
And then he walked to the place on the wall and took off the mask and said;
"Friend! oh friend, you are me and together we will be,
In sickness, health or better days,
You and me, you and me, you and me..
Monday, 5 October 2009
excuses
there are excuses for not doing things you don't want to. I could have written each day, but I preferred not to. At times I was busy or simply lazy, on other occasions I was sad or happy. The excuses knew no bounds and I got into the habit of denying myself that little space I had promised i would give myself, and to make matters worse, I didn't feel the urge to get back to witing. Today, yet again, I force myself to type in a few words.
A transition from good times to bad times isn't easy. When you've seen good days, you are so engrossed in yourself and the joy of the moment that any hindrance seems a burden. But, when that burden is there to stay, all you can do is try and look at the positive side of life, take in a deep breath, feel strong and get to work. Things have a way of easing themselves out and bad times don't last forever. I know all that and yet all I want to do at times is bawl like a child and howl and cry my lungs out. The tragedy is I can't. I just wait for time to fly by. But, time has to make it's pesence felt and has started moving at snail's pace.
Someone told me that there's nothing as good times and bad times. There's a part of good in the bad and vice versa. But, I DISAGREE..
Enuf for today I guess..
A transition from good times to bad times isn't easy. When you've seen good days, you are so engrossed in yourself and the joy of the moment that any hindrance seems a burden. But, when that burden is there to stay, all you can do is try and look at the positive side of life, take in a deep breath, feel strong and get to work. Things have a way of easing themselves out and bad times don't last forever. I know all that and yet all I want to do at times is bawl like a child and howl and cry my lungs out. The tragedy is I can't. I just wait for time to fly by. But, time has to make it's pesence felt and has started moving at snail's pace.
Someone told me that there's nothing as good times and bad times. There's a part of good in the bad and vice versa. But, I DISAGREE..
Enuf for today I guess..
Thursday, 27 August 2009
Jinnah in jannat - India at war
Life is at it again and the sailing isn't too smooth these days. Jinnah is the last thing on my mind, and the whole controversy surrounding Jaswant Singh's book on Jinnah is certainly not distracting me from the turmoils life has to offer. BJP may be on a soul searching spree and there may be too many sacrificial goats who will readily give up their lives for the party. One such man being Jaswant Singh. He knows he might never see the chair of power, ever again. His jaw dances every time he speaks and so, he'd rather use his brains and write a book on none other than 'Quaid e azam'- The man India would rather not talk about. How many Indians would jump at the prospect of reading a book on Jinnah?? not too many. I for one wouldn't read it even if someone gifted it to me. reason, well too many.
However what Jaswant singh has managed to do is, rake up a small spot of my brain where I had hidden the plight of muslims in India. They aren't a minority, if we go by numbers, but how many people actually make it to the most prized careers in India. Most muslims are towed away to professions like weaving, stitching, carpentry and other menial jobs. The educated ones have managed to carve a niche` in various professions. They are present in Journalism, engineering, medicine or for any other profession. The numbers are less but their presence can be felt.
Hindus and muslims have co - existed in harmony, but for the interference of some selfish, self centred people. My chidhood days were the most secular phase of my life. That was when we waited for months to eat the delicious sewai at a friends place on the occasion of Id? The whole month of Ramzan was a celebration with various iftar parties and gosht and biryani. These days were clouded by the hindu - muslim riots, which ruined not only properties but also lives of people. The incidents mostly occurred during the Ram navmi - Muharram processions. Civilian authorities dreaded the time and hoped and worked at making it a peaceful day. The temple and mosque were constructed on teh same road and the colourful prosessions leading to the temple/mosque were a show of power. Swords clanged. Tazias glittered in green. The whole place was a riot of colours. The peaceful day was about to change into a dreadful ghory tale and no one knew.
Young men, or were they boys, who played football and cricket matches together were on two other sides, when something happened. The peaceful marchers turned into a mob. Swords which had glistened in the air attacked others. The happiness and gaiety in the air had vanished. Blood thirsty younsters were at each others throat. In no time at all word spread to other parts of the city and in no time a muslim dominated area was burnt down. Muslims attacked hindus and women and children on both sides were also affected. A bus full of women and children were burnt down. Curfew was clamped in the whole city and we could hear police sirens, as they made rounds of the city. My father's friend and his three grown up daughters had taken shelter in our relatives place. Hindu mobs had followed them and they left the house only after they were convinced that the muslim family wasn't there.
