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A man of riches

2025-01-30T04:57:00.000-08:00

I was adopted by my father when I was 2 or 3, he wasn't able to remember exactly. What he does remember though, is a frail looking woman walking up to the temple he looked after, with me in a bundle of rags. She was distraught, exhausted and broken. She didn't have a thaali or a ring. I was a bastard child and she was escaping society. My father took me in his arms to give her respite; she said she wanted to relieve herself and went. She never came back. And so it came to be that my father was now a father.

My father was an orphan himself. Having lost his parents at a young age he survived by helping the temple priest. He was honest and quiet. He did as told and never asked for anything. He ate what was offered and slept on the temple veranda. He became the caretaker of the temple. Priests came and went, he was the permanent one there.

He took care of me as best he could. He gave me education. He taught me the virtues of a simple and honest life. His lessons were never told, they were shown to me. He was kind to the bone and never once regretted that fact that I was thrust into his otherwise carefree world. I was his true son. At an appropriate age he told me of the incidence of how I came into his life. Even as he said it, I didn't feel even for an instant if he has second thoughts about me. He did not have money, but he had the heart and he did all he could to make my life comfortable.

I studied hard. I went to college and then to work in the city. I visited the coconut palmed, dried fish smelling village as often as I could ; to see my father and to make life better for him as much I could. He refused monetary help. He refused to hire a maid or a helper. He was far too simple, principled and generous to depend on another to do his work. So I offered the best I could, my company. We would share meals together and sit on the beach and talk. He loved listening to my stories of the city. He took an active interest in my work. He always encouraged me to find a wife and settle down. He said I would make a great father.

After 10 years of working, I got the call from the present temple priest. I harbored a secret fear for this call. I rushed home. Father was ill. He was too weak to sit up. I put in my leave request and decided to stay with him a few days. I fed him and did all the things necessary to make him comfortable. I was relieved that I was able to reciprocate at-least this much for him.

Father had many a visitor during the time I was there. People from all walks of life came to ask after his health. Fishermen, local shokeepers, tourists, priests, rich landowners and so on. I had not realized that father had so many acquaintances. It was surprising to see the genuine worry people had for this man, who I thought was a very quiet reserved person.

On one the days, an old lady walked into the house. She asked for my father and I showed her in. She sat next to father, held his hand and wept. She sat silently, nodded to him and shifted to leave. I was intrigued. I followed her and asked her to wait. I then asked her to sit and asked he who she was and what was her relationship with my father.

She said "Your father was an acquaintance once. Today he is my savior. A few years back, my son had an accident when he went fishing. When I stood helpless in the temple looking for the lord to answer my prayers, your father came up and asked me why I was in despair. Hearing me and understanding my situation of lack of money to get my son to the town hospital, he paid for the ambulance. My son survived. He did this for me when I was a total stranger. He has been a friend ever since". She had tears in her eyes saying this as she left.

I was not too surprised. My father was helpful. He was kind.

On another day he was visited by a man of roughly my fathers age. He sat beside father and tried to cheer him up. He spoke of the village stories and his family. My father was all smiles hearing about this mans grandchild's antics. I asked him how he know father.

He said "A few years ago my son decided to marry a girl from a lower caste. I was furious and vehemently resisted. My son went ahead and married the girl in the temple your father worked in. I arrived there with my community people to separate them, or even better, strike them down. Your father protected them. He gave me wise counsel and asked me to wait a year. If I was still not ok, he would help in resolving the matter. My son was happy and the girl made all of our lives so much better. We have grandchildren and we don't care what others say now. Your father cared about us - even when were strangers.

There were so many more men and women who visited my father during his last days. All of them people whose lives he had touched in some small way or the other. His one common tool to transform all their lives was his smile. He always had it on.

My father passed away a few days later. His funeral was one the most attended ones in the village. Not a man lost the chance to come up to me and tell me how much my father meant to them.

I realized my father was not poor. He was a man of immense riches.

The wall

2025-01-27T22:34:00.000-08:00

I came into existence during one of harshest months seen in this part of the country. In an already scorching land, this month was one of those cursed ones that rendered the farmers jobless and bankrupt. It was the month that made the women of the village walk for miles for pots of semi potable water that nurtured their lives and little possessions. It was the month that drove many a man to turn into the devil that lurked within and drove many others to the one possible solution to all their miseries - death, the final equalizer and purifier.

I have questioned the purpose of my existence more than any mortal could possible have. I did it every day of the 40 years of my life, day in and day out. I did it as I stood in the sun and rain, as I watched the world go while I stood motionless. I didn't have anything else to do you see. I was conceived with intentions that were pure and those that arose out of the need for conservancy of my creators ilk. That is the story woven around my rise, one cursedly parched and devilishly dusty day in the middle of this village where I still stand.

I am a wall.

I was built by one class of people to keep out another. I was built to keep the purity of one side of my existence intact by cutting off contact with the other side. The purer side possesses all the material wealth that this miserable land has managed to squeeze out. The other side bears all the miseries as if to ensure the balance of the world is in order. I for one didn't see much of a difference in the inhabitants of either side. They all looked the same and behaved the same. Males on either side doused me with liberal amounts of their excretions. Juveniles on either side sat on my parapet and leered at girls. Women folk on either adorned me with thick cakes of dung until it dried. From my view they were the same, but I am a miserably lower form of creation and I will never see the things the humans see.

My existence has been witness to the upheavals and the calamities of this village. I have seen the bounty that this land enjoyed and also seen its wretchedness at its worst. I have been a mute spectator to the fury of this villages inhabitants and also the compassion they show in equal measure. I have been fortified with the blood of many and also with offerings of worship in equal measure.

There have been laws drafted and high ranking officials have been visiting the village on and off to remove me for the divide I was causing in the lives of the people. Nothing came about. It was not because the officials were incompetent, it was because one group on this side of me didn't want it. I was designed to keep the status quo and as far as they were concerned I was doing my job fine.

I stand testament to the egregiousness of mankind. I am proof of the need for man to put man down to feel good about themselves. I have been around for a good many years now. I have seen many a man from the poorer side try to fight for their rights to passage - I was blocking their way to the only school available in the locality. This was a government school where everyone is supposed to be equal.

But none came close to the fight put up by the great Ms A. She was tired of the beatings her drunk husband doled out generously when asked for money to run the house. She was tired of working away day and night for meeting her and her twos sons food needs alone. She decided that she was going to get her children educated.

She visited the Thahsildar every week, the collector every month and the MLA every year. The action was always the same - "we will look into this, come back in a week", they said. She toiled on, not letting the despair get to her. Her sons deserved better.

Angels do exist, but they do not always have blonde hair or wear white robes. Ms A's angel was a college student who was visiting the village for a project on rural hygiene. The girl walked in one day asking about how people in this side of the wall urinated and defecated. Ms A looked at me wistfully and lamented about how the common latrine along with any and all other facilities existed on the other side of the wall.

The girl wrote a petition and filed it formally with the collector. The collector visited and wrote a formal complaint to the relevant authorities. Time went by and nothing happened to me, I still existed.

But the angel that visited Ms A taught her something. The power of knowledge and the written word. Years of visiting the collector did nothing, but one signed piece of paper with the right words sent at the right time to the right person and things were moving.

Ms A forgot all about me and did everything in her power to educate her sons. It has now been over 20 years since the angel visited. Ms A's elder son studied with a vengeance. He left the village and went to the city. He came back to the village a collector.

Today bulldozers and men with crowbars stand awaiting the final orders. I am going to be obliterated. Its a relief, I cant stand the stench of human excrement or hatred anymore.

Parting gift

2024-10-04T09:19:00.000-07:00

As the family sat beside the withered old man's body, a young man silently walked up to the glass topped freezer box.

He wore black. black suit, black hat, black rimmed glasses and held a black umbrella.

The gathered had been mourning the whole night and after the well of tears had been spent, a sombre silence replaced the wails and sobs. The intensity of the mourning was much reduced now as if to acknowledge the fact that the old man was not coming back, no matter how much they called out and cried.

