SUDDENLY

Out of nowhere 
You tresspass my train of thoughts 
Suddenly
The surroundings fade
Suddenly.

Just as sudden
As when it began
When it ended 
This looming into my brain 
Suddenly

And although I want to blank it out
Blank YOU OUT
You stay in my thoughts
Maddeningly. Suddenly.

I want to push you out
Return to my blankness
To stop my torment
But you insist on being 
In my thoughts
Suddenly.

Or perhaps it is my mind which
 Insists. Associates.
Suddenly.


NK

चोट किसी को दे खुद आप ही चोट खाया  है
बंदी किसी को बना खुद ही बंदी बन जाया है
बहाया किसी का खून क्या तेरा खून बच पाया है?
जो करा  किसी का अपमान तो अपमानित तुम न हुए ?
छीन किसी की रोटी  भूके तुम ही रह गए
लड़ाई किसी और से कर खुद अपने  से ही लड़ पड़े
अपने नक़्शे कदम पर पीढ़ियों को ले चले
मिला था एक अवसर शांति अमन का
गवा बैठे अपने को गवाने में

Meow
-------
I sleep alone with cats
Beside a dresser with some combs
The cats roam in the catacombs
Dress in darkness
In many hued tones
In the catacombs they roam
Cats dressed up in different tones
Dark as night in caves unknown
Their torchlit eyes
Beacons in the night
Endless journeys ,beaconed orbs
Shine on shine on and guide
As I sleep alone through catacombs
In illuminated torchlit zones
NK

What is it that we value in ourselves and in others? What do we seek? We respect people who are worth our esteem and respect but what makes anyone worthy. What is value and what is worth? Does it constitute status either financial or social or even a person's intrinsic personality, feelings and values? Are values or worth only trappings?

Self esteem is an integral part of any personality whether human or animal. Self and esteem...... is self without esteem not a valid self? What constitutes esteem is a peripheral sense of well being which is then associated with the self, so then does that mean that without a sense of wellness in any form one is without esteem? Or then does the self itself give itself a lower or higher estimate? If the self creates esteem or worth from itself then without this does it not exist? It does in fact exist with or without the peripherals attached to it. The question then arises is who creates the self. The most reasonable answer to this is that the creator of the self is the self itself. ( A forward on a social site explained this in terms of a necklace which is made of gold, gold is of it and it is of gold . ) Values ,judgements ,worth ,value, values et all are what it creates. It then is also reasonable to think that if it creates itself it cannot then be destroyed as what creates of itself will recreate of itself and so will not be destroyed. As in the case of a seed which will become a tree , bear fruit and again be recreated, or the tree itself which could fall and be buried and turn into coal millions of years later.

Like a minute atom it presides everywhere for everything around us is made up of similar atoms and molecules, the very dust stone and deadwood is and will ever be a part of the self. Separate and inseparable.Separate when seen by the creation of the self , inseparable when seen by the core of the self. The self itself has no barriers of physicality emotionality or any other 'ity'. What it creates is limited by these and that which it creates sees each of the the created objects as separate. . The self itself does not as it is of what it has created, the whole of the part and a part of the whole. That which it creates is swayed by and differentiates between the physical creation which it has created. The self itself sees no difference.

The self is neither born nor does it die. What is finished is the physical manifestation which it assumes, once done it is free to assume another. The question of Karma and working out of the earlier " karmas" has to fit in somewhere , if one assumes this to be true. In its many manifestations where do deeds fit in, either older or contemporary..... and why does the self keep re-manifesting? Various thoughts and some answers come to the mind ( manifested by the self , please note ) , perhaps I should leave it to others to solve...

And while you wandered
In sacred hallowed temples
Searching for the truth sublime
Did you ever stop to look
Inside, where it was hidden all this time.

You talked of soul
You sang of hymns
Venerated and adored
Forgetting that you were
That very dust that very soul
The dust you ground below your feet
The dust you valiantly fought to keep
Your soul and being belonged to it
And yet did not belong at all
Look into your very depth
And in the searching you may find
Another time , a truth sublime
A truth which you forgot with time.
NK

I have not ever considered it to be a home, but several times it felt like it, and at times staying there seemed almost natural. The house itself was constructed under the eagle eye of Chachaji , who was a man of very few words and who I loved dearly but like him spoke little in his presence. He had a towering personality, very cultured and well traveled and the house he built with such care was a reflection of this. As a young child I was in awe of him and feared him very much, this because when we stayed at his home, both my brother and I were told constantly that if we were naughty Chahcaji would put us in jail. I would watch him every morning from the sofa in the drawing room when he left for work in his dark suit, not really frightened but most definitely awed, not even daring to say 'bye. This routine was followed after breakfast in the dining room with Masi , Chachaji and whoever the guests were at that time, sometimes it was only we who were there. Since we lived in a town close by at motor-able distance we would spend many of our holidays with them. After breakfast he would go to his room with his assistants to get ready to leave for work. I , in the meanwhile would settle into a corner of the sofa, sometimes with a book and wait to see the ritual of his departure for work.