The processions were banned on that road after that episode and life switched to a more peaceful pace. However, scars had been imprinted on the lives of the people who had lost their houses and loved ones. The other ocassion when hindus and muslims were at loggerheads was when there was an India Pakistan one day match. If India won, things would be fine. But, if Pakistan was victorious, we still heard crackers burst. That was enough to instigate the Hindu neighbourhood. The green flags with moon and star were dragged down and burnt. Muslims were beaten up. All this happened some 30 years back. India was all of 32 and we had Indira Gandhi ruling the country. Restlessness in society was dominant. Religion was still the basis of all social activity and tolerance was at ground zero. That was the time when a new generation was either being conceived or was in the womb.
Muslims in India have lived in fear. Each time there is a bomb blast, muslim men are targeted as an aftermath. There is an unsaid sense of dissatisfaction that exists in the silent eyes that look on, in anticipation of being a part of the countries secular fabric. The divide however, is so large that it would take many years and lots of effort to bridge the gap. That, muslims form a major part of the society is something that hindus would rather deny but the fact remains that they are an integral part of India and will always be so..
However what Jaswant singh has managed to do is, rake up a small spot of my brain where I had hidden the plight of muslims in India. They aren't a minority, if we go by numbers, but how many people actually make it to the most prized careers in India. Most muslims are towed away to professions like weaving, stitching, carpentry and other menial jobs. The educated ones have managed to carve a niche` in various professions. They are present in Journalism, engineering, medicine or for any other profession. The numbers are less but their presence can be felt.
Hindus and muslims have co - existed in harmony, but for the interference of some selfish, self centred people. My chidhood days were the most secular phase of my life. That was when we waited for months to eat the delicious sewai at a friends place on the occasion of Id? The whole month of Ramzan was a celebration with various iftar parties and gosht and biryani. These days were clouded by the hindu - muslim riots, which ruined not only properties but also lives of people. The incidents mostly occurred during the Ram navmi - Muharram processions. Civilian authorities dreaded the time and hoped and worked at making it a peaceful day. The temple and mosque were constructed on teh same road and the colourful prosessions leading to the temple/mosque were a show of power. Swords clanged. Tazias glittered in green. The whole place was a riot of colours. The peaceful day was about to change into a dreadful ghory tale and no one knew.
Young men, or were they boys, who played football and cricket matches together were on two other sides, when something happened. The peaceful marchers turned into a mob. Swords which had glistened in the air attacked others. The happiness and gaiety in the air had vanished. Blood thirsty younsters were at each others throat. In no time at all word spread to other parts of the city and in no time a muslim dominated area was burnt down. Muslims attacked hindus and women and children on both sides were also affected. A bus full of women and children were burnt down. Curfew was clamped in the whole city and we could hear police sirens, as they made rounds of the city. My father's friend and his three grown up daughters had taken shelter in our relatives place. Hindu mobs had followed them and they left the house only after they were convinced that the muslim family wasn't there.
The processions were banned on that road after that episode and life switched to a more peaceful pace. However, scars had been imprinted on the lives of the people who had lost their houses and loved ones. The other ocassion when hindus and muslims were at loggerheads was when there was an India Pakistan one day match. If India won, things would be fine. But, if Pakistan was victorious, we still heard crackers burst. That was enough to instigate the Hindu neighbourhood. The green flags with moon and star were dragged down and burnt. Muslims were beaten up. All this happened some 30 years back. India was all of 32 and we had Indira Gandhi ruling the country. Restlessness in society was dominant. Religion was still the basis of all social activity and tolerance was at ground zero. That was the time when a new generation was either being conceived or was in the womb.