The new young man stood watching over the old man's face, intently studying it. His face was stoic and nobody could deduce what his emotions were. In his mind, he was screeching and yelling in pain. He was rolling in the soil and crying a river of tears. Outside he was civil and just one adamant tear escaped his eyes. He quickly wiped it away and turned away to leave.

The old man's daughter stood behind him, offering him a glass of water. He was dazed and for a minute looked out of sorts.

" Did you know my father well?" she asked.

"He was a close business associate" replied the young man in black, now back to his old composed self.

"Would you be able to say a few words about him? His business was his primary passion and someone who could say a few words about that would be a memory for all us to cherish" she said.

The young man in black was at first hesitant, his eyes betrayed a slight sadness, but again, he quickly composed himself and nodded to say yes.

As he stood at the pulpit, he cleared his throat, collected his thoughts and in a steady base voice, started.

"I have know him for a long time now. More than 20 years actually. We started off on a business deal that was extremely pleasant, courteous and trustworthy. That one deal was enough for me to realize the his value as a business associate. Thereafter we had regular business deals and he was my first choice for any deal that came by.

He was meticulous, adroit even. He knew his job as if it were a natural talent, which of course it wasn't. Whatever he achieved was out of sheer hard work and practice.

I have learned a lot of things from him and will forever remember him as much more than just a business associate. He was a mentor to me, though I have never told him I thought of him as such. I also never did get around to telling him how much I valued his presence in my life. In the last few years of his life I fell out of touch on account of a personal altercation with him and I regret it beyond what my words can convey. I realize that we all take life and the time it allocates us for granted which is the saddest thing to do. If I could go back in time, I'd go back and make amends.

I wish his family strength during these hard times, I know how much it means to lose family. Thank you all. With swelling tears in his eyes he hurriely stepped down and took his seat.

The old mans daughter held his hand as she walked to the pulpit.

" Thank you for your kind words. My father has left behind a letter for you and wanted it read out to the people who gathered here. I hope you would agree to this."

The man just blinked without saying anything.

She now took the place behind the pulpit, opened a yellow envelope and took out a single white sheet of paper. She then began to read in a voice filled with tremors and occasional sobs.

"Dear all gathered here, I write this letter in poor health. After a life of relative ease and success, I must admit that I am going away from this material world, all in all, a happy man. I know my end is near and am not afraid of the inevitable death that awaits me in the next corner of the road called life.

But I do have one small regret. We are after all men and we commit blunders, some small and some large.

My blunder was that I never told the young man sitting next to you that he is my son. The man who spoke to you all just now about the business partnership - he is my son.

I never got around to say this to him in person and don't think I ever can, I am a coward if that is the word that will describe my behavior. But what I would like to say is this.

Son, I am extremely proud of you. What you have made of your life and what you have become is beyond what I could have ever done given your circumstances. I was never around to help you grow and I am ashamed of it. I wish I had done more and done it sooner.

I wish to rectify this grave error. I do it by gifting you one last thing - a family. My daughter, the girl reading this letter, knows all about you and already considers you her brother. My wife, knows about you too and is awaiting the moment she can spend time with you as family.

I am extremely sorry for the inadequacies I have been responsible for in your life son. I hope this would soften the wound. I know this may be asking too much of you, but I implore you to be part of this family and take care of them.

Along with the gift I leave you half my business estate and house - trifles compared to how much a family is valued.

I love you son. Good bye.

Love

Your father

The man in black, with a stream of tears, hugged the girl in the pulpit, shook his head with a forced smile and walked out of the chapel, sad at the loss but also painfully hopeful about a family - he was not an orphan any more.

Blood

2017-12-09T10:12:00.001-08:00

Karnan was a blood donor. There are a hundred other ways in which I could have described him. He was an athlete, a star performer at work, a good singer, a great husband and dad ; but to me he was a blood donor.

There was never a 6 month gap that went by where he didn't donate blood. It was either at the official blood donation drive or somewhere else that he sought out and went; the point being' he ensured that he had donated once every 6 months. I can safely say that if the allowed frequency of blood donation was once in 6 days he would have done it every week without batting an eyelid. I know that an average human being is a helpful one - he would help the fellow human given the circumstances are right; he got a sense of pride or a sense of doing good for society out of it. It boosted his ego, but Karnan was different. One could easily see that for him this activity was beyond the usual motives.

I one day casually joked to him about it. I said "Karna - you donate blood like donating water, it almost seems like you want to get rid of your blood. I have seen people maintain calendars for a lot of weird things, but your's tops the list"

He smiled the charming smile that made everyone like him and went about his tasks as usual.

And then one day we had the official Diwali family dinner organized by the company. I, the bachelor got to meet Karnan's family - his wife and his extremely cute daughter. We got acquainted and Karnan went to the buffet table with his daughter to get her to eat something.

Not knowing what else to talk about to his wife, I commented to her jokingly about his tendency to donate blood. I said " Karnan is a bloody fanatic - literally; he donates blood like he has nothing else to live for! I have made fun about it and even asked him seriously about it, but have not understood his motive. Do you know why he is so?"

Her reaction turned grim. I was apprehensive about the answer to come. Maybe I was prying. Maybe I had crossed an unwritten border that separated friendship from personal freedom.

But she quickly composed herself and started - "Karnan was not always like this. 7 years back Karnan was a different man. He was what one can call wasted. Literally and figuratively. He was a chronic alchoholic. He was beyond redemption - that is what the doctors had said. He would start his alchoholic binging at 5 in the morning and close it at 8 in the night when his body could take no more. He was hardly sober and speaking to him was impossible. He would get violent and he even started having delusions in his alchoholic stupors. His family had a hard time reigning him in. Society, in all its benevolent splendour, aggravated the problem by spurning him and pushing him deeper into his well of despair.

Karnan's father was a retired teacher with meagre means and his mother was a house wife. In all of this turmoil, it fell to Karnan's younger brother to shoulder the family responsibility. The boy took to it like it was his destiny and worked night and day to provide not only for the family, but also for fuelling Karnan's addiction.

In spite of Karnan's habits he was extrenely fond of his brother. Call it blood relationship or dependancy love - the fact was that Karnan loved his brother more than anybody else. The boy was sympathetic to Karnan's plight and always had faith that his big brother would one day be ok. He put up with all of Karnan's antics and even benevolently gave up things at home for his brother. If ever there was a guardian angel for Karnan, it was his younger brother.

His brother was a salesman and used to travel often - traversing his markets on a two wheeler, always returning home late at night after slogging away for the family. Fate, the pisser on every ones party, had big plans for the family. On one of his return trips home from his sales call at night, a truck rammed into his bike and he was injured seriously.

He was admitted to a hospital in the nearby town and the doctors said he needed blood; lots of it. His parents donated, his friends donated, neighbours donated. Everybody that knew Karnan's brother did their bit to save the boy. Karnan, for once in a long time, chose to be at the hospital instead of drinking. He went to donate blood, only to be rejected for the alchohol in it.

Karnan's brother died the next morning. Karnan was sober when it happened and has been ever since. In his brothers memory, he does a simple thing once every 6 months. He donates blood. He knows that nothing he does can redeem him for the mistakes in his life, but he tries to make it better by this act.

He believes that some younger brother out there in the world can survive with the blood that he donates and he believes his younger brother is watching - finally happy at Karnan's turn for the good."

With tears in my eyes and my throat aching from holding back sobs, I uselessly apologized to his wife. I thanked her for telling me so much and watched Karnan feed his daughter with all the love and care only parenthood can bring about.

I didn't know if to feel sad for Karnan or feel happy, but I knew that I would never make fun of his donating blood ever again.

Book review - A train to Pakistan by Khushwanth Singh

2016-09-07T10:06:00.001-07:00

There is a pet theory of mine. It can be called a philosophy even. It says that there is no wrong or right in the absolute sense. The protagonist of this book confirms that thought of mine - I was happy that the great Mr Khushwanth Singh thought the same way too. While the protagonist is an ex-dacoit and a accused in a murder case, a village ruffian,we are shown another side of him which makes us wonder - what is right and what is wrong - it is but perspective from two different sides.

The book is about a painful period in Indian history called as the partition. It was a time of heinous atrocities in the name of religion and nationalism. It was a time when a handful of politicians and bureaucrats used turmoil and fanned the fires of intolerance to achieve goals - for some political, for some monetary and for some others pure fanaticism.