Let's back to the house which was built by him and my chacha to move in when the time came for them to retire from work. Chacha , his younger brother was quite the opposite, jolly, rotund and of even temperament which Chachaji also shared. I had not ever heard voices being raised in that house.

One day when we were there for a vacation, Chachaji took my father and me to see the place where he was building his nest. The area which is now considered a posh locality, at that time was almost barren of houses, there may have been one or two but perhaps I paid very little attention to those.When we reached our destination, we stood at the spot where the gate now stands. He stood there in his usual way all of six feet tall and I could somehow instinctively feel his pride. The house was half built by then, and when we entered the under construction building, the first thing I saw was the staircase leading to his open study above the drawing room, a design which struck me with gladness. ( One is not usually struck with that emotion but it was a feeling of happiness which is inexplicable.) I think he saw the small smile of joy on my face. I was a teenager by then and although I was always at a loss for words in his presence, I had by then been witness to an endearing part of his personality. There was, in the house which they lived in a dog named Mickey of Alsatian breed who I was a bit wary of, when I was much younger ( perhaps four or five or it may have been three ) I had wandered off from the front gate on a mission, possibly ( if I recall ) to meet the President, there was something I had to tell him and in my young mind it was of impending urgency. There was a furor at home because I had disappeared and everyone was searching for me , frantic with worry. Somebody, one of the help suddenly shouted, that ' babyji was at the gate'. It was Mickey who had found me and bought me back, whether he had been given some clothing of mine to smell and then trace me , or whether he came on his own I will never know for I have not asked..... but there he was nudging a small child home ,into the gate of that corner government house much to the relief of all concerned. I was always disparaging of him after that incident and kept my distance. Much later when my cousin was a teenager and I was somewhat older I watched her playing with him during the evening, running and throwing a football in the backyard. I kept a safe distance but liked him better than before. Mickey must have died soon after, and some time later Chachaji  had  Lhasa Apso from Lhasa and it was then that I saw his very endearing side. The tiny dog would sit at his feet when we sat together after dinner and he would talk and pet him. A female companion was soon brought for him,who went by the name of Kesang, she was not as beautiful as her male compatriot but a very sweet dog,and Chachaji would lovingly call her Murgi .

Masi has always been my most favorite aunt perhaps because we spent so much time at their home. The only time I stood first in my class was when she came to our house to look after us when Mom had to undergo a surgery. Always encouraging and of good humor, a lady of few words much like Chachaji, she always called me her favorite niece ,I am not sure if Masi feel the same now, but we will let that be.

When all four of them , Masi, Chachaji , Chacha and chachi shifted to their new residence we were already in the then Bombay. When we went to visit them next, the house which I had seen being constructed was an elegant home. We would sit after dinner in the drawing room chatting until it was time for us to retire for the night. Chacha , in his easy chair under the lamp and both chachi and Masi in their favorite chairs, us scattered about on others and Chachaji on the sofa. The picture of the warmly lit room is etched very firmly in my mind. During the mornings, Chachaji would be in his study from where he had a view of all that was happening below, his big table and the chair almost like the peacock throne was as impressive as his personality. I would join him for breakfast as I was ready early, chacha and the others came later after their puja was over. I would more than often be the first to come downstairs, and a little later Chachaji would come with his boots alerting the servants of his arrival, he would eat and I would sit across him while he was being served , an interesting piece of news would be shown to me or sometimes there would be small talk. Morning tea was a quite a ritual at 6am in the living room,the flavor of the tea so good  that it was the perfect perk up cup. Kesang was also living then but passed away soon after, they never had a dog since then.

We would often visit relatives with Masi , my Chacha and Chachi in DC other aunts and uncles and return for lunch which was served at the dot of 1pm unless we were invited out. On a few occasions we would go out for a meal , one such is imprinted in my memory card. Some evenings I would accompany Chachaji when he went for his evening walk, but more often it was with Chachi that I went on her rather fast paced walk, greeting all those she knew while she walked and stopping occasionally for a small chat.