Muslims in India have lived in fear. Each time there is a bomb blast, muslim men are targeted as an aftermath. There is an unsaid sense of dissatisfaction that exists in the silent eyes that look on, in anticipation of being a part of the countries secular fabric. The divide however, is so large that it would take many years and lots of effort to bridge the gap. That, muslims form a major part of the society is something that hindus would rather deny but the fact remains that they are an integral part of India and will always be so..
Monday, 10 August 2009
Love aaj kal
It's been a week since i saw 'Love aaj kal' and i realise that i like it even more than i did the day I saw it. How is that possible?? especially when it's a hindi movie we are talking about. Was it the Brazilian beauty and her innocence or was it Neetu Singh in the last scene or maybe the songs or the ... I guess it was all of it and the fact that this love story had a happy ending. There's always something magical about a couple in love. The glow on their faces and the dreamy look in the eyes make them look like characters of a fairy tale. When it all merges into a 'they got married and lived happily ever after' phase, there are tears of happiness all around.
Last year I met a 25 year old girl from some European country. During our conversation I came to know that she had another sister at home and two step brothers. She told me that her mom had got married thrice and that she was single now. "My mom left my dad when I was 7" she said. "Oh! I am so sorry", I blurted out. "hey, don't be sorry" she continued " My mom thought she had met her soul mate and she couldn't stay away from the man. So, she left home, dad and us and went away", she added. I looked confused. "She left him in three months because she thought he wasn't the actual soul mate", she went on. I didn't know whether to be sorry for her or for myself. I felt like laughing but preferred to tuck away my emotions. That is love - the western style.
India seems to have arrived too. Love today is more about convenience.
It's more about - I engineer + u engineer = love + marriage = no kids. When and if Cupid does strike, it is probably a wee bit late. The man/woman is already married and is surrounded with responsibilities. If one is able to heal oneself within the folds of their comfortable existence, the do so and if not, then they queue up outside the Divorce lawyers office. The queue seems to be getting longer by each passing day and the quest for true love is on. Being married for 10, 20, 30 or 40 or 50 years is not too fashionable any more.
Love aaj kal has a new face to it. The innocence is lost and there is a sense of superficial freedom that keeps the youngsters on their toes. The emotions are mere words which can be used as and when it's needed. There is a dearth of time and everything else can be dealt with. The confusion of whether Love has actually happened or not is what Saif Khan goes through in the movie. The last scene in which Deepika Padukone moves down as she wipes away her tears was an absolute treat. And, for a change I was happy she was crying..
Last year I met a 25 year old girl from some European country. During our conversation I came to know that she had another sister at home and two step brothers. She told me that her mom had got married thrice and that she was single now. "My mom left my dad when I was 7" she said. "Oh! I am so sorry", I blurted out. "hey, don't be sorry" she continued " My mom thought she had met her soul mate and she couldn't stay away from the man. So, she left home, dad and us and went away", she added. I looked confused. "She left him in three months because she thought he wasn't the actual soul mate", she went on. I didn't know whether to be sorry for her or for myself. I felt like laughing but preferred to tuck away my emotions. That is love - the western style.
India seems to have arrived too. Love today is more about convenience.
It's more about - I engineer + u engineer = love + marriage = no kids. When and if Cupid does strike, it is probably a wee bit late. The man/woman is already married and is surrounded with responsibilities. If one is able to heal oneself within the folds of their comfortable existence, the do so and if not, then they queue up outside the Divorce lawyers office. The queue seems to be getting longer by each passing day and the quest for true love is on. Being married for 10, 20, 30 or 40 or 50 years is not too fashionable any more.
Love aaj kal has a new face to it. The innocence is lost and there is a sense of superficial freedom that keeps the youngsters on their toes. The emotions are mere words which can be used as and when it's needed. There is a dearth of time and everything else can be dealt with. The confusion of whether Love has actually happened or not is what Saif Khan goes through in the movie. The last scene in which Deepika Padukone moves down as she wipes away her tears was an absolute treat. And, for a change I was happy she was crying..
Monday, 3 August 2009
We call him Buster
That's iittle Buster with his favourite toy - the tiger. The tiger was shredded into pieces by this little devil and had to be replaced. His new companion is a monkey..
sleeping with the enemy:
sleeping with the enemy:
Thursday, 30 July 2009
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