The book reminded me very much about my favourite author - the great George Orwell for the fact that it lucidly brought out an analysis of how exactly a political event impacted the lives of a nation's subjects.The partition until today was just a historic event for me, but after this book, it will never remain the same. It was much more - it was blood shed, it was politics at the cost of humanity.

The plot revolves around two characters, one a rustic Sikh from the village of Mano Majra where the story in the book unfolds, and the second one a communist, stark opposite of the first character mentioned, foreign educated, whisky drinking, intellectual types. The contrast in character has significance in the way the narrative ends. The book brings out in vivid detail the level of violence that gripped both sides of the border. The geographical and figurative blood line of the story is the railway line that runs through the village and how much of a role it played in the lives of people affected by partition in 1947.

While the setting for the plot is the tumultuous partition period of 1947, the story itself is about the lives of the protagonists. It is about love found and lost. It is about how police officers and government employees functioned in those dark hours and how a handful of men sacrificed their lives for the good of the many - often times for people of the other religion.

In a eerily relevant message for the times, the author brings out how a handful of few religious fanatics stoke the fire of communalism and instigate violence. The book touches upon everything that we are fighting for as Indians even today - freedom from caste based oppression, freedom from religions intolerance, freedom from the superstitions and social fetters that religion forces its believers to carry.

Each character of the novel has a role that is not just a role in the novel, it is a message to the world. For example the message about Meet Singh, the village Sikh priest at the end of the book is this - while in the good times he was revered and given importance, his voice at the time of the violence is muted by the angry Sikh mob.

The irony of the characters is delicious - the authors perspective on the way of the world under religious tyranny is a tribute to the liberals and humanists who did whatever they could to save lives. This book will bring out tears for the horrors of partition and also open ones eyes to how a few men can convert a calm and seemingly peaceful society into one that lusts for blood.

This book is a must read in today's India where religious intolerance is spreading its vicious venom in the name of religion and hollow nationalism. It talks about how a false sense of nationalism helped in ruining lives, and created unending misery - all for a cause that a few politicians wanted.

Love in the time of Whatsapp

2016-04-02T00:02:00.001-07:00

Anyone who has read the masterpiece of a novel "Love in the Time of Cholera" must know the centre piece of the story - true love survives, the story ends with two separated lovers getting back together at a ripe old age. It sounds all nice and romantic, but is that how relationships are today? Love in the time of cholera was one thing, but love in the time of Whatsapp is another. We don't have cholera as much as the times Mr Marquez wrote in and we definitely don't have the kind of relationships either. What we do have are confused people wondering why relationships are so hard to find and keep. Here is my post on what they need to understand to make it big in a relationship today.

Lifestyles have changed, fashion has changed, foods have changed, incomes have changed and on that note love and relationships have changed too. Here's a look at some of the biggest changes in relationships today.

The hunter gatherer roles have merged - everyone does everything
In the history of humankind, it is said that women were more of gatherers who stayed closer home to gather berries and fruits while taking care of the home. The men in turn went out hunting for game. This is the reason women have arms that tend to curve out when they place it parallel to their bodies. It helps in gathering.

This does not hold good in relationships today. Women go to work (hunt is the parallel from our ancestors world for work today) and there are many a case of men being stay at home dads (the role of gatherer in the prehistoric world). There is no sex based role classifications today and for a relationship to be successful partners need to realize this.

There is no man of the house
The caveman of prehistoric times is shown as a club wielding brute who beats the bonkers out of the woman he fancies and just drags her home if he liked it. Times have changed. Forget clouting a woman, even holding a club can get you into a lot of trouble .

The term "man of the house" is redundant. There is no man of the house, both in its literal and metaphorical sense. Both partners are educated, independent and ambitious. Love in the time of Whatsapp is more about partnership and collaboration, everyone is the leader and everyone is the follower!

Its not about money. Its not about love either. What the hell is it about?
Its about the sum total of all things put together.Unlike marriages and relationships of the prehistoric times, men and women of today look for much more than sex, and stability alone respectively.They want shared romance, they want new experiences, they want long vacations and they also want cuddles and of course sex.

The sum total of our past generations expectation in a relationships is only a small part of today's expectations. So wake up to the fact and start acting accordingly if you want your relationship to blossom.

Community out, couples in.
In the Indian context this can be sacrilegious, but whats got to be said has to be said. Unlike our forefathers who lived in communities today's generation wants out. They want autonomy, they want to be on their own. Our prehistoric ancestors had to have grandmothers to take care of the children and grandfathers to guard the cave as the men went hunting and the women went gathering. Well, we have nannies now for the kids and sophisticated alarms for security and they don't advise on how to cook or how to dress to work. So today's relationships lean towards couples living by themselves without either ones parents in the picture.

In Indian way of life this is almost a crime, but times are changing, you'd have to too.

So our prehistoric ancestors would have a hard time finding and keeping love in today's world, and if you don't realize these facts and adapt, you're going to have to have to discover time travel.

Ganga Snaanam...

2015-11-09T22:01:00.000-08:00

His religion carried a belief that a dip in the sacred river Ganges on the day of Diwali was the most auspicious sin-washing ceremony there ever was. He was a religious man. He believed in the tenets of hinduism with all his heart. He liked to believe that his every action was governed by the words professed in the various mediums his religion used to reach him. And so on a cold morning, after his wife anointed him with the customary Diwali oil, he walked down to the rushing cold Ganges to wash away all of his sins, if there was any.

On his way to the banks of the river he saw the world go by, filled with people hurrying, like himself, to wash away all their accumulated sins of the previous years; it was like it was a physical act. The roads were lined with shops selling oil, toiletries and other items devotees needed to complete their daily ablutions and their purifying ceremonies. There were old men with completely tonsured heads but for a tuft of hair symbolizing their disposition as learned men who had access to the gods.

The air was chill with the incipient winter. The crisp air made him feel fresh and pure. He felt the presence in the holy land in itself was a purifying act, his mind was feeling it. The hawkers called out to him, asking him if he needed oil, or mustard for the ritual to appease his ancestors. The tonsured men with tufted hair asked him if he needed their services to act as portents into the world of gods and his ancestors, to reach out to them and seek blessings. He noticed how a number of hawkers and shop owners were of other faiths, how one religion thrived through another he wondered and ironically how people killed each other in the name of religion he smirked into himself.

As he descended the steps to the river he saw the crowd milling around the waters edge. Some drying themselves after their purifying dip, some sitting cross legged with the tufted gentlemen sitting opposite to them with their pooja paraphernalia spread out in front of them, leading them on with mantras and actions that would make their lives better and satisfy their ancestors in the other world. There were some who were there to merge the final remains of their kin with the holy waters of the Ganges. The immortal soul to heaven and the mortal remains to the holy water of the Ganges that would lead it to the ocean.

The crows arrived to pick at the food offered to ancestors by the men making the offerings - it was considered that the ancestors took the form of crows into this physical realm and so it was with happiness this spectacle was taken in contrast to the chasing crows were subjected to in other times and places.

As he felt the water with his feet, he shivered. The winter water was freezing. Goose bumps ran up his legs and reached his arms. If the price to pay for purification of ones sins in life was a little bit of cold, he thought it was a small price to pay. He waddled into the water until he was half submerged in the icy waters.

Parvati looked with wretched eyes at the limp body of her husband as it hung lifeless from the wooden beam that supported their single room hut. Shivan's promise of money for their land didn't come.They placed their inked fingers on the documents he asked them to with promises of prosperity. No money came after a month of the land was taken and Shivan was not to be found, he had moved to the city sources said. With no land to farm and no money for the sold land, her husband, unable to bear the pressure of the lenders, chose the last and lasting solution, death.

In a fit of rage, the ragged Parvati, eyes red from vain tears and saree filthy from wallowing in the mud floor of their temporary hut, threw mud in the air cursing Shivan, never to be redeemed of his sins. It was said that this act was a curse that would render the person cursed ,to fall into the abyss of irredeemable misery.

Shivan bent, holding his nose. The water engulfed him softly. A moment of shock from the cold that permeated through the before untouched parts of his body by water. He let his mind pray to the almighty to wash away his sins. Shivan felt light. He felt holy. He felt he was reborn and he felt liberated. He felt like a good man.

Book review - Farenheit 451

2015-11-09T00:00:00.002-08:00

My favourite category of novels is the dystopian variety. There is nothing like the exaggeration of an idea of governance or rule into how it would be in the future if it were let to have its way without being checked. More importantly what always draws me to dystopian novels are the writers responses to such a world as described through the action of their protagonists. Take any dystopian piece of work - "V for Vendetta, 1984, A brave new world, Farenheit 451 in books, "The book of Eli, Wall-E, Elysium in movies - the protagonist is portrayed as identifying the problem with the world through their experiences and thoughts which are nothing but the thoughts of the writers. How the writer would react to such a world is the best part of it all - one cant but begin to think how one would react if they were in that place at that time.

This category of novels opens ones mind to how much a form of governance can impact someones life. While we sit in a democracy whose direct negative impact in our lives is negligible, we do not realize the gravity of how much a totalitarian regime can impact us. While we sit and complain about how a democracy is not efficient we do not understand the alternatives to a democracy (which many do not know exist, because we in most countries have always been gifted with democracy) can mean horrors beyond our wildest imaginations. Dystopian novels, through personal travails of its characters, educates one of how all that we enjoy and take for granted has had to be fought for in a lot of geographies and times and continues to be inaccessible to a large part of the world even today.

Farenheit 451 - the name of the book in itself was enigmatic, what could this possibly mean. In dramatic style the mystery unfolds as you open the book. There is a single line that explains that the temperature at which paper begins to burn is 451 degree Farenheit and that is what the title refers to. A fitting title, as one would see when they read the book. Farenheit 451 is the story of a fireman of the future - Guy Montag. He is the man who is enlisted in times of calamities in a Dystopian world, to put out a threat so dangerous that it could destabilize an otherwise manufactured happy world. He along with his fellow firemen are the ones who are called on to do the honorable job of burning away books when they are intimated of the location of the books. Along with the books, the house that gives them residence shall burn too and the owner of the trash would be incarcerated.

Guy lives a perfectly "happy" life working in the fire department. His wife is a happy go lucky woman who lives with her "family" that lives with her through the 3 screens that adorn their parlour at home. Guy had to invest 3 months of his salary for the 3rd screen and she was already asking for a fourth screen to complete the juggernaut, to be away from him for good. The protagonist has a hunch that there is something wrong with the way things are in the world and the thought is in his head, but nothing much else is happening in Guys world.

One night Guy, on his way back home, runs into a young eccentric girl who spends a few minutes talking to him. They have a wonderful conversation that discreetly places the idea of a not so ideal, but free world outside of the one they currently dwelt in. The girl refers to a time when firemen put out fires rather than starting them. She says she has a uncle who talks about old times when things were different and how he kept running into the law for all his ideas. Guy then walks home to find his wife on the bed after having gulped an entire bottle of sleeping pills. A team of two arrives and saves her. We get to understand that the team has a lot more cases to attend to and this is a normal affair in the world of that time - a side effect of the system perhaps, the author leaves it to us to decipher.

As the idea that has placed itself firmly in Guys mind he is called upon to a house that needs firefighting. He attends the call of duty and is witness to a scene that is the final push into an internal revolution. in his mind.

The rest of the story goes into the scenes of how Guy takes on the system in his own way and how he is aided by an old professor who is a dissenter, albeit a covert one.

The story ends with a view of the world in which all this is happening coming to an end. The ending gives the reader hope and points out how much the written word can impact our lives.

It's a brilliant read, a very small book, but immensely logical in the times we live today where the value of a book is seldom recognized.

Happiness

2015-11-06T05:21:00.001-08:00

Amrita went out the door. Just like that. I knew the booze in my system was making it seem lighter than it was and this lightness wouldn't be there tomorrow.

But she was gone and that was the only truth. As she walked way I heard the song aaj Jaane ke zidd na karo and I thought how fitting it was.

I wondered how easy it was to let go. After all the years of togetherness, after all the time spent as one, is it so easy to let go? I didn't blame her, it was obviously me. I took it for granted. I assumed it would last forever no matter what.

I realised how the small things are the most important. It was not the foreign holiday that was important, it was me being there with her on it that counted. It was not the diamond ring that mattered, it was the feeling of joy of wearing it while with me on a date that mattered.

Nostalgia of the wrong sort kicked in. How I had walked away from Anu a few years back. It was the same thing that had happened, only difference being I walked out that time. And here I was at the receiving end now. How stupid we are I wondered. Chasing things and finally realising it was not what made us happy. Justifying our actions in the name of our loved ones for our own selfish reasons.

Amrita was all I needed. Amrita and our baby she was carrying. Not the career, not the house, not the money and fame,just her presence in my life. It was an epiphany.

As I stood wondering, the door opened and she came in. She hugged me and her tears made me realise another thing. More than all things what mattered to me was her happiness. That was all. That was the end and ultimate.

I was reborn and I was there, at the destination called happiness...

Ruffian

2015-11-05T17:04:00.001-08:00

The man in front of her looked like a ruffian. He was one. He didn't notice her looking at him through her dark sunglasses.. He went about his work as usual.

After picking a few pockets his focus was on her bag. While she stood facing his direction he walked around and approached to take her suit case.

As he reached out to take the suit case his rubber shoes squeaked against the tile floor. While turning around hearing the noise she said "sir, madam can you help me find the exit" as she extended her foldable blind mans stick.

A ruffian died.

Scars...

2015-10-31T00:07:00.002-07:00

It was gloomy, one of those days when the weather brings out the darkness within as well as without. I had a million worries on my mind; at the foremost of it all was my work life. I always considered myself something of an above average performing employee. I thought I was well read, spoke well and did all tasks given to me with all my heart and soul. Apparently it was not enough. In the typical way bosses always do, my boss told me I was not doing enough. What exactly did he mean by enough I asked. He said was I not doing enough "out of the ordinary work" - I understood it as I was not doing things beyond the call of duty. I still don't know if my interpretation was right.

My super boss went another leap in the direction of uncertainty with his feedback when he said - I was not energetic enough. Now what was that supposed to mean? I was not bouncy and always smiling at work? I am an introvert and it takes six months for me to say hello to my neighbor, and so how can one expect me to be the office guy who says good morning with gusto every day like it was the start of a vacation day? So if I want to move up the career ladder do I have to fake it? Is the corporate set up only conducive for extroverts?

I then moved on to comparing myself with how my colleagues were performing. There were one or two who, without a doubt, were better than me at what they did. The curse of the average performance was still on my trail. I was always the 4th or 5th ranker in everything I did. Never was I third or above or 7th and below. I was the king of average performance. And at work too I was at the same level. So I was thinking what made me feel so miserable when there were a lot of others who were as good/bad (we're in the middle and so equidistant from bad and good) as me or worse. Why did the bosses decide to pick on me? Was it because I was a meek and docile fellow who would rather shut up than give a wrong answer. I was forever the fearful one - if there was something to be risked I wouldn't attempt it. My fear of failure is extraordinary. I would rather visit the same hotel and have insipid food than go to a new one and fail even if there is an equal chance of huge success.

As the clouds turned grey and my my mind even more grey - I had a task to close. I had to pick Appa up from the station.I picked him up, bought him coffee at one of the best places near home and placed him home. I got hot water running for his bath, put his clothes in the machine for washing and got him his newspapers and magazines. Then I sat listening to his opinions on everything starting from how great our community is to how bad today's kids are. I, in my usual methodology of acquiescing to all my dad does and says, nodded in agreement. It suddenly struck me that I didn't do any of this for my mom. I didn't work hard to make her happy in the smallest of things.

I was working hard to make my father feel comfortable - inwardly I realize, after a lot of feedback from my wife about my favorable treatment of my father, I was afraid of hearing criticism from my dad. As a child I only heard good things from him. When I played foot ball in the house and broke the wall clock he sat laughing and gloating to mom and my siblings about how good a footballer I was. I remember him showering praise on me and saying to anybody who cared to listen, all about my smartness and talents. I remember him boasting about my ability to write neatly, play cricket, speak English, read books etc to everybody he met.

