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'.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
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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