There were times when I flew in and the car came to pick me up as it was not possible for any of the elders to come. Stepping out of the car after being greeted by a 'Jai Hind Saab' from one or more of the domestic help, I would gaze for a moment at the balcony outside the study wondering if Chachaji was waiting for me there, he would always either be in the drawing room or come down the stairs on the other side so I was never sure. Gazing up felt almost like coming home.

He is no more, when he passed away I was shattered, to me he was a figure I looked up to with great respect. A few days after his passing away, chacha went. It was the time of trauma for our whole family, the home which was called 'Saket' was bereft of Ram and Lakshman. By that time my cousin's family had shifted there and Chachaji was very proud and impressed by the flat that they had built above. Masi and chachi were widows all of a sudden. Two brothers gone in the the space of a few days, a most trying time for both Chachi and Masi . It somehow did not feel the same again, and although I never considered it as my home, there were some occasions when it felt like home.

Both the ladies are old now and well looked after by my cousin and their family. My darling aunt once so robust and full of laughter is quiet, well aware but quiet and my chachi who was so active and talked nineteen to a dozen now moves with a walker to support her. It is almost as if an era is over, the shells remain of  the pearls which we cherish.

I visited my masi in VV yesterday on her 94th birthday. I came home and could not stop my tears from overflowing. Her wisdom and love will always abide with me as will the cherished memories of times gone by. Change , it is said is life but sometimes changes bring about a sadness in the core of ones being. That house will never be a home to me.

Waking up at a godforsaken hour of 3am after another restless night the next best thing to do is to put my incoherent thoughts into coherent text. There have been so many thoughts and ideas racing through the mind for so many months, thoughts which could be written down or ideas brought to fruition.... none of which saw the light of day.. which incidentally shows up outside my balcony, the light, not any idea... AH ! Wouldn't it be lovely to see an idea float in through the balcony door and perhaps catch it or then leave it free to go and find another open door? Or  many ideas swirling around , knocking on ones dull head waiting for the brain to open the doors to their freshness but return disappointed after circling because the thick cranium did not give them any notice?

The mind is so full of so many thoughts, a reflection of its restlessness and once again what comes forth is the picture on the Bhagwad Geeta of Krishna on the chariot reining in the horses, representing as we have been often told that the mind is like the wayward steeds which has to be reigned in with immense control. I don't really wish to ponder on the Geeta right now nor on the texts which I have read ... perhaps I want to let the mind fly free without the bondage of control. There is so much to ponder on .. so much already thought about so much left to say so much left unsaid. Sitting in the midst of fun and revelry a quiet thought crosses the cranium and gets crossed out. I see I watch and observe, socially active but inherently quiet. How far have reached or perhaps how far we have not. Some things remain unchanged and some change with a rapidity which is unnerving. The stages we go through in the walk of life and what we are today, what one has been through to be at the place they are now, how circumstances hone your thought and how you hone yours to face circumstances. That nothing is permanent or none invincible but life and living is all around which perhaps shows some permanence in the impermanent, or that even in the most terrible times the strength that one gets from within oneself to never give up is representative of a shadow of the invincibility of what one calls the Supreme.

The mind is a maze of complexity with innumerable thoughts , it can be simple and clear like still waters of a lake or as fervent as the rushing stream both in themselves picture perfect. It is with our own eyes that see the world with a complex or a non complicated view. Perhaps we need to keep clearing the caches and the cookies or then tug with a little more force at the reins.... or then perhaps we should just continue the act of living to the best of our ability... throw away the reins and gobble the cookies?

Our hands reach out to temporary vanity
Basking in joys of unbounded opportunity
We strive we run achieve and gain
Through pleasure and with equal pain

Dawns a day when in crowds we stand
The teeming throng , the noisy band
In the silence of evening shadows
Loss gain or virtue - passing breeze
We come with none
We go with naught
And still we strive
And still we play
For nothing less than empty hands
We reach to strive we reach to aim
Towards the final path we tread
With empty hands....
What then have we achieved, what gained.

NK

Feline frolic and myriad mews.

Long years ago ( with apologies to our erstwhile prime minister) I had a tryst with cats or was it the other way round? Cats have a way of making their trysts and thereby their dominance over the one who keeps them. They can never be owned for they are the owners of free spirits who look on amused at the way, I as an instance, jump to their every meow.

It was nineteen years since Billo Rani came into our lives. She was a dainty tortoiseshell who we (Mom Dad and  moi) alternately fed with great respect and a good deal of pleasure ... the last emotion was hers more often than not... and sometimes when there was chicken... the stealth routine to feed her downstairs was another story. She remained downstairs and Papa used to meet her on his morning walks in the compound. Slowly but surely she made her way up to our little abode. Well, to be very frank that is what we told Mom but she knew us well and our protestations that she had followed us upstairs of her own accord cut no ice with her. Billo Rani was still inhabiting the spaces below when she had her first litter and she was no more than a kitten herself. Happy with her productivity she pranced around our legs at mealtimes promising to show Mom her kittens when she thought it was the proper time. Alas! One day she sat in front of the elevator most dejected and forlorn. Mom asked her what had happened and she just looked at her with mournful eyes. The guard later told us that her kittens had been trapped in an empty flat in the building behind , she could not reach them and they had died. Mom Dad and I consoled her and after quite a while she started eating again. This was the first time I had actually seen an expression of emotion in an animal and although it was a sad sight it was remarkable. She entered her home (which used to be ours) to stay soon after. Her delight at seeing the maroon carpet laid down as if specially for her and her curiosity about the other rooms which she knew were hers was a delightful wonder to us. We had had cats earlier when I was a child but this intelligent torty was something else. She became pregnant soon after and the day the labor pains started ... OMG.. only Pops and I were home and she was yelling loudly in pain.I called the vet and was told to give her milk with glucose which she proceeded to lap up hungrily. Her contractions must have been more rapid for there was a lot of yowlin and meowling . Poor Papa put old newspapers on the sofa so and told her to be comfortable there, we of course knew not a thing about how to carry out midwife duty for cats. She was having none of his sympathetic arrangements and continued yelling. Mom came in around 8.30 pm from the temple and saw the commotion. She went to her and said. and I kid you not, " Billo , where do you want to have your babies. Don't worry everything will be fine." Billo Rani received a few gentle strokes on her head and stomach and THEN jumped behind the tv cabinet and went on to produce the three cutest little kittens... while Dad complained that after all he was doing for BR all SHE wanted was Mom's permission !And then the change from room to room.. rather funny really.... she took them one by one in her mouth and then came back to loudly meow again  to see if she had left any behind. Dad of course commented that she should have learned to count. I did not remind him that she was as bad as his daughter in the mathematics.

This very intelligent cat who understood word for word what Mom had to say, was the grandmother of my darling Patch(u) who I laid to rest yesterday afternoon. He was the last link I had to them in terms of the love we shared for all the felines who made their home with us. Coincidentally and very strangely he passed away on the eve of their anniversary which is today , perhaps their souls are united now and the three generations of kitties are all frolicking together with Mom and Dad.The circle of life and death is complete again and while I am heartbroken that Patch has gone I know he is relieved of his suffering and at peace.

To get back to the very intelligent Billo Rani and her even more intelligent progeny .. they were all smart , not street smart but human smart. It was amazing how they understood what was said to them. Kali of course was a wonder cat, I have written about her in another post, she decided to leave the homestead for greener pastures when her nieces and nephews entered the world, but she was knew which side the bread was buttered and she came two or three times a day for her meals. When the kitchen was being refurbished she would walk in every night and inspect the work done that day by the masons and later the carpenters, give her approval and then settle down to eat. It was a standing joke at home .. we would let her in every night to do her catscan. Her sister Bhuri who was Patchu's mother gave surrogacy rights to Mom for feeding her four kittens .. and what a sight it was ... with Bhuri outside and the bedroom door closed Mom sitting cross-legged on the carpet , with Patchu in her lap, Tidda on her shoulder and Tiddi and Spottu ( later renamed Bhure Lal by Dad) in front of her. The boiled fish was fed to each one by turn accompanied by a host of gratified num num numnumnums.Patchu was my mother's favorite .. there seemed to be an instant connect between them. Tidda , poor chap had a bit of an identity crisis when he was very tiny, we thought he was a girl cat and called him Chammak chhallo and believe you me he did walk and run like one. His name was changed the day we discovered who he was. Tidda's love for me was monumental .. his eyes poured with love and while Patchu was Mom's cat Tidda was my love. As a consequence of Mom's love for Patch, Tidda detested Mom for a while and being jealous Patchu and Tidds would get into fierce fights ... with fur flying everywhere. I took matters in hand one say and sat with them and explained to them how both were so dear to us. This coaching class lasted for about a week and voila they were inseparable after that , slept with their arms around each other ! Bhure Lal made Papa his favorite and as he was the youngest of the litter was much smaller than the muscular Patch and the rotund Tidda. He was also a bit of a coward, attacking them from behind and scampering to Dad for cover.

There are so many sweet memories of the three generations which made their home with us. Each time one has died I have cried buckets, they were like my children, with all their expressions and emotions their fun and frolic and the laughter and love they brought into our lives. I have had a questioning mew or two thrown at me at times, and Patchu, my darling who loved Amma so much actually mewed her name.. something like annnnwaaa. Amazing. He did the same a few times in the beginning of December last,when he fell ill. I knew then that the end was nearing ...

The new generation with me are a boisterous lot except for Dhanno who was rescued from the airport..she moves around with the import of a dowager duchess but when she becomes kittenish in her play it is delightful to watch, quite a mommy too, preening the little ones and scolding them for being naughty. Then there is BuffyToo (named after another Buffy in the isles) who is an intelligent AND street smart tortoiseshell and would not be wrong in thinking that she is a distant grrandcat or perhaps a great grandcat of Billo Rani, the harbinger of feline joyousness into my life.

All my darlings each and every one of them with their distinct personalities and incessant demands for attention. The diabolical dozens !! Meeewaaaah !!

NK

11/3/2014

Ode to Patchu (my darling cat)

Between two beams of sunlight,
He sits... a teardrop of tomorrow
As he waits patiently for his end
I can only look on in sorrow
Of days gone by in play
Of his soulful love
and kittenish ploys

How well he understood we said
his love for Mom
And when she passed on
His dread
His expressive comments
with myriad meows
My love my pet my little Patch cat

Sits quiet now
Breaking bonds
Between sunlit beams of sorrow

Next year by this time there will probably be debris where I am sitting now, well not exactly because at this place there will only be space, but you get the drift. The debris will be of stone and mortar and from that will rise another structure. It is so easy to rebuild something inanimate, how does one resurrect the debris which lies around one's heart, how does one rebuild when one sees ones own life crashing down. And yet there are some who have risen from the depths of despair to fly higher. For me the circle is complete again. The happy times are over once more and the cycle completes itself. Now I dread the thought of even being happy, of dreaming , time and time again fate has dealt a blow,and time after time I have tried to rise up to it, fallen beaten but never defeated. Fallen beaten trod on but have shaken the gathered dust of fate and stood up again with trepidation. I have looked around and found that it was not so bad and have carried on .Perhaps my fault was that I trusted and had an abiding faith in goodness, was I wrong?  In my perspective I was not, but perhaps others thought me to be wrong. I cannot help but trust the people around me for that is how I am , foolish and gullible enough to think that all people are good, because I KNOW they are,they are only the victims of their past and behave in a manner for which at most times they have no reasonable answer for. I myself have been the victim of my own thought processes many times, but I have learned to catch myself in time. It takes learning to not react instinctively but with thought. The other day when my cat bit me, somebody asked me if I gave him a yelling and a whack, how could I? He was an animal reacting with his instinct and I was a human being who had a thought process which could understand why he did what he did and if then I did as he had done what would be the difference between him and me? So I learn to live with a semi damaged nerve, the same way as I have learned to live with a darned life, but for how long will the fabric sustain itself? The debris lies around me and somewhere in the distance I hear the strains of the  modern version of an old lyric " Har kisi ko nahin milta yahan pyaar zindagi mein" . My trust will abide, and the hollow where my heart was once will soon fill up . The cycle completes itself yet again.

The blank page forces me to write my thoughts, thoughts which have been churning in my mind for a while now, at other times I could have penned, no, typed them down, easily said and the excuses to not write them even more easily made. This time I MUST for time between posts has been too long.

Just a few days back, I was telling Nivedita about the experience I had during the serial bomb blasts way back in the '90s and about the police riots in the '80s which was the first time I actually came almost face to face with violence when it erupted on the streets. She told me to write about both the incidents, that they would make for good reading, but this is not what I really intended to write about.

Of late we have been reading of all sorts of crimes against women, just recently I signed a petition to be given to the chief minister to make the city safer for women. I have signed it , but I do not really think that by such an act any kind of change can come about either soon or over a period of time.

The new "in thing " is women's empowerment. Get associated with such a cause and feel you have done something to bring about some change. How does change really come about? When I witnessed aftermath of the police riots in the '80s  a day later in the early morning when returning home from the then South Bombay where we had to wait overnight, I was stunned by the scene that I saw. Smouldering buses, some still in flames, and platoons of armed forces with their guns pointed towards the roads. One had read of riots in newspapers and heard about in on the TV news but to be facing it was another matter.  The character of the riots that day had changed from some issue into something else completely. Looting and rioting had taken over a busy commercial area. There were miscreants who then wanted only to loot and destroy. There may have been some political angle involved , but lets not get into that for I do not know about it. What struck me at that time was the swiftness with which it all happened. Where did these people come from? From my lofty middle class mind I viewed it as the anger of the masses who had no jobs, who in Mumbai terms are called 'vela' and who given even the least bit of an opportunity could come out on the streets and create mayhem. I have since seen many small incidents happening where a huge crowd collects, it can be a fight on a street, a motor accident, an argument between a shopkeeper and a client. Each time I wondered where the crowd erupted from.

We are well on the way to almost completing twenty five years of the 21st century. What has changed? We talk about holistic change, about changing ourselves, about bringing about change so that the those who govern us can facilitate in making our lives better. We have talked for years about the growing population, about the unemployment, about our education system, our poverty. We have archaic laws, some of which are changing now very slowly, we follow the policy of our earlier rulers of dividing and ruling the country, vote banks are very necessary to the people who want to be in power to "rule" the country. All political parties have their hit men who do jobs and are protected by their masters. The police has its hands tied , khaki is ruled by khadi .... a police officer told me about 25 years back. So what really had changed? The way I see it, nothing really, except now in cities more women are joining the workforce and becoming financially independent and perhaps this has led to crimes against them. This may be wrong too, because crimes were and will always be a part of any given social system. This time around the awareness is more and where even ten years back it may have been kept under covers for fear of social stigma, today it is out in the open.

I question the rights of the people we chose to govern us. If we as citizens have the right to vote for good governance, as citizens we have the right to expect good governance. If this had happened from the very beginning the picture could have been different. If each and every village and district had some self governance which allowed for progress of that area under the vigilant eye of the administration and the elected representative, could things not be different? What we have is local panchayats elected and then ruled by corrupt individuals so that what has not changed in years will continue to remain the same. We see leaders being garlanded with money, we hear and read of  people who actually work diligently and honestly being transferred, is this how a country is governed? Honesty is of no value, what is important is the running of big businesses by whatever dishonest means under the aegis of even more dishonest political bosses.

I ask again, what has changed? NOTHING REALLY.........and I know that like me there will be thousands who will sign petitions but change will happen ONLY when there will be the political WILL to make it happen. When those in power can willfully give up the power to be in power, when that power which they have been entrusted with can make each and every individual of this country walk with their head held high, when those that sit in high seats can be just other individuals doing a job which they are paid for and not think of the common people as those they have to dole out their largesse on, maybe just maybe some change may come about. Until then food grains will rot while people starve, there will be child trafficking, the police will turn a blind eye to legitimate complaints, and the our political masters will continue to slurp the cream.

I have not even started about the parallel economy. Bless their black souls.

Mitti ko chunkar jeevan paya hai
Khak ko bun kar man paya hai
Khushi paayi hai paththaron mein
utsah mila hai muskurahaton mein
phir bhi apne aap ko akela hi paya hai.

dhoopon ki garmiyan ho
ho sheet ki thandi kirne
barishon ki lehre
badlon ki aankhon ki nami

dekh kar mann harshaya hai

phir bhi apne aap ko akela hi paya hai.

Anek mele har dil ke dekhe
anek khele is jag ke dekhe
zindagi ke rele samne se guzarte dekhe
apne aap ko phir bhi alela paya hai

Komal muscano mein sukh paya hai
dukh kisi ka apna banaya hai
kisi ki jeet mein apne mann ne bhi geet gaya hai
apne aap ko kyun phir akela hi paaya hai?

Sandhya jeevan ki aan padi
ujjwal savera dekha
dopahar ki garam hawa
ab andhere ke intezar mein
phir usi khak me kho jane ko
akelapan bulata hai.  

Mannequins are the toast of the day ..... it looks like they are the sole or at least one of the major reasons that young boys indulge in eve teasing on the streets. What happens in buses and trains? Do these young men look out of the windows and see half dressed mannequins and does this then want to indulge their baser instincts? Roadside romeos, oglers and those that take any opportunity to make victims of women have been around for years with or without the help of shop embellishments. If by banning mannequins our very tutored and wise leaders hope that it will miraculously make lascivious young males with raging libidos suddenly remember the preamble to the constitution of India, I would add another congratulatory bouquet to ones already overflowing in the neat apartment.

While the police and the municipal corporation come almost to loggerheads over the poorly dressed plastic models, the perpetrators of all kinds of acts roam free to ogle at other plastic effigies with the sole intent of later teasing young girls. The wise get their fame and preen amidst their flowers and nothing changes whatsoever.

A small bit of advice , naturally unwarranted .... for further glory, contact the Archeological Survey of India.

We are being told every now and then to be happy, that happiness is the state which the human is meant for, this state is what should what the soul seeks. Enlightened people are extorting us to remain in such a state, to live for the moment. The opposite state is sadness or abject misery which nobody in their right minds would want to be in, the fact remains though that one state cannot exist without the other. As a mass of physical bodies on this planet the plethora of emotions running through this mass is tremendous. Emotional beings that we are, the joys and sorrows that we face are most often related to what is outside of us as physical beings. Other emotions which we go eventually lead to the state of happiness or sorrow. What we relate to physically, pushes a trigger of emotion, a rush of feeling and then the reaction to that which we have related to. The brain absorbs all this in a mini-second triggers the emotion. This is at best a clinical way of looking at our feelings. 

What comes to the mind when one hears about being happy, is that we must be very unhappy as a people because we are constantly being told to be happy. Perhaps this very phenomenal 'progress' in the last few decades has added to our stresses instead of making us more content. We are told that contentment is not a place to be in, to be content with your lot would seemingly result in decay. I am not so sure... there is a definite difference between dissatisfaction and discontent. One gives rise to the other.One can be satisfied with one's lot and then what?Would one stop at that or would it make one try for another higher goal?... and in trying for the achievement of that get the happiness which I desire once again to be back in the state of satisfaction?

 I can be happy just by seeing a flower bloom  or an infant's smile or my cat playing with his toys, another can experience the same emotion on achieving a goal, or when one is given some sort of positive acknowledgement. All these examples are feelings we have with objects outside of us. What then, is that which will give us joy or happiness without any outside trigger?

When one is meditating, there is no emotion, there is no attachment to anything physical and then there is almost a feeling of no state. Perhaps that is what we should aim for.... the place where there is neither happiness or sadness but until then we will be absorbed in the things around us and get encompassed in the web of activity which surrounds us...the www.

Colors of silence

Perhaps another day has dawned
Here the sun on its path
And there he may set
A cycle which may never rest
The slithering worm
The soaring bird
A rose, a leaf
A pupa hanging on a tree
All silent, all creating.

Thoughts are silent
Still is the night
Bursts of color
Throngs of flight

The morning glow
A stillness born from nature's glory
In this stillness
Actions flow.

On the death of a five year old/ the death of moralities

Am I an animal to be sold in bazaars
or am I for you
a toy
played and discarded
I am a child
I dream of good things
Just like you

When you maimed me
Slaughtered me
Used me for your purposes
Did you not know
I was human as you.

And yet you worship
and yet you rejoice
you celebrate
an idol
would you ever celebrate me?

My mind was innocent
My days were free
for fun and laughter 
No more now
Your game is played

My dolls stare with silence
Smiling at me
They were not abused
I cannot smile now
I am mute.

What can I do to make you see
You were that child
I am yet to be
I will be a child no more
You have infiltrated my core

I will be brave, I will not cry
But when you leave me there to die
And walk away with not a thought
I will be a child no more. 

My nation is my pride, my love and the source of my best inspiration. Some are inspired by what they read, some by what others write and many more by people they admire. For me it has always been this land on which  I was born. This sense of patriotism was instilled into me at a young age ... the flag on independence day, the songs which spoke of the culture, the forts and temples, the natural beauty, the many festivals, all added up to making this country my first and only love. A child absorbs what it sees around it , the thoughts or feelings of love or pride come much later.

We have achieved tremendously in the sixty odd years of our freedom, but we are still a young republic. The years journey has not been entirely smooth. Today the world looks at us , we are a vibrant economy but how do we see ourselves? The picture is neither too dark nor very pleasant. There are those that have benefited from the progress and others who have been left behind. It is these that I lament ... these who have been wronged in our steady process of growth because for some their own growth has been more important compared to and at the cost of those others. Progress is a double edged sword, it can make sweeping changes in one instance and leave sore wounds in another.

When I see the inequities around me my dissatisfaction comes to the fore. I may be content with my lot, but there is a deep feeling of discontent... with the hundreds of issues which plague this land. The struggle for living, the chasms that divide us ..... why I am where I am and why the other is not given even a small percent of that privilege.

There is a feeling of pride when I see people working selflessly toward betterment and for uplifting those, it is accompanied by a sense of sadness , a betrayal almost that I am unable to do anything ..... and it it not for the lack of wanting ... for this is is my most passionate desire.... to see a country where there is equal opportunity for all , where some do not struggle for a mere meal while others have it all.

The winds of change have started blowing .... may they gather intent but may they never reach the force of a storm. A steady breeze which will bring strong changes without any destruction in its wake.

I have pride in my country.

The new day will dawn in a few hours, it has officially started as we have just passed the midnight hour. Another day of reckoning, International Women's day...... I for one, have my reservations about the many "days " that we have added to our already full calendar, we need  "Mother's day " to show our love for our mother or a " Father's Day" to show him how much we care and so on and so forth. I would think that these are what most people would express automatically, why do we need special days our expression. I may seem not 'with it ' in others opinion and definitely conservative in my thinking but there it is .

Women's day !!! A celebration of women !!! We will celebrate her on a particular day and then from the very next go about our business as usual. It is laudable, however that such a day has been thought of on an international level, we all know that women have been considered from the very beginning, somewhat lesser than men. The fact that men are stronger physically is perhaps the foremost reason for this. Man as the hunter and woman as the one who stokes the fires and keeps the hearth warm....a scene from an ancient hieroglyphic, the man with a spear and a woman at the fire, there have been changes since then but have there really? Women, because of their make up are better at tending to needs and men, to bringing home the bacon. What seems to have happened as society progressed is that men took the position of command as initially there were battles for territory and men were always on the forefront. As society became more stable and settled the ones who led in the battlefield were those that made the laws, they were looked up to, the women who tended to their wound or their nurture were given a second position and in many cases no position at all, and while we see some women rulers, men outnumbered them.

Coming to the present era, the plight of the " weaker sex " is apparent, whether it is in the workplace or at home or with some of the horrifying atrocities committed against them in the name of tradition or culture or what have you.... We read of them in the newspapers and magazines, we see it happening all around us and it is not necessarily perpetrated by men, women are just as responsible, for if a woman is in collusion with anyone else, be it a man or a woman to continue practices which should have changed with time but are prevalent even today , she is just as equally to blame for that which makes her a victim
.
 Swami Vivekananda's words over century ago..." There is no chance for the welfare of the world unless the condition of women is improved" and then again  ........."It is very difficult to understand why in this country [India] so much difference is made between men and women, whereas the Vedanta declares that one and the same conscious Self is present in all beings. You always criticize the women, but say what have you done for their uplift? Writing down Smritis etc., and binding them by hard rules, the men have turned the women into manufacturing machines! If you do not raise the women, who are living embodiment of the Divine Mother, don’t think that you have any other way to rise."
He also says...."  The idea of perfect womanhood is perfect independence."...
We have only read them and nodded wisely but have failed bring about any real changes.

We may celebrate women today and again on this day next year and the next, we may make pledges light candles, the real change will start only when men and women are equal in every sphere of life and when women are not considered as the 'weaker sex' to be protected by their able bodied counterpart. True celebration will begin when the " abla nari " become a 'sabal nari '. We will not then need one day to celebrate womanhood, we will be celebrating a progressive inclusive mankind everyday and in every way.

Climbing up a rugged mountain has never been an easy task.

I could never be a writer of stories. There is enormous love for hearing and reading them but to imagine a world or circumstances which have may stem from some reality is beyond me. I like to observe and see what goes on around me, why people are the way they are, how circumstances change, how history is made and think about what really makes us what we are or are not. Nothing earth shattering or nothing really to give in terms of great writing but just some thoughts which come to my mind which are put down occasionally. I have never had the will to succeed, therefore the occasional writing.

I see a world, and there is no new thought in this, which is changing at such a rapid pace that sometimes one is left wondering where we are heading. The progress in the last fifty years has been almost as like a whirlwind , we have been part of  this storm of ideas which have been generated and put into effect in our daily existence. The benefits are many, in every sphere living becomes easier, communication is just a fingertip away, knowledge is easier to access, everyday situations simplified by gadgets and machines to help us. Why then do I feel it happening too fast? Is it only I who thinks like this? There is too much happening too fast, and while we are living in the complacency of our present circumstances, are we forgetting the impact it is going to have on our future? My brother who is a scientist was here some time ago told me something which stopped me short in my tracks. What price are we paying for our own personal happiness and for how long will it last? Perhaps the latest mantra which tells us to live for the moment is just another way of refusing to see the larger picture. I too enjoy each day as it comes and forget about it once it is over, but the thought of where we are going is in my mind always. I worry for what will happen ... it may not become apparent while I am alive, but the future will be tough. I have hope, though, because human ingenuity can overcome the greatest of odds and for this this I fervently hope.