And now after he moved on in life into another family; after all these years when I am an adult he has praise for only others; his nephews and friends sons and daughters. They earn more money, they have moved abroad, they are so smart, they have bought their own house - and so on and so forth. In order to look better in his eyes I do all that I possibly can - to the level of not asking him about why he left us for another woman. My wife asks me why I don't talk to him with the same confidence I have when speaking with mom. She asks me why I don't say no to him even when he asks me to buy insurance in the name of investment, just to fuel that woman's business. I have thought about this long and hard and am not able come up with a logical reason. I lie to myself saying he is alone and does not have the affection of a family, but I know that is not the true reason.

Is it this behavior of mine that tongue ties me and makes me want to always pacify everyone? Is it this fear of wanting to be accepted and liked that is keeping me from reaching my potential? Am i scared to come out of the shell and take chances because I am too scared to fail and look bad in the eyes of all that I assume are watching me? I know that parents behaviors shapes children's dispositions, but can it also impact someone in their teens - especially if it is during the time of some traumatic event like a split in the family?

With all the thoughts in mind I wake up Appa to drop him at his nephews place, the one who has made it big in life and whose son is an IIM graduate. They hardly meet, but he makes a lot of money. The nephew had a heart attack a few months ago and his son was not able to make it to his fathers side. He survived, but I have a feeling he missed his son. Will Appa miss me in times of distress or will he carry the thoughts of a failed son who never lived up to the achievements that the worlds sons threw at their fathers feet?

Will I overcome my fear of failures and overcome my troubles at work? There is a philosophical thought that says self realization is the beginning of change - maybe this is the beginning of my change.

Raadhe maa - just another baba (babi?, babini?)

2015-09-06T09:22:00.002-07:00

Image source - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Zmpotk0qgU

I don't see what the hullabaloo about this raadhe maa is all about. Why does it have to stand out like a sore thumb among the millions of other equally, if not more, quirky babas all over our country? I personally am privy to the existence of babas that can pull out weird things from their mouths, of babas that vigorously claim the benefits of healing crystals that can cure cancer, of babas in our parliament (yep, they have entered that place too) that advocate hindus to have more babies to thwart the attempts of other communities to take over the world by mere reproduction. On those lines why must raadhe maa alone be pilloried and punished?

The claims are that she had bizzare rituals constituted to appease her like lifting her. So what? All the believers in babas talk like it is something out of the ordinary when there are even worse traditions followed like our famous south indian baba whose appeasement included offerings of the flesh. He still prospers and has a big fan following. Then there is the lady baba (maybe we can call them babis? or maybe babinis?) of kerala who has the practice of hugging all the visitors to her shrine that is a well oiled machine funded by foreign donations. These are main stream when compared to the "exotic" and completely bizzare practices the not so famous babas ask their followers to practice in order to attain their blessings.

There was another famous godman in the news recently who used innocent followers as shields to save himself from the police. Then there was the charlatan who opened millions of Indians eyes to the truth behind these babas lives, the famous, or rather the infamous Premananda who was incarcerated for his crimes ranging from rape to murder.

When all of these babas exist, thrive actually, why must raadhe maa be singled out and made a huge scene out of? She is merely using the platform of religion to make money and earn fame just like thousands of other babas have done. Why this outburst from society over her behavior specifically when there are so many of them out there? She is only catering to the needs of a society that now wants even spirituality packed with glamour and sensationalism.

All the public outrage should be on the followers of these charlatans. They feed them with money and power and undue patronage. When the usual tactics have been depleted, the charlatans cook up new creative forms of worship such as carrying the baba, not wearing underwear when worshiping them, not using the alphabet "b" the day of meeting with them and so on. They have realised, the more weird and wacky the form of worship is, the more famous they get and the more "bakras" they get as followers.

Raadhe maa is singled out for a multitude of reasons. One is that she is a woman, not may women have made it to the grand levels of reception as a spiritual leader (spiritual quacks is what I would like to call them). Another reason is that the holy ones cannot be glamorous, she is a woman of god, how can she wear such skimpy clothes and pose for photographs. The newspapers like the famous "Times" made a killing publishing photos that were lapped up like cats lapping up milk from off the floor. And then suddenly there are so many people associated with her who have complaints against her now. She is anyway in soup, might as well make the best of it and get famous is the attitude of these people. So add a few more semi celebrities to the boiling pot and voila - we have a sensational piece of news and throw in with that a huge readership base of the Times. And that's why raadhe maa is famous. If she is to be tried for her methods of worship or for anything that has to do with her advice to her devotees, there are thousands of babas asking their devotees to kill who are praised for their advice.

We have affiliates of the central government who go to the lengths of saying other communities should be stripped of voting rights. Then there are the rabid followers of sectarian parties openly giving statements to devotees to go after blood, to purvey violence. If no action can be taken against any of these people, poor miss raadhe maa should be allowed the liberty of having her devotees lift her and follow her words - it is after all a way to salvation....

In defense of the average man - A lesson I learnt from Dr APJ Abdul Kalam

2015-07-30T05:02:00.001-07:00

There are many emotions and opinions associated with the demise of a teacher, technocrat and president Dr APJ Abdul Kalam. There are stories doing the rounds about his achievements, about anecdotes from his life and a lot of nationalistic emotions are flowing. Among all the outpourings and the millions of little pieces of information, one thing enlightened and inspired me. A close aide of the late Dr Kalam was asked by the man himself what he would like to be remembered for/as? The pupil was not too sure and shot the question back to Dr Kalam. Pat came the reply "as a teacher".

Isn't it surprising - for all the things he was known for he wanted to be remembered as a teacher rather than be acknowledged by the famous epithet of "Missile man" or as the "peoples president". A germ of an idea took root in me when I read this.One does not have to be a rocket scientist to feel a sense of achievement at the end of his life. One does not have to lead a bank or run a million dollar corporation, to one day after retirement, look at the mirror and feel a sense of contentment. One does not have to become president to have a peaceful retirement with the satisfaction of a life well lived! I think this is an important lesson we need to learn if we are to avoid dejection and regret about a life not lived successfully.

Some men manage to impact the society with a magnitude that 99% of the remaining people can never dream of. So does that mean the remaining 99% of the people have nothing to be remembered for? Does this mean that an average person has nothing to feel good about after he has taken reprieve from the world for his bit of rest? No! The 1% may have impacted the society by sending a space craft to Pluto or discovering a cure for AIDS, but do they carry my daughter on their shoulders to see the fair? Do they go the extra mile to earn the few extra rupees to make my families life a little better? Do they have the time to sit with a friend of mine who has lost his loved one and needs a shoulder to cry on? Do they feed the street dog that faithfully lies at my gate expecting me to feed it because I have been it's savior?

No, they cannot do any of this for the people that you do it for! So no matter how much impact they have made on society it's you that has made an impact in your families life,in your friends life, in the lives of the all the people that you touch. You will be remembered for the extra effort you put in to help that child learn in your class. You will be remembered for the extra time you worked to ensure that your customer got his insurance amount on time! You will be remembered for shaping the life of your child and for showing them the person they could be! You will be remembered for the loving and caring partner that you were and helping your partner grow personally. You will be remembered by the poor little sick brown dog that you fed every day in spite of a busy life style!

An average man has a lot to his credit. No human being needs to feel they have not achieved in life. Achievement/success in today's mainstream media definition is limited to money, position/power and fame. They are the things being sold and therefore they are the things that are yearned for. Success does not have a static representation. It is different to different people. One mans success ends at a million and another's begins at it. One man's success is all about a happy family and another man's is all about a happy penguin.

If a man of Dr Kalam's stature with so many achievements under his belt could choose teaching as his most important achievement in life over all the other things that are deemed important by others, I don't see why we cannot choose what is closest to our heart and do our best at it and feel satisfied about a life well lived.

Our achievement could be as "trivial" as educating our children as much as their potential deems fit to see them excel in their lives or as "magnificent" as a cure for AIDS. Both of these are successful, only difference is how you choose to see it.

Writers rant

2015-07-21T09:46:00.002-07:00

There are days that you find everything worth writing about, like the puddles formed after last nights rain and the vendor who pushes his cart out every morning as you ride to work. There are also those days that you cannot find it in you to write about anything, even if it is the death of a loved one or the joy of the birth of your child. Then there are the days that you badly want to write, if only to prove to your dithering and now doubtful mind that you still have it in you to write, to offer your mocking mind some form of resistance in your fight to prove that you will write something of worth some day

I write about the things that matter to me only to realize it is not what matters to me but what matters to my perception of my readers that I am trying to pander to. Today my reader is a young man browsing the net aimlessly looking for his shoot of high from information, a very high if it is about phony social moral issues and even higher if it is about sleaze dressed up in the garb of "crime against women" or "rape in India, girl of 9 raped by uncle, atrocious news" or "this woman asks a man to have sex with her, but what he says will blow your mind"

So when I decide to write that kind of stuff, am I whoring out my skill to express the events of the world through my senses? Am I pandering to the lewdness of my readers and giving them a sexual high while I am getting my high of social recognition and positive reinforcement to continue to utilize my imagination and craft of words to gush out stories of decadence carefully camouflaged as ones of concern for the world and its meanness.

Where does a writer find his place in this world of 140 letters and zillion pixel cameras. Where does he find the human spirit of appreciation that is now mired in the need for materialism so great that they have time for only 140 character stories and pictures. His words do not create as many vivid colours of images as a video does. His words ask for the reader to create worlds in their minds rather than serve it up on a plate in high definition. His words do not give them the freedom to see it and go away in an instant. It instead asks for their attention, it asks to be spent time on, it asks to be thought about. And in today's world that is too much to ask for. There is war raging somewhere, there are actors getting married and movies being released. There are crimes of passion happening all around the country and there are politicians spouting acerbic, vicious words of divisiveness. There are internet trends to be followed and youtube videos to be watched. There are new social terms to be learned if you need to remain "cool". A writers words are nothing but sweat soaked thoughts written in a moment of inspiration, lost to the ravages of time, unable to cope with the speed and ease of the ubiquitous 140 characters, pictures/videos.

The world would rather talk about what that famous star wore to a concert than talk about how you felt when you held that new born kid in your hand. The world would be more interested in your deep and heavily thought about review of a movie rather than your thoughts about a book that talked about a family that lived happily and later slowly disintegrated on account of life's vagaries.

A writers place today is limited to a few hearts. The world has no time to extract his emotions or thoughts from his tools of expression; his words. A twitter account or an SLR camera could make a change and cater to his yearning for the spirits that kindle his flame of creativity, but it would never give him the joy of a verse well laid out, of an idea expressed as a string of words that expresses his every thought. He would lose his connection with the true world, he would be another temporarily famous 140 character or photograph...

Kaaka Muttai - Maslov's pyramid

2015-07-16T08:48:00.001-07:00

I expect movies to move me. When I go to a movie, I expect it to add value to me as much as a book does or even more, because of its easy to understand and follow nature. A movie has to inspire me, it has to leave me with something gained as I walk out. I think this attitude of mine was built from watching all the intense movies I was exposed to in Malayalam as a child. This most definitely is not agreeable to many friends of mine who are of the view that movies are nothing but an escape into magical worlds in order to forget the arduous and insipid lives we live. They are the pictorial portrayals of everything we yearn for in real life but never get around achieving. I have no refutation to either of these logics, and when a movie can do both, inspire and entertain- we have a winner.

Kaaka Muttai is one such movie that has successfully merged the so called "art movie" with a commercial one. That's about how much I will "review" the movie. What I really want to do here is to write about how it touched me and how it awoke in me a consciousness that exists in all of us,but never is never allowed to awaken.

While we run in our daily lives in pursuit of the things that we think will make us happy, there is another world out there that is striving too. But their struggle is for the things that we take for granted. While we have material comforts and yearn for more to move into the next level of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, there is a world out there without any of the basic amenities we have, that are equally or more happy than we are.

Every time I decide to buy something - I find myself asking this question - will I buy this thing if I wasn't looking for validation from the world? I remember the first time I had pizza - I despised it. I threw the entire pizza out of the car window surreptitiously so that my parents wouldn't chide me for pestering them to buy it for me and then throwing it away after only one bite. I wanted that pizza because the whole school was speaking about it, it was a "cool" thing to do then. Another example. I was really a poor dresser. There could not have been a shabbier dresser than me, but one day a friend refused to take me with her to a wedding with the grouse that I was dressed shabbier than she normally did even when chilling at home. That was enough to make me start dressing up - just so that I got validation.

This movie reminds us that in this world filled with unending desires and contrived needs (by corporations on the lookout for profit at any cost) to fit in and look good in societies eyes, there is a silent world co-existing, hidden away from the shiny city buildings and cool AC vehicles. And in this world, the desires of its inhabitants are simple - the lowest in the much spoken about Maslow's hierarchy of needs - physiological and security related.

What is a movie if it cannot make you wiser; if it cannot expose you to a pin headed size of hitherto unknown fact of life in this vast and endless world. This movie not only does this, it goes one step ahead and gives the viewer a view point that is bound to make her a more sympathetic person to the plight of the less fortunate humans of this world.

"Kaaka muttai" is the metaphor for the insight the movie gives - ugly and shunned like a crow this other world is, but it isn't by choice. Just because this hidden world or the crow is ugly it does not mean they don't have the same feelings, needs or aspirations that we do, or did at some point in our lives.

I am a feminist

2015-05-24T00:00:00.001-07:00

I am a feminist. Without a doubt, unlike most other classifications I could attribute myself to, I am sure that I am a feminist.

I am not the kind that goes around carrying a placard that says "I am feminist because.. " Neither am I the kind that goes all awestruck and sad seeing another TRP focused news blast about a kid or a woman getting raped. I am not the kind of feminist that uses the topic of feminism to market a product. I do not stand for the feminism that hates men; I do no stand for anything that perpetuates hatred for that matter.

In no measure can I say that I don't ask my wife to cook for me or to do some chore in the house. Neither do I deny the fact that I have expectations about the way she looks. I don't prescribe to mainstream ideas of feminism such as getting freedom to do something or infusing more representation of women in the bodies that govern us.

I do not shun jokes about women, I sometimes even laugh at them, though many are really poor and couldn't elicit as much as a snicker from anyone. I do not advocate women to stand up for their rights by dressing up in a certain way or by behaving in a certain way. I do not have much of a say for the campaigners who think women should be able to go about baring breasts as much as men go about baring their waxed six packs.

So what makes me a feminist and someone else not one?

I believe in equality for women not in the manifestations of equality such as dressing or symbolic representation. I believe in equality at a much deeper level. To me feminism means accepting the fact that women are no different to men in anything except for the difference in reproductive organs. They need not be treated differently, they need be condescended upon, they don't need to "given" their rights!

The choice to cook or not cook is hers! I know I am not entitled to it. How my wife wants to look is her choice. I may have expectations, but I will not impose them on her.

I will laugh at jokes about women as much as I laugh at jokes about men. Here the merriment is about the joke and not the subject of the joke. If one's joy at these jokes stems from the fact that it is a woman who is at the heart of the joke I have a problem with that.

I am of the opinion that most of the energy spent on women's equality in channeled into superficial but sensational things such as what a woman should be allowed to wear, about her sexual choices, about her being sexually abused (in great detail in some papers; I refer to it as word porn) - basically tabloid news items linking women always with sexuality!

I have a problem with famous movie stars and TV personalities that use women's rights and freedoms as a platform to better the brands that they endorse and our smart viewers being the ardent fans of stars as they are - lap it all up and then decide this is what feminism is all about. I have an issue with only rape being used as a talking point to forward the cause of women.

The problem with this pseudo feminist approach is that where proper awareness is to be imparted to people, wrong ideas are placed in their minds thus warping feminism into some kind of glamorous modern idea that holds good only for the upper classes of women - typically educated, young, city bred women. That is not true. We all know that women in the rural areas are as much or more abused and discriminated against than this typecast mascot women talking about women's rights.

If someone truly thinks they are feminist, they first of all need to be compassionate and humane, feminism is just a reference of this compassion towards women. If someone really wants to liberate women, they need to start respecting the women of their lives and their choices need to be acknowledged and accepted.

To be a true feminist you need to get up early one day, wash the utensils, wash the clothes, make breakfast and dinner, bathe the kids, make the coffee, get to work, put up with idiots who look at you with lecherous eyes, fight to be heard in order to break the glass ceiling, get back home, pick the kids up, make dinner, say yes to a sexually overactive partner in spite of being tired, and then get some sleep before being woken up by the kid for a nappy change and a feed. If you can be sensitive to all this and acknowledge that women deserve much much more than they get now, you can call yourself a feminist, anything else is just a fad. Grow up, read more and then you can come back to the topic of feminism.

Book review - A wild sheep chase, by Haruki Murakami

2015-04-26T00:33:00.003-07:00

As I typed the heading of this write up, I had a very humbling thought. A man revered for his skills of prose has written a masterpiece and me, an inconspicuous reader ventures to "review it". As a tug of war ensued in my mind I settled for an explanation that my adamant mind proffered. I am merely sharing my interpretation of some aspects of the book and also expressing thoughts that my mind generously gave rise to as it imbibed Mr Murakami's wonderful fictional snow capped mountains and log cabins. And therefore I stand vindicated of the crime of attempting to "review" someones work of sweat and blood while I sit in my boxers comfortably, in an air conditioned room sipping on cold coffee as the author spent hours of imagination and toil in creating something! If I could call this article by any other name other than a review I would, but for the sake of google search and my own vain need to be read I call it a review all the same.

It is a story on the lines of what Mr Murakami excels at - magical realism, a big term for something that simply denotes an equal measure of reality and imagination bordering reality and fantasy. It is a mystical tale set in Japan as all of Mr Murakami's other tales. As in all of his books that I have earlier read, it traverses multiple locations within Japan and has references to literature (Russian authors are his favourite I can now surely say), music, cats and the one most important theme of his works - loneliness. There is nobody like Mr Murakami to show how loneliness, like a drug, feels good and also obliterates. It's deep melancholy is articulated in the subtlest of ways but it's impact on the reader is immense and crushing!And the setting of the majority of the book does little to help reduce the loneliness - vast white sheets of ice, away from human contact, cut off from technology and noise!

The story is about the protagonists search for a sheep - that's the long and short of it. After having read Mr Murakami's IQ84 and Kafka on the shore I knew what to expect and so I was not thrown off balance. It is not Mr Murakami's stories that are compelling, it is the characters and their weirdness, their conversations and the descriptions. While the story itself is simple - the why and how are the reason to read this book. It is a relatively small book of about 250 pages. As with all of his books I sometimes lose track of the story and always have to re-read a few pages when starting off after a break - his stories are never linear, they traverse, they crisscross, they meander, they digress, they split and then all of a sudden it is again on track.

In one part of the book a character close to the protagonist suddenly disappears and the protagonist has no understanding of why. As the story ambles on among birch trees, ghostly white snow capped mountains and of course sheep, we see a character explaining that the person who disappeared had to just go - that's it. No explanations, no background and no description - for all its worth up to the point of disappearance the character has a lot of weight in the story! That's exactly how Mr Murakami writes - no definitions, no boundaries - his mind chooses a trajectory for a character and that's the trajectory it will take, no rules to govern it! And on the same note the ending of the book does not give a closure about the disappeared character either, so typical of Mr Murakami's writing. Sigh, that's the price one has to pay to enjoy the otherwise beautiful stories by this fantastic writer.

The book tells the story of how the author gets into the situation of having to look for one sheep all over Japan with only a picture in hand and a description of its looks. It then goes on to describe the journey that is filled with characters like a sheep obsessed professor, a man dressed like a sheep always, an alchoholic business partner and a girlfriend whose ears wield magic - a girl who is normal otherwise and extremely attractive with her ears exposed, as the protagonist describes. As I read the book I couldn't help but wonder if the writer is obsessed with having a healthy body - none of his characters are over weight - not in any book and every book has protagonists who are either without a single trace of fat (as described the author in IQ84) and multiple references to the protagonists weight and their need to get rid of it as is in this book! I think Mr Murakami is a health freak!

Another funny thing I noticed - every character in this book is a smoker - ok not every, almost. It made me wonder if the Japanese of the 1970's and 80's must have been quite the smokers! And just as with an earlier book in this one too the protagonist quits smoking after an incident - just like that, cold turkey. Talk about recurring themes! I am beginning to think that Mr Murakami's characters all seem to have a similar thread in them all!

All said and done it is a nice descriptive breezy read, no complicated theories or concepts- just a simple story carried forward by strong, believably strange and amusingly weird characters!

There is nothing much I can say as an intellectual or informative takeaway from this book - its pure and distilled fiction - a crazy one at that. Worth a read for just that!

A silent night

2015-03-29T05:23:00.003-07:00

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It was pitch dark. A silent night it was, without any moonlight. A consistent breeze kept sweeping the leaves that fell from the Ashoka tree outside the house. A mild rasping sound they made, as the dried up leaves swirled with the wind. The dogs howled in a distance, an eerily similar sound of human wails, plaintive wails of the ghosts of tortured men. The path that led from the gate to the house was deserted with only the faint light from the small bulb in front of the house to give it a slight illumination. The yellow light gave the entire view an insidious look, one of decayed and horrific emptiness. The road beyond the gate was not visible. It was one large empty space of blackness. What horrors stood there my mind asked itself. It imagined up white clad enchanting looking ghosts with razor sharp teeth and anemic vengeful eyes looking for my blood. It conjured images of terrifying faces with coagulated blood and dripping tissue. I shuddered and looked around to make sure I was alone.

It was on a dark and silent night like this that I had finished off Kumari. Her eyes, as I took her pathetic life has been haunting me for days now. How easy it had been, just to strangle her with her own saree and then put her up on the beam of the house to make it a suicide. The entire village knew about our wretched life and there was no surprise when it was done. I had tried to make everything work, didn't I? But the woman would never come down and agree for anything no matter how much I was willing to try. I even suggested we could all live together, me her and Prema, but she wouldn't listen. She started off with that sassy mount of hers. I could't stand her nagging anymore. And the last straw was when she threatened to go to the women's police station. I was having enough trouble with the men's station and here this dirty bitch wanted to get me hooked under a women's police station. Prema was only too happy to get rid of her. I decided to end it once and for all. I had borne with her constant nagging and castigation's enough. And so on a night just like tonight I finished her off.

Ever since that night I have a sense of someone watching me all the time. I have this sensation of someone standing besides me always. In the nights when Prema was there it was alright but spending nights alone has become a torturous affair. The finger I had to chop off of her hand to keep the ring added to my misery. I had a faint feeling that Kumari was coming back for her finger. Tonight it was worse than usual. The night was quieter than ever and dogs were howling more than usual. Was it in welcome of Kumari's departed soul? The hairs of my hands and legs are on bristle. I can hear my heart beat thumping and the cursed dancing leaves seem to be some vicious portent of oncoming evil.
Inside the hut was even worse than outside. With the oil lamp on, the dancing shadows were sinister and without an oil lamp in the dark I couldn't help but feel Kumari lying next to me and asking for her finger back.

The gate creaked open. Was it the wind? Or was I imagining things? No it had creaked open. It couldn't be the wind. I had secured it last night with the bolt. The wind could not have opened a closed gate. I couldn't breathe. As the sweat trickled on my brow and back I heard a twig snap. A rustle among the dropped leaves. Was it anklets? The jingling noise was unmistakably that of anklets. And they came towards me in measured and sure footed slow steps. Oh heavens, was this the end? It was a saree clad woman. I could make out her form as she got closer towards the house. Her form eerily inched closer and I could discern the features from the dim yellow light now falling on her form the veranda light. I froze.....

As Prema came closer my relief and joy knew no bounds. My anger rose but my relief overpowered it and I smiled at her, my smile must have been a big one for she had a questioning look on her face. She came and sat besides me.

"What are you doing here at this time of the night Prema?" I asked.

"Appan slept off in his drunken stupor and seeing the nice breezy night I couldn't sleep. I wanted to spend the night with you" she said avoiding his eyes and looking down in shyness.

He was thrilled at the thought of her presence that night. It had two reasons, one was carnal and the other was the relief of not having to live in fear until the morning came.

He smiled at her and chided her playfully for having sneaked upon him and scaring him like she had done. He lustily looked at her. She had an unusual glow today. Her white saree accentuated her beauty. The slight fragrance of the jasmine flowers in her hair wafted to his nostrils and the heady smell allured him. He looked at her longingly; with a renewed courage went alone to the gate, locked it and came back. He sat there gazing at her beauty and enjoying the night. How much of a change her presence brought about. A frightening night had suddenly blossomed into one of amazing beauty. He smiled to himself at the opportunities that lay before him on this night, a night that barely ten minutes ago was as frightening as death itself.

As he sat there the winds gently caressed his face and her saree playfully moved up and down revealing her hips and bosom. He wanted her and was wondering if to take her in right away or enjoy the breeze a few more minutes.

As if reading his mind she stood up silently and walked into the house with a sly smile. He followed her and in the darkness made out her figure sitting on the string cot. He went up to her and sat down. He laid her down and slowly moved on top of her. As he held her hands he felt something amiss. Her left hand was missing a finger.

The villagers vouched that they heard nothing the previous night. Maybe it was the winds or maybe it was the magic of the Yakshi's they said.

Ponnan's body was found the next day pinned to the coconut tree outside his house. It had deep gashes and the blood had been drained - a pale blue corpse it was. One finger on the left hand was missing and the blue box in which Ponnan locked up all his worldly belongings was missing.

The burden of being a woman

2015-03-23T23:09:00.002-07:00

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I asked my niece to bring me some water to drink. She wasn't in the mood to do it, she was watching a TV show with the family and so didn't want to leave. She said she didn't want to go, but she was promptly asked by all the family members to help me with water.

The TV show we were watching was showing a "debate" about the problems between sister in laws with the wives on one side and all the sister in laws on the other side. A "facilitator" stood in between regulating the discussions and looking for points which could be dramatized for better TRP ratings. In between this an ad came on showing Yami Gautam conducting a test of fairness creams from India and various "developed" nations and comes up with the verdict that the Indian cream wins hands down!

I see a few colleagues of mine who run to the wash room when they reach office first thing in the morning, majority of them women. One male colleague made fun saying "why are you coming through the back door of office" to which the female colleague replied sheepishly I had to do my hair and make up as I left home late. The bathroom is at the back of the office and so she chose to come that way.

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Another obnoxious colleague of mine makes all these sexist jokes that is heartily laughed at, surprisingly not just by men but by the women themselves. And then there is atrocious story of a woman colleague at my wife's office who has been let go because she got pregnant. World wide statistics clearly state women are payed lesser than men. A casual look around any office space will tell you how much of women are actually given opportunities - when I mean opportunities I don't mean the companies themselves, but society as a whole. There was a time when Indian women going to work were castigated by the mother in laws and the neighborhood aunties for being too forward and not being there to take care of the husband and kids. Today the same mother in laws and neighborhood aunties take the liberty to advice women on why they should not waste their time in being a home maker and should work irrespective whether you like it or not. This link will tell you all about it - http://akkarbakkar.com/pompous advice on homemakers choice!!.

I was reading English translation of the controversial Tamil book "Maathorubaagan" by Perumal Murugan and it was revolting and disgusting to see how a woman was treated by the society for not being able to conceive. The sad part was that nobody knew whether it was the woman that was unable to conceive or the man, but our woman friendly society just chose the woman to harangue.

Then there are the lovely new songs sung by our great Mr Dhanush and Anirudh and Sivakaarthikeyan and Simbu about how women are always the one ditching men in relationships and how they ought to be beaten up and meted out with harsh treatment for their heartlessness and exercising their choice to accept or reject men that approach her.

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Not to mention the magazines and movies and media that is filled with anorexic women half dressed with pouting lips and asses screaming about the definition of beauty that serves only one purpose - filling the coffers of corporate houses. If women get any slimmer we would have skeletons covered in a patina of skin - and then there would be a term to call it the new vogue in beauty - maybe they'll call it the size "minus fifty". We have our elected representatives in the parliament and outside of it speaking brilliant verses about women's skin colour and reproduction abilities - like they were some domesticated animals designed to procreate and care for everyone around them!

We have government initiatives that give incentives for bearing women children at one end and on the other end we have female infanticide and ever increasing disparity in the sex ratios. It would be amazing fun to see men folk forced into accepting other men as life partners for want of the women species! That would be a lesson well served. We have stalwarts and great thinkers that exclaim proudly about great Indian women like Indira Gandhi and Kalpana Chawla while their wives would be slogging in the kitchen on women's day - ironically the world would be shouting out on how much their women mean to them - the usual descriptions of sacrifice, love, care, softness, affection and so on.

The Indian army proudly displays a contingency of women at the Republic day parade who are mere display dolls for they would not be allowed to lead any regiment, because the Indian Army admits that men are not yet ready to report into a woman commander. Indian women in the villages are called the Goddess Lakshmi of the houses and the same women are killed for the honour of the family. Women are considered the Goddesses of fertility and procreation and the same women are forced into the trade of prostitution for petty money.

Being a woman is a burden. The Goddesses of our homes are merely symbols - they only exist in honey tongued words. I hope we teach our children the merits and the importance of equality and fairness and why the sex does not matter. I hope our next generation is one that treats all human beings the same. Until then let's just keep writing, talking, sharing and telling the world how wrong it is to treat our Goddesses the way they are!!!

Wild swans - A book on China, communism, Mao and his atorcities

2015-03-22T20:55:00.002-07:00

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China - the word brings to our mind images of sprawling industries, bustling cities cloaked in heavy smog, the great wall of China, the wondrous landscape, and finally Mao - the harbinger of change in a country that today is all set to surpass far advanced societies as the largest economy in the world. Mao is revered in China. His banner hangs proud in the ill fated Tienanmen square, famous for its killing thousands of demonstrators in 1989 in a move to show no mercy against the governments detractors.

Mao is said to be the man who turned around a country that until his helmsman ship was just an oriental outpost with wars with Japan and a lot of infighting. He is celebrated and given credit for the success that China is today.His inspirations go far and wide - he has inspired a group of leftist extremists in India who call themselves Maosists. But there is a side of him that China's officials do not acknowledge and will not speak about. Under his iron fisted rule, there were atrocities against the common men that was horrendous and beyond what words can describe. At a time when all of these hidden truths were buried within the closed walls of China one lady set out to tell the world about life under Mao and events before and after him, how it impacted the lives of her parents and people around her. She set out to lay bare the facts of a megalomaniac who believed that the only thing that could keep him in power was constant violence, hatred and fighting among people. The book that came out was called "Wild swans"

The book starts of with the story of the authors grand mother who was forced to become a concubine to a powerful military general by her fathers will. The reason behind the fathers wish was simple - he was in the military himself and his ambitions to go up the hierarchy was to be achieved by trading her with the man who had the power to help him achieve his wishes. This part of the story talks about life in the China before communism. I couldn't help but notice the patriarchy ingrained in Chinese life and I was able to see similarities in the way women were treated in China and India. They were not expected to make decisions and had no choice. They were objects of desire and the more concubines one had, the more social status is bequeathed on him. There is a passage on how the Chinese women bound their feet and the cultural impact of it. Just reading it made me shiver, such excruciating pain they had to endure and it lasted a life time!

This part of the book describes a lot of the cultural aspects of China and how much a woman suffers because of these. The fears of a woman who is a concubine confined within a house whose "husband" comes once in a blue moon but has servants who also double up as spies to report anomalies in the woman's behavior. The fears of losing favor of these servants or of the husband's actual wife.In the course of all this she bears the generals child, a daughter. As if in respite to all the pain in the ladies life, after her "husband" passes away she marries a traditional Chinese doctor and things are different now. She is happy until the much older doctor's sons and daughter in laws from his previous marriage begin to revolt against the lady for fear of losing their share of the wealth to her and her offspring. The doctor, a very gentle man leaves the house with the authors grandmother and the daughter for a town.

This is when the communist revolution begins. A lot of fighting between the communists and the army "Kuomintang" begins and after a few eventful years communