So Adi, how many countries have you been to till date?"
Its been one such FAQ that i've been asked, after having met someone new, with an intention of getting a response at which amazement can be expressed once the usual know how is over.
"Well, a lot of them. I sort of haven't been keeping count."
"Oh! So you mean there have been so many that you can't even remember!” (that’s not how and what i meant though) “Let me put the question the other way then. How many countries are you still yet to visit?"
"Again, there would be a whole lot of them!" I smiled disappointingly for being unable to be precise.
"Oh…ok" An unsatisfactory ok for getting another vague response.
"Is there a country you really fancy going to?"
Now then, even though, this time, i do have a precise answer for the question, i would be forced not to reply for the fear of the answer sounding a little weird or unrealistic to some. I wouldn't know how to explain that there is nothing in this world which can give you more happiness than in trying to mend a broken heart and I wouldn't know how to tell him the myriad times i must have visualized myself wiping the tears of a child, pressing his petite fingers into mine and running far away from the palls and the harsh mountainous terrains of Afghanistan.
As per the UN Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) and Human Rights Watch report, since 2001, about 32600 civilians have lost their lives as a result of U.S. led military action in Afghanistan. In comparison, about 29500 Taliban fighters have been killed in the war during the same period. And all this while we thought that the Americans had waged a war over Talibs and not over the Afghan civilians.
Afghanistan has been stated as the worst country to be born in, especially for the girl child, as per the UNICEF report of November 2009, recording the highest infant mortality rate with 257 deaths per 1000 live births. Even the life expectancy at the time of birth is one of the lowest among all nations, at 44 years.
Every half hour in the embattled Afghanistan, an average of one woman dies from pregnancy related complications, another dies of tuberculosis and 14 children die largely from preventable causes. 30% of the Afghan population has absolutely no access to clean water, which explains why one out of every eight children dies due to contaminated water. Electricity in the country is a luxury, available in Kabul and other urban areas, only for a few hours, mainly in the evenings. Today, according to the Human Development Index, Afghanistan stands as the second least developed country in the world.
The bland Afghanistan, in past, has always fallen prey to various invaders, including The Macedonians, the Musilm armies and the Mongols. People have been suffering hunger and war for over decades now. It was in 1996, when Taliban took over Kabul and eventually 90% of Afghanistan fell under their control. Afghanistan, under their regime, became a place internationally known for the treatment it meted out to its women. Burqa became compulsory coz a woman's face was considered to be a source of corruption for men not related to them. They were not allowed to be educated after eight and until then, were permitted only to study Quran. Women were not allowed to wear high heeled shoes coz (now, take this!)...coz a man upon hearing her footsteps is likely to get excited! All ground floor and first floor residential building's windows had to be painted or screened to prevent women being visible from street. Tailors taking female measurements were imprisoned. Husbands had the right to lock their wives up in a room and beat them, however severe beating should be avoided. (thank you for your kind generosity!)
And then...9/11 happened. But was invading Afghanistan for it all so necessary?
In my personal opinion, it just wasn't. Not even remotely necessary.
It is now known, after so many years of the attack, that the American intelligence had prior information of a possible strike. Here, it also makes a case in itself for an explanation to all those who believe that 9/11 was a handiwork of Jews for of the 4000 odd Jews that were employed by the companies housed at the WTC, not even one turned up on the fateful morning. That is coz it is also now known that Mossad had then, shared information with its American counterpart on the possibility of an impending attack. The Americans, basking in the glory of having pushed the Soviets out of Afghanistan and later successfully disintegrating The Soviets, were fast asleep and the little adherence they paid was too little too late. Or else how does one explain the frivolous attitude of the security boys at the airport who let 19 men armed with knives and similar weapons in not just one but four of passenger jet liners So, is it correct to make the untenable Afghans suffer for the negligence by the Americans? Had it been possible to pick the Talibs among the Afghan civilians or had the operation been so designed so as to have caused minimum civilian casualties, only then could have the invasion been termed somewhat coherent.
The reason why until this date since 9/11, apart from a few stray incidents, Americans have never been at the receiving end of the proxy war is not because they admonished the Afghans but because they now have a very strong and a very well structured internal security system and have even strengthened their anti-terrorism legislation.
I ‘am rather proud of my own country’s contribution and the role they’ve played in the reconstruction of Afghanistan. Not only has India discouraged the deployment of its troops, it today, is the largest regional provider of humanitarian and reconstruction aid in Afghanistan with $ 1.2 billion being sanctioned by the government until early this year.
Perhaps Afghans are dearer to God than anyone else. That’s why he wants his destitute people to carve their way out through all the upheavals, in his own country.
There have been these pleasant sights which I’ve at times come across while walking along the streets of Delhi. The sight of a mother holding her little baby in her hand outside a candy shop, the baby trying to grab the candy as hard as he can in his little hand, looking all puzzled at the candy and then staring at his mom. The sight of a 2 year old’s unsuccessful attempts at biting into her father’s ice-cream. The sight of the feel of being secure when the child after being relieved for the day, spots his parents among the crowd, waiting for him at the school gate. And seeing this, how I wish the naivety of Afghan children is not swept away by bile and resentment.
Commiseration alone is not what Afghanistan needs today, what it needs certainly is a change. It desperately does. A change where humans are not considered as animals in an abattoir, a change where crime does not emanate from penury, a change where people wait for the sun to rise again and a change where people are not oblivious of prosperity. And it doesn’t need a miracle to bring about a change. The hanker could be anyone’s. It could be a country, a government, an organization, a group, a minion, even you or even me. After all, never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world, indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Wedding In Mind
“ Where is Adit? Why didn’t you bring him along?? Looks like you are trying to hide him from everyone!”
And here I’d be lying on the bed, my back against the wall, shoulders drooping, the TV remote in my hand, a constant channel search in progress, starting from Ten Sports to ESPN and back to Ten sports via the same ‘sports channel route’, and after having clearly heard the questions mum was confronted with at the wedding, continued with the channel surf with no intention of a channel halt.
It’s not that I hate attending weddings and nor is it that I consider weddings a scourge. It’s just that I’ve been a little lazy to push my duvet aside, stand underneath the showerhead for ten minutes, comb my hair, put a blazer on and arrive at the venue. Happy..Happier..Happiest.
And all this to me, somehow, seems too much of an effort to make.
Which is surprising. Coz the above effort would still be far lesser than the effort required by me to convince myself to leave…
1) Sleeping at friend’s basement, 3AM in the morning, with the aroma of irish cream occupying the empty space and not to mention, the long expired mango juice.
2) Overwhelmingly cheering the hockey team from the stands and seeing them loose every time. With friends calling their beloved Prabhjot by his name…”Prabhjot! Bas ki hai tere kuch”
3) Placing a heavy mass of human body underneath the bed, close to midnight, to scare the shit out of my cousin whose home had been robbed a week back then.
…so as to join the ship.
So therefore, with such a kind of lazy behaviour, questions were bound to be raised. Which is like straight out of this year’s IPL’s non-performing textbook. Quote- ‘You may be Yuvraj Singh, but if you don’t perform, questions are bound to be raised.’ The difference being that in my case, the questions asked never directly reached me. They would invariably find mum and dad on their way before closing in on me. So never being in the position of having to answer, it did not matter and gave me the luxury of continuing to be lazy.
But it’s not that I haven’t been a part of even a single wedding. Sure, my attendance has been poor, (partial blame shall rest with my sailing duties) I have still managed to attend weddings of some of my first cousins whom I have sort of grown up seeing them as ‘big brothers’ or ‘big sisters’.
And of these, my attendance at Nish di’s (bhua’s daughter) wedding would make for an interesting write up for a) unlike other weddings, I was available for whole of the wedding and b) I was still a school going kid and therefore my inane mulling over things around me, with Ankit as my deputy was unavoidable.
But before I do that, it’s imperative that I mention, not the entire cast coz that shall be way too long, but few of the important cast of the wedding.
Geeta- Nish di’s mother and my bhua
Naresh- Nish di’s father and my fufaji.
Shruti- Nish di’s younger sister and my elder cousin.
Arvin-Would be Dida (The origination of this phrase is another story which I shall come to a little later)
Nishtha- a.k.a Nish di, Bhua’s daughter, and whose wedding I shall be at (well, in case you didn’t know her by now!)
The day-1 would belong to the day we received the wedding card. Everyone was present at home then. A visible elation was quite evident. After everyone’s sifting of the wedding card, I finally got hold of it. The card looked elegant and simple and not like a lot of other garish cards I had seen my parents accepting gracefully on a numerous occasions earlier. The sequence of events was tabled as is normally found on any other card. And so was this last piece of information at the bottom left corner of the card, which read:
R.S.V.P
Naresh Devgan
Geeta Devgan
Shruti Devgan
and may be another couple of family names I can’t clearly remember. I expectedly did not know what it meant and I also do not remember whom I asked for what it meant, but the answer I got was certainly not even close to what it actually must have meant. I was told that R.S.V.P meant..
“Royein Saare Vyaa de Pichon!”
Which meant that below named are the ones who would all be crying once the wedding is over. So incase you have gate crashed a wedding, it will assist you in spotting the parents and the siblings of the bride on whose account you have just fed your stomach with the evening’s delicacies.
Neways, moving on, it was the day of another pre-marriage ceremony. The venue-i still remember.. Dabur farms.
As per the pre arrival venue information, it was supposedly a huge area with a lot of empty space around. Which meant we (Ankit and me) could carry our cricketing bats, stumps, half a dozen cricket balls and with other cousins, second cousins, and cousins whom we knew existed but whom we had never heard from earlier or seen them, expected to come over, a nice afternoon tee-off session was being foreseen.
But here lied the catch. Being caught by dad or chachu while slipping the cricket gear inside the boot of the car, could be inviting trouble.
“When will you guys start behaving as grown ups? You are not going there to showcase your cricketing skills, are you?”
Worse still would have been to be caught by fufaji, who’s threat issued some forty eight hours earlier, was still looming large over us. “ I don’t see you guys dancing the day after, be ready to face the consequences.”
So with some exquisite timing and coordination, we did manage to slip in our stuff into the boot. And I ‘am glad we did that, coz not only did we manage to heave the bat around for a while but also intermittently displayed our inept dancing in plenitude.
So after the week stuffed with pre-marriage ceremonies and late night get togethers ended, the wedding day finally arrived. And as it used to happen on most occasions, we were the one of the first ones to arrive.
The whole setup looked pretty. Since it was the first week of Feb, there was slight chillness in the air, combined with the lovely unsettled aroma of flowers, it had all the makings of a great evening.
But this was when we looked around at things. By we here, I mean strictly me and Ankit. But the same could not have been said when others would have looked at us. Standing somewhere away from the limelight and the glitters, we were wearing the same coloured silk kurta, same coloured churidar pyjama and would you believe it, our footwear was exactly the same too! Standing alongside each other, we had all the makings of looking as perfect jokers. (I know our parents would disagree with that)
I, stood tall and as skinny as I am now, if not more and Ankit…
Well there can be a lot of ways to describe Ankit the way he is now. Tall, handsome, well spoken. But back then there was only one word he perfectly matched with…’Round’
I remember the first time when me, Ankit and our other cousins (whom we knew existed but whom we had never heard from earlier)were introduced to dida.Both of those cousins were often called by their nicknames, Mithoo and Laddoo. As must have been told to him before hand by di, dida knew our names, including the nickname laddoo, but obviously did not know whose it was. So when he met Ankit he said, “You must be laddoo”
Dida- a synonym for the abusrd sounding ‘jijaji’ or even absurder ‘jiju’. We had been wondering on how to address dida as we didn’t wish to use those wrong choice of words, when Shruti di came to our rescue. She has this uncanny knack of coming up with words or phrases which fit perfectly into the scheme of things and which I and a lot of others, can never think of, or at times, they are just too good to understand.So here again, her suggestion on the use of dida sounded more apposite than its other siblings.
Quite sometime had passed since we had arrived. While scanning the entire area, i spotted bhua, who looked busy but was calm and relaxed. She was surrounded by relatives whom we knew, relatives whom we didn’t know and some of her own friends presumably. She had a wide smile on her face, which was accompanied by an occasional laugh, which reminded me of her name in the list of the ‘R.S.V.P’
On looking around further, dad, chachu and others, neatly dressed( striking similarities to a diplomat’s attire), were spotted having some serious discussion.
In today’s post 9/11 or 26/11 era, the seriousness of the discussion could be attributed to India’s foreign policy in Afghanistan, the rise of inflation or the resumption of India-Pakistan dialogue.
Back then, it seemed hard to crack the conversation from a distance of about fifty metres, and it really could have been anybody’s guess.
By now, a lot more people had arrived, a lot more waiters serving, the shehnai being played was a lot more prominent and there were a lot more relatives now.
On weddings you get to meet a lot of different kinds of relatives, in a very short span of time.
1) Relatives, who on a numerous occasions earlier, have been introduced and reintroduced as someone coming all the way from Bombay and Bikaner., but you still won’t be able to recollect their faces.
2) Relatives, whom you had mistaken to be as someone from dida’s side until they said to you, “Aye Arvind da munda hai?? Inha jya si jadon main pehlan vekhya siga!”
3) Relatives, whom you would always want to escape meeting. For having been caught by them, even with the slightest possible eye contact, would invite a flury of dreaded questions coming your way. “How are your studies going on? What subjects are you planning for after your board exams? What was your percentage in your previous exam?”
After having met most of the relatives, friends and in the midst of wandering around with Mr. Mithoo and Mr. Laddoo, we realised that the garlands had been exchanged and the wedding was heading towards the final ceremony.
Worn out and enervated, I was barely awake to see what followed. The little that I remember is that me and Ankit were dropped back home where we crashed onto the bed where I was fast asleep in no time.
That was perhaps that. The wedding ended there for me. The wedding which back then, as a child seemed a little strange initially. Marriage was something that until then, had only happened to people less known to me. But here, it was Nish di, at who’s home an overnight stay was something I always loved, along with whom, we used to sing songs, with them singing the female verses and us the male, whom we used to forcibly push out, of her own comfort zone and make her play some silly catching games with us, on the terrace.Today, it has been the wedding I have loved to talk about, when I know that before it was to happen, it was never a wedding that existed, ever in my mind.
And here I’d be lying on the bed, my back against the wall, shoulders drooping, the TV remote in my hand, a constant channel search in progress, starting from Ten Sports to ESPN and back to Ten sports via the same ‘sports channel route’, and after having clearly heard the questions mum was confronted with at the wedding, continued with the channel surf with no intention of a channel halt.
It’s not that I hate attending weddings and nor is it that I consider weddings a scourge. It’s just that I’ve been a little lazy to push my duvet aside, stand underneath the showerhead for ten minutes, comb my hair, put a blazer on and arrive at the venue. Happy..Happier..Happiest.
And all this to me, somehow, seems too much of an effort to make.
Which is surprising. Coz the above effort would still be far lesser than the effort required by me to convince myself to leave…
1) Sleeping at friend’s basement, 3AM in the morning, with the aroma of irish cream occupying the empty space and not to mention, the long expired mango juice.
2) Overwhelmingly cheering the hockey team from the stands and seeing them loose every time. With friends calling their beloved Prabhjot by his name…”Prabhjot! Bas ki hai tere kuch”
3) Placing a heavy mass of human body underneath the bed, close to midnight, to scare the shit out of my cousin whose home had been robbed a week back then.
…so as to join the ship.
So therefore, with such a kind of lazy behaviour, questions were bound to be raised. Which is like straight out of this year’s IPL’s non-performing textbook. Quote- ‘You may be Yuvraj Singh, but if you don’t perform, questions are bound to be raised.’ The difference being that in my case, the questions asked never directly reached me. They would invariably find mum and dad on their way before closing in on me. So never being in the position of having to answer, it did not matter and gave me the luxury of continuing to be lazy.
But it’s not that I haven’t been a part of even a single wedding. Sure, my attendance has been poor, (partial blame shall rest with my sailing duties) I have still managed to attend weddings of some of my first cousins whom I have sort of grown up seeing them as ‘big brothers’ or ‘big sisters’.
And of these, my attendance at Nish di’s (bhua’s daughter) wedding would make for an interesting write up for a) unlike other weddings, I was available for whole of the wedding and b) I was still a school going kid and therefore my inane mulling over things around me, with Ankit as my deputy was unavoidable.
But before I do that, it’s imperative that I mention, not the entire cast coz that shall be way too long, but few of the important cast of the wedding.
Geeta- Nish di’s mother and my bhua
Naresh- Nish di’s father and my fufaji.
Shruti- Nish di’s younger sister and my elder cousin.
Arvin-Would be Dida (The origination of this phrase is another story which I shall come to a little later)
Nishtha- a.k.a Nish di, Bhua’s daughter, and whose wedding I shall be at (well, in case you didn’t know her by now!)
The day-1 would belong to the day we received the wedding card. Everyone was present at home then. A visible elation was quite evident. After everyone’s sifting of the wedding card, I finally got hold of it. The card looked elegant and simple and not like a lot of other garish cards I had seen my parents accepting gracefully on a numerous occasions earlier. The sequence of events was tabled as is normally found on any other card. And so was this last piece of information at the bottom left corner of the card, which read:
R.S.V.P
Naresh Devgan
Geeta Devgan
Shruti Devgan
and may be another couple of family names I can’t clearly remember. I expectedly did not know what it meant and I also do not remember whom I asked for what it meant, but the answer I got was certainly not even close to what it actually must have meant. I was told that R.S.V.P meant..
“Royein Saare Vyaa de Pichon!”
Which meant that below named are the ones who would all be crying once the wedding is over. So incase you have gate crashed a wedding, it will assist you in spotting the parents and the siblings of the bride on whose account you have just fed your stomach with the evening’s delicacies.
Neways, moving on, it was the day of another pre-marriage ceremony. The venue-i still remember.. Dabur farms.
As per the pre arrival venue information, it was supposedly a huge area with a lot of empty space around. Which meant we (Ankit and me) could carry our cricketing bats, stumps, half a dozen cricket balls and with other cousins, second cousins, and cousins whom we knew existed but whom we had never heard from earlier or seen them, expected to come over, a nice afternoon tee-off session was being foreseen.
But here lied the catch. Being caught by dad or chachu while slipping the cricket gear inside the boot of the car, could be inviting trouble.
“When will you guys start behaving as grown ups? You are not going there to showcase your cricketing skills, are you?”
Worse still would have been to be caught by fufaji, who’s threat issued some forty eight hours earlier, was still looming large over us. “ I don’t see you guys dancing the day after, be ready to face the consequences.”
So with some exquisite timing and coordination, we did manage to slip in our stuff into the boot. And I ‘am glad we did that, coz not only did we manage to heave the bat around for a while but also intermittently displayed our inept dancing in plenitude.
So after the week stuffed with pre-marriage ceremonies and late night get togethers ended, the wedding day finally arrived. And as it used to happen on most occasions, we were the one of the first ones to arrive.
The whole setup looked pretty. Since it was the first week of Feb, there was slight chillness in the air, combined with the lovely unsettled aroma of flowers, it had all the makings of a great evening.
But this was when we looked around at things. By we here, I mean strictly me and Ankit. But the same could not have been said when others would have looked at us. Standing somewhere away from the limelight and the glitters, we were wearing the same coloured silk kurta, same coloured churidar pyjama and would you believe it, our footwear was exactly the same too! Standing alongside each other, we had all the makings of looking as perfect jokers. (I know our parents would disagree with that)
I, stood tall and as skinny as I am now, if not more and Ankit…
Well there can be a lot of ways to describe Ankit the way he is now. Tall, handsome, well spoken. But back then there was only one word he perfectly matched with…’Round’
I remember the first time when me, Ankit and our other cousins (whom we knew existed but whom we had never heard from earlier)were introduced to dida.Both of those cousins were often called by their nicknames, Mithoo and Laddoo. As must have been told to him before hand by di, dida knew our names, including the nickname laddoo, but obviously did not know whose it was. So when he met Ankit he said, “You must be laddoo”
Dida- a synonym for the abusrd sounding ‘jijaji’ or even absurder ‘jiju’. We had been wondering on how to address dida as we didn’t wish to use those wrong choice of words, when Shruti di came to our rescue. She has this uncanny knack of coming up with words or phrases which fit perfectly into the scheme of things and which I and a lot of others, can never think of, or at times, they are just too good to understand.So here again, her suggestion on the use of dida sounded more apposite than its other siblings.
Quite sometime had passed since we had arrived. While scanning the entire area, i spotted bhua, who looked busy but was calm and relaxed. She was surrounded by relatives whom we knew, relatives whom we didn’t know and some of her own friends presumably. She had a wide smile on her face, which was accompanied by an occasional laugh, which reminded me of her name in the list of the ‘R.S.V.P’
On looking around further, dad, chachu and others, neatly dressed( striking similarities to a diplomat’s attire), were spotted having some serious discussion.
In today’s post 9/11 or 26/11 era, the seriousness of the discussion could be attributed to India’s foreign policy in Afghanistan, the rise of inflation or the resumption of India-Pakistan dialogue.
Back then, it seemed hard to crack the conversation from a distance of about fifty metres, and it really could have been anybody’s guess.
By now, a lot more people had arrived, a lot more waiters serving, the shehnai being played was a lot more prominent and there were a lot more relatives now.
On weddings you get to meet a lot of different kinds of relatives, in a very short span of time.
1) Relatives, who on a numerous occasions earlier, have been introduced and reintroduced as someone coming all the way from Bombay and Bikaner., but you still won’t be able to recollect their faces.
2) Relatives, whom you had mistaken to be as someone from dida’s side until they said to you, “Aye Arvind da munda hai?? Inha jya si jadon main pehlan vekhya siga!”
3) Relatives, whom you would always want to escape meeting. For having been caught by them, even with the slightest possible eye contact, would invite a flury of dreaded questions coming your way. “How are your studies going on? What subjects are you planning for after your board exams? What was your percentage in your previous exam?”
After having met most of the relatives, friends and in the midst of wandering around with Mr. Mithoo and Mr. Laddoo, we realised that the garlands had been exchanged and the wedding was heading towards the final ceremony.
Worn out and enervated, I was barely awake to see what followed. The little that I remember is that me and Ankit were dropped back home where we crashed onto the bed where I was fast asleep in no time.
That was perhaps that. The wedding ended there for me. The wedding which back then, as a child seemed a little strange initially. Marriage was something that until then, had only happened to people less known to me. But here, it was Nish di, at who’s home an overnight stay was something I always loved, along with whom, we used to sing songs, with them singing the female verses and us the male, whom we used to forcibly push out, of her own comfort zone and make her play some silly catching games with us, on the terrace.Today, it has been the wedding I have loved to talk about, when I know that before it was to happen, it was never a wedding that existed, ever in my mind.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Thumb Rule of Superstitions (The Reality Remix)
Growing up as a child in India is something very unique. And you cannot understand it until you have spent the first quarter of your life in this country. It is like how an old hindi song would feel after being remixed with new instruments, new music and new vocals.... Overfed and Messed Up.
I remember this time when i was 9 years old. I was in my room, sitting on a wooden chair and my science course book kept open on the study table, in front of me. It was eight in the evening earlier when i unwillingly had opened the book and decided to read, starting Chapter-3, Page No. 22. Now, 45 minutes later, leaning forward, with my head turned down and eyes fixed on the book, the Page still read No. 22. All i had done in the last 45 minutes was to painstakingly read the first three lines of the chapter and then manage to loose my concentration (in my case, it was a disaster always waiting to happen) to what was being played on the television and then feel sad on how lucky mum and dad are watching television and iam not. No sooner had i started to feel sad, the power got cut. I could hear sounds of 'Oh ho' and 'Uff' from the room where the television was kept. But here in my room, i turned my face sideways, looking up in the direction of the room where these dejected sounds had come from, i smiled mischievously with a sense of enthusiasm.
A power cut after seven in the evening, when i was a child, meant :
1. A time when your room, your terrace, your locality would turn pitch dark.
2. A time you could walk freely anywhere in the house and see your parents being helpless in asking you to study. ( My father had once come up with an idea of studying with a bunch of candles around, to which i had objected for getting my eyes strained. This was when all during my nine years of life i had no experience on how it felt to have any part of your body strained, let alone eyes)
3. A time your friends in the locality would come up to your home and ask you out for a walk.
It was five of us that evening, walking together, trying to emulate our respective fathers, the way they would walk together after dinner, discussing their professional lives. Most of my friends were an year or two older than me. We all would complain how tough life has become for us (yes.at the age of 9 and 10) and try to prove how his own life was tougher than the other four.
"STOP!" one of my friends suddenly screamed. Too scared to face the consequences, i stopped dead on my track. " I saw a black cat crossing our path" he said. " We shouldn't be going any further"
If a black cat crosses your way, it would bring you bad luck. This was something i had no clue of until i was told by my friends that night. To which one added, "Yes, I know of one of my uncles who's path had once been crossed by a black cat, while going to work one morning. He met with an accident later in the afternoon." I was petrified to hear that. I was too scared to see my luck riding the cat, as she jumped from one balcony to another. I started to visualise the cat and my luck sitting together and planning for my accident the next day until another friend came up with another theory. "This is so untrue. What actually happens is that when a black cat crosses a human's path, she absorbs the rays from the human body which make her stronger and us weaker. It is scientifically proven." (As if the earlier theory wasn't stupid enough). As kids, we always held science in high regard. Moment someone would say scientifically proven, we would take it granted for the statement to be true. "How do you guys know so much?" I asked. Prompt came the reply, "That is because we are a year older than you. We are more experienced. We have 'seen life', u see." I wondered how having a year's of more experience made them know so much more than me. But soon after i felt happier, thinking that such a statement could be used comfortably by me to silence my younger cousins.
As i grew a little older, the taboo of non-acceptance of other's views caught up with me. Views which couldnot pass unfiltered through the prism of science, were outrightly rejected. 'I only believe in what i see' was starting to be used by me at almost every gathering.
It was one afternoon when after returning home from school, i went upto mum, who was busy reading the newspaper then. I did not want to interrupt but could not resist the temptation to do so.
"Mum, i believe in what science says because it is based on facts that can be seen, and i only believe in what i see" i explained proudly.
"Does that mean you do not believe in God?"
I was stunned to hear that. Not believing in God was something i could not afford to, on a personal level. After not studying for the entire year, who else would i go begging to, for the grant of a passing score. After not having completed my homework, who else would i go begging to, for the teacher to break her leg. And on an overcast day, who else would i go begging to, for preventing the downpour, so we could play cricket after school hours.
"Not everything in life requires an explanation of your kind. There are certain things which you just have to believe in. A lot of things in science are based on the very assumption of an atom and a molecule, which you cannot see. Ther is no thumb rule into believing or rejecting things in life. You have to use your brain and think what is true and what isn't. You would learn as you see more of life"
It immediately made an impression in my mind. I felt what she said was right. There isn't any thumb rule and that is exactly why we have been provided with our own brain. To think. And that her seeing of life was different from what my friends had earlier mentioned of 'seeing life'. While their's was for a year or two, mum meant progressively over a period of 10 to 15 years.
But there would be time as a child where i would believe things as per my own convenience. I remember my granny asking mum to feed me with curd and sugar before an exam as it would bring me good luck. I never used to object, because after not having studied, i hoped the curd would do the miracle. I had no option but to swallow that thick, greasy and creamy curd without making a disgusting face.
And no matter how much you shut your ears to all these theories, they would still catch you. There is no escape. Like how you would learn that you have a long life, when you barge in a place with people already talking about you. Like how, sitting on a chair, you are not supposed to vigorously move your legs to and fro (it supposedly results in over expenditure). Like how by taking a dip in the holy Ganges, you would get rid of all your sins ever committed and like how you are not allowed to sneeze when someone is leaving home (it also, like a lot other things, brings bad luck)
But for once, there's one thing i believe in certain.. 'The Thumb Rule'.
I remember this time when i was 9 years old. I was in my room, sitting on a wooden chair and my science course book kept open on the study table, in front of me. It was eight in the evening earlier when i unwillingly had opened the book and decided to read, starting Chapter-3, Page No. 22. Now, 45 minutes later, leaning forward, with my head turned down and eyes fixed on the book, the Page still read No. 22. All i had done in the last 45 minutes was to painstakingly read the first three lines of the chapter and then manage to loose my concentration (in my case, it was a disaster always waiting to happen) to what was being played on the television and then feel sad on how lucky mum and dad are watching television and iam not. No sooner had i started to feel sad, the power got cut. I could hear sounds of 'Oh ho' and 'Uff' from the room where the television was kept. But here in my room, i turned my face sideways, looking up in the direction of the room where these dejected sounds had come from, i smiled mischievously with a sense of enthusiasm.
A power cut after seven in the evening, when i was a child, meant :
1. A time when your room, your terrace, your locality would turn pitch dark.
2. A time you could walk freely anywhere in the house and see your parents being helpless in asking you to study. ( My father had once come up with an idea of studying with a bunch of candles around, to which i had objected for getting my eyes strained. This was when all during my nine years of life i had no experience on how it felt to have any part of your body strained, let alone eyes)
3. A time your friends in the locality would come up to your home and ask you out for a walk.
It was five of us that evening, walking together, trying to emulate our respective fathers, the way they would walk together after dinner, discussing their professional lives. Most of my friends were an year or two older than me. We all would complain how tough life has become for us (yes.at the age of 9 and 10) and try to prove how his own life was tougher than the other four.
"STOP!" one of my friends suddenly screamed. Too scared to face the consequences, i stopped dead on my track. " I saw a black cat crossing our path" he said. " We shouldn't be going any further"
If a black cat crosses your way, it would bring you bad luck. This was something i had no clue of until i was told by my friends that night. To which one added, "Yes, I know of one of my uncles who's path had once been crossed by a black cat, while going to work one morning. He met with an accident later in the afternoon." I was petrified to hear that. I was too scared to see my luck riding the cat, as she jumped from one balcony to another. I started to visualise the cat and my luck sitting together and planning for my accident the next day until another friend came up with another theory. "This is so untrue. What actually happens is that when a black cat crosses a human's path, she absorbs the rays from the human body which make her stronger and us weaker. It is scientifically proven." (As if the earlier theory wasn't stupid enough). As kids, we always held science in high regard. Moment someone would say scientifically proven, we would take it granted for the statement to be true. "How do you guys know so much?" I asked. Prompt came the reply, "That is because we are a year older than you. We are more experienced. We have 'seen life', u see." I wondered how having a year's of more experience made them know so much more than me. But soon after i felt happier, thinking that such a statement could be used comfortably by me to silence my younger cousins.
As i grew a little older, the taboo of non-acceptance of other's views caught up with me. Views which couldnot pass unfiltered through the prism of science, were outrightly rejected. 'I only believe in what i see' was starting to be used by me at almost every gathering.
It was one afternoon when after returning home from school, i went upto mum, who was busy reading the newspaper then. I did not want to interrupt but could not resist the temptation to do so.
"Mum, i believe in what science says because it is based on facts that can be seen, and i only believe in what i see" i explained proudly.
"Does that mean you do not believe in God?"
I was stunned to hear that. Not believing in God was something i could not afford to, on a personal level. After not studying for the entire year, who else would i go begging to, for the grant of a passing score. After not having completed my homework, who else would i go begging to, for the teacher to break her leg. And on an overcast day, who else would i go begging to, for preventing the downpour, so we could play cricket after school hours.
"Not everything in life requires an explanation of your kind. There are certain things which you just have to believe in. A lot of things in science are based on the very assumption of an atom and a molecule, which you cannot see. Ther is no thumb rule into believing or rejecting things in life. You have to use your brain and think what is true and what isn't. You would learn as you see more of life"
It immediately made an impression in my mind. I felt what she said was right. There isn't any thumb rule and that is exactly why we have been provided with our own brain. To think. And that her seeing of life was different from what my friends had earlier mentioned of 'seeing life'. While their's was for a year or two, mum meant progressively over a period of 10 to 15 years.
But there would be time as a child where i would believe things as per my own convenience. I remember my granny asking mum to feed me with curd and sugar before an exam as it would bring me good luck. I never used to object, because after not having studied, i hoped the curd would do the miracle. I had no option but to swallow that thick, greasy and creamy curd without making a disgusting face.
And no matter how much you shut your ears to all these theories, they would still catch you. There is no escape. Like how you would learn that you have a long life, when you barge in a place with people already talking about you. Like how, sitting on a chair, you are not supposed to vigorously move your legs to and fro (it supposedly results in over expenditure). Like how by taking a dip in the holy Ganges, you would get rid of all your sins ever committed and like how you are not allowed to sneeze when someone is leaving home (it also, like a lot other things, brings bad luck)
But for once, there's one thing i believe in certain.. 'The Thumb Rule'.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The rise of a new Kashmir-Along the west coast
India, in a lot of ways shares similarities with Europe. Europe is a large mass of land with its population being racially similar all across the continent but it is divided into groups of people having different langauge, different history, different cuisines and thus being run by different democratic governments. Likewise in India, people are racially similar all across the sub-continent having cultural, linguistic differences. But unlike Europeans, the Indians, despite the diversities stand united under a common tri colour.
But how these diversities be used for selfish political gains was perhaps not so well known to me untill the introduction of 'Mumbai for marathi manoos' campaign by Maharashtra Navnirman Sena Chief, Mr. Raj Thackeray. Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, or the MNS, is a break-away faction of the Shiv Sena having ideological similarities. Having been wiped out at BMC elections soon after the formation of his party, the MNS chief decided to take the role of the 'Marathi Protector' using offensive and derogatory language against North Indians, asking them to quit Mumbai, humiliating and retorting to physical voilence. Even Mr. Bachchan was not spared for being a North Indian. The result- His party opened its account at the assembly elections grabbing 13 seats, to which, had there been a MNS-Sena combine, the polls would have been swept by them.
After numerous visits to Mumbai i realised that a lot of the 'Mumbailkars' support and agree to what Sena and MNS have been saying. I remember the time when i joined my first ship as Third Officer, the Officer whom i relieved was from Mumbai. An evening, during the bridge watch, when the ship was at anchor, off Lagos, Nigeria, this issue suddenly found its way into our ongoing conversation. " What Raj Thackeray is saying is right. Mumbai is getting choked. Its over populated. There's hardly any space. Immigrants from U.P and Bihar should not be allowed into Mumbai anymore. Though i donot think his voilent ways are correct." he said. I was quite surprised by his views. As per the statistics, the number of immigrants from U.P and Bihar into Mumbai are far lesser than the immigrants from other regions of Maharashtra into Mumbai. Then how is it that when North Indians come into Mumbai, it gets choked but it doesn't feel any breathlessness when immigrants from their own state come into the city? Why has Raj and his men not been stopping or using his voilent ways in trying to stop immigrants from other parts of Maharashtra entering Mumbai?
I was in India when 26/11 happened. Watching those images and video clips on the television really disturbed me. I was deeply hurt. More so because it was an attack on us for being what we are...INDIANS. During the processions and candle lit marches to the Gateway of India that followed the siege, i spotted on TV, a banner that read, 'First Ghatkopar, Then 7/11 train blasts and now 26/11. Why only Mumbai' WHAT??? WHY ONLY MUMBAI??? Does that mean that you don't care if it happens in Delhi, U.P., Kashmir or elsewhere? Does that mean that there are other places to target in India, then why only Mumbai? Terrorism is to be condemned no matter which part of the world it happens in and not to just raise your voice only if it affects your own city.
What Mumbai is following is precisely what happened in Kashmir during its early insurgency days. Non-Kashmiris were killed, thrown out, Kashmir was told to be for Kashmiris only and it proved fatal for a state already divided on the line of religion. It is unlikely that Mumbai will end up the Kashmir way, but it may take a whole new path of defiance, hatred that has never been heard of before.
But how these diversities be used for selfish political gains was perhaps not so well known to me untill the introduction of 'Mumbai for marathi manoos' campaign by Maharashtra Navnirman Sena Chief, Mr. Raj Thackeray. Maharashtra Navnirman Sena, or the MNS, is a break-away faction of the Shiv Sena having ideological similarities. Having been wiped out at BMC elections soon after the formation of his party, the MNS chief decided to take the role of the 'Marathi Protector' using offensive and derogatory language against North Indians, asking them to quit Mumbai, humiliating and retorting to physical voilence. Even Mr. Bachchan was not spared for being a North Indian. The result- His party opened its account at the assembly elections grabbing 13 seats, to which, had there been a MNS-Sena combine, the polls would have been swept by them.
After numerous visits to Mumbai i realised that a lot of the 'Mumbailkars' support and agree to what Sena and MNS have been saying. I remember the time when i joined my first ship as Third Officer, the Officer whom i relieved was from Mumbai. An evening, during the bridge watch, when the ship was at anchor, off Lagos, Nigeria, this issue suddenly found its way into our ongoing conversation. " What Raj Thackeray is saying is right. Mumbai is getting choked. Its over populated. There's hardly any space. Immigrants from U.P and Bihar should not be allowed into Mumbai anymore. Though i donot think his voilent ways are correct." he said. I was quite surprised by his views. As per the statistics, the number of immigrants from U.P and Bihar into Mumbai are far lesser than the immigrants from other regions of Maharashtra into Mumbai. Then how is it that when North Indians come into Mumbai, it gets choked but it doesn't feel any breathlessness when immigrants from their own state come into the city? Why has Raj and his men not been stopping or using his voilent ways in trying to stop immigrants from other parts of Maharashtra entering Mumbai?
I was in India when 26/11 happened. Watching those images and video clips on the television really disturbed me. I was deeply hurt. More so because it was an attack on us for being what we are...INDIANS. During the processions and candle lit marches to the Gateway of India that followed the siege, i spotted on TV, a banner that read, 'First Ghatkopar, Then 7/11 train blasts and now 26/11. Why only Mumbai' WHAT??? WHY ONLY MUMBAI??? Does that mean that you don't care if it happens in Delhi, U.P., Kashmir or elsewhere? Does that mean that there are other places to target in India, then why only Mumbai? Terrorism is to be condemned no matter which part of the world it happens in and not to just raise your voice only if it affects your own city.
What Mumbai is following is precisely what happened in Kashmir during its early insurgency days. Non-Kashmiris were killed, thrown out, Kashmir was told to be for Kashmiris only and it proved fatal for a state already divided on the line of religion. It is unlikely that Mumbai will end up the Kashmir way, but it may take a whole new path of defiance, hatred that has never been heard of before.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Alchemy of Dual Identity
"Where are you guys from?", the cab driver asked me. "We all are from India", I replied looking at the back seat where three of my fellow sailors were seated. We all were in Houston and since we Indians in the cab shared a common non-working period on the ship, we decided to explore Houston. My fellow sailors seated at the back seat were from a common place in southern India. They spoke in a language which was not only non-understandable to the American, but even after being an 'Indian', every word of it was as stranger to me as it was to the American.
Lately, over the past 5 to 7 years, i have started feeling very strongly about being a Punjabi. My grandparents like a lot others in Delhi, are muhajirs, an urdu term for people who crossed over from one side of the border to the other, during the partition. They lived their early days of marraige in Sialkot and Lahore (Punjab, Pakistan) in the pre-partition era, before crossing over to Hoshiarpur (Punjab, India). My grandfather, who was in Punjab Police at that time was asked to switch his skills for the more important Delhi Police, which resulted in my family settling in Delhi.
I have been born and raised in the capital and my love for it is natural. A a child, i used to hear stories of partition and pre-partition era from my grandmother. How beautiful the bazaars were in Lahore, how simple a life they lived in Sialkot and how at the time of partition, some of her siblings had to evade death, rape to cross over to India. How a lot of people were massacred for not being of the same faith. These stories, some full of love and others bloodshed, made me feel a sense of belonging to the land Punjab. I felt a sense of untouched connectivity to the land of Punjab in Pakistan. It made me even more desperate to visit those cities across the border where i still think my roots are. The people with whom i share a common culture, common cuisine, common language. Has then, being a Punjabi, become more important to me than being an Indian? Are my allegiances going out to Punjabis before any other citizen of my country? Has one of my 'dual identity' started to weigh heavier than the other and the larger one? Sitting that day, on the front seat of the cab, next to the American, and being unaware of the most common source of connectivity between two citizens of the same country,the language, i guess it has.
Lately, over the past 5 to 7 years, i have started feeling very strongly about being a Punjabi. My grandparents like a lot others in Delhi, are muhajirs, an urdu term for people who crossed over from one side of the border to the other, during the partition. They lived their early days of marraige in Sialkot and Lahore (Punjab, Pakistan) in the pre-partition era, before crossing over to Hoshiarpur (Punjab, India). My grandfather, who was in Punjab Police at that time was asked to switch his skills for the more important Delhi Police, which resulted in my family settling in Delhi.
I have been born and raised in the capital and my love for it is natural. A a child, i used to hear stories of partition and pre-partition era from my grandmother. How beautiful the bazaars were in Lahore, how simple a life they lived in Sialkot and how at the time of partition, some of her siblings had to evade death, rape to cross over to India. How a lot of people were massacred for not being of the same faith. These stories, some full of love and others bloodshed, made me feel a sense of belonging to the land Punjab. I felt a sense of untouched connectivity to the land of Punjab in Pakistan. It made me even more desperate to visit those cities across the border where i still think my roots are. The people with whom i share a common culture, common cuisine, common language. Has then, being a Punjabi, become more important to me than being an Indian? Are my allegiances going out to Punjabis before any other citizen of my country? Has one of my 'dual identity' started to weigh heavier than the other and the larger one? Sitting that day, on the front seat of the cab, next to the American, and being unaware of the most common source of connectivity between two citizens of the same country,the language, i guess it has.
A Play beyond a Play
It was Thursday evening when i got a call from my cousin, Ankit, "Would you and Rakesh want to come to watch a play on Saturday?" he asked. Rakesh is a very close friend whom i usually hang out with. "Yes!" i responded immediately, without thinking twice. It had been a while since Rakesh and i had been planning to go for a theatrical play and here i saw it coming, so it didnt take me much time to answer in affirmation. Sakshi's cousin (Sakshi, Ankit's very good friend) was the director of the play and it was she who had invited us and hence arranged for the passes.
The play was to be staged at Kamani Auditorium, at the Copernicus Marg.
So here we were on Saturday evening, all supposed to leave together(it would only be later that i would learn that Sakshi would be reaching at the theatre directly) Ankit and i decided to pick Rakesh first and then pick Sakshi. It had become slightly dark and the street lights had been lit. A combination when traffic at Delhi roads is at its peak. But being a Saturday the traffic wasnt as bad as i had anticipated. After reaching Rakesh's house i got to know that since Sakshi wouldn't leave her work place on time, she would reach the theatre herself. When we three of us reached, i saw Sakshi standing at the entrance of the theatre. She had reached earlier and was waiting for us to arrive. We exchanged 'hellos'.I saw the tickets in her hand which she without wasting time handed over to us. She looked visibly upset. If it was for us arriving late or for another reason, was hard to figure out. She was sporting a stole, wrapped neatly round her neck, with the end of the cloth falling from either side of her shoulder, the way one would find it done on the manneqins inside an apparel's showroom.
When we entered the theatre, i realised there is nothing in the name of security here. No security gaurd present, no one to frisk us. It was really surprising and uncalled for especially when considering that theatre capacity was close to 500 and the terror threat that always looms large over the capital city.
As soon as we entered the theatre, i saw that most of the seats had already been occupied and the possesion of seats was on the 'first come first served' basis. We somehow managed to find 4 empty seats next to each other. The theatre inside wasnt very well designed or huge and resembled one of the old Delhi sub-urban cinema halls. The stage though was neat and looked well built.
"The stole is looking lovely on you" i said. Sakshi looked a little puzzled and unsure of what it meant. " Are you trying to be sarcastic?" On numerous occasions when we had met earlier, Rakesh and i had fired sarcasm coated slapstick humour at her at our own will. "Not at all! I thought you could figure out when iam sarcastic" i replied. She looked more at ease and i could make out that she believed me.
"That is Anubhi!" Ankit exclaimed. She is his friend who, to his surprise, he unexpectedly located sitting somewhere in the theatre. Knowing Ankit, i knew he wouldn't let this oppurtunity go waste. What followed was a series of text messages from him to Anubhi which initially were aimed at making her think, 'How does he know that?' and then making her eyes take a role of a radar scanner, scanning the entire theatre for him. He finally put an end to it and eventually greeted her in person during the interval.
Upon the interval,Rakesh asked me if i would come outside along with him. Even though i was a little reluctant at first, i finally managed to leave the comfort of my seat. As soon as we got outside i knew what his eyes were searching for. We couldn't find any eatery around untill Rakesh, to his relief, found one right opposite the road. It was the only eatery around and was absolutely chaotic. But Rakesh, determined as he always is, with food especially, hustled his way into the chaos. But to my surprise, it took a long time before he managed to escape into the fresh air with some sandwiches in hand. "What happened, what took you so long?" I asked. "Oh! This vendor wouldn't listen and neither did he have a change of 500 ruppees." he replied, irritated with what he had been through. We managed to get back into the theatre in time, before the play resumed.
After the play came to an end, walking back to our respective cars, Rakesh asked Sakshi if she could help him by asking her cousin to cast him in his future plays. Seeing this and afraid of being left behind, i put my application forward too. The reply to which is still awaited.
The play was to be staged at Kamani Auditorium, at the Copernicus Marg.
So here we were on Saturday evening, all supposed to leave together(it would only be later that i would learn that Sakshi would be reaching at the theatre directly) Ankit and i decided to pick Rakesh first and then pick Sakshi. It had become slightly dark and the street lights had been lit. A combination when traffic at Delhi roads is at its peak. But being a Saturday the traffic wasnt as bad as i had anticipated. After reaching Rakesh's house i got to know that since Sakshi wouldn't leave her work place on time, she would reach the theatre herself. When we three of us reached, i saw Sakshi standing at the entrance of the theatre. She had reached earlier and was waiting for us to arrive. We exchanged 'hellos'.I saw the tickets in her hand which she without wasting time handed over to us. She looked visibly upset. If it was for us arriving late or for another reason, was hard to figure out. She was sporting a stole, wrapped neatly round her neck, with the end of the cloth falling from either side of her shoulder, the way one would find it done on the manneqins inside an apparel's showroom.
When we entered the theatre, i realised there is nothing in the name of security here. No security gaurd present, no one to frisk us. It was really surprising and uncalled for especially when considering that theatre capacity was close to 500 and the terror threat that always looms large over the capital city.
As soon as we entered the theatre, i saw that most of the seats had already been occupied and the possesion of seats was on the 'first come first served' basis. We somehow managed to find 4 empty seats next to each other. The theatre inside wasnt very well designed or huge and resembled one of the old Delhi sub-urban cinema halls. The stage though was neat and looked well built.
"The stole is looking lovely on you" i said. Sakshi looked a little puzzled and unsure of what it meant. " Are you trying to be sarcastic?" On numerous occasions when we had met earlier, Rakesh and i had fired sarcasm coated slapstick humour at her at our own will. "Not at all! I thought you could figure out when iam sarcastic" i replied. She looked more at ease and i could make out that she believed me.
"That is Anubhi!" Ankit exclaimed. She is his friend who, to his surprise, he unexpectedly located sitting somewhere in the theatre. Knowing Ankit, i knew he wouldn't let this oppurtunity go waste. What followed was a series of text messages from him to Anubhi which initially were aimed at making her think, 'How does he know that?' and then making her eyes take a role of a radar scanner, scanning the entire theatre for him. He finally put an end to it and eventually greeted her in person during the interval.
Upon the interval,Rakesh asked me if i would come outside along with him. Even though i was a little reluctant at first, i finally managed to leave the comfort of my seat. As soon as we got outside i knew what his eyes were searching for. We couldn't find any eatery around untill Rakesh, to his relief, found one right opposite the road. It was the only eatery around and was absolutely chaotic. But Rakesh, determined as he always is, with food especially, hustled his way into the chaos. But to my surprise, it took a long time before he managed to escape into the fresh air with some sandwiches in hand. "What happened, what took you so long?" I asked. "Oh! This vendor wouldn't listen and neither did he have a change of 500 ruppees." he replied, irritated with what he had been through. We managed to get back into the theatre in time, before the play resumed.
After the play came to an end, walking back to our respective cars, Rakesh asked Sakshi if she could help him by asking her cousin to cast him in his future plays. Seeing this and afraid of being left behind, i put my application forward too. The reply to which is still awaited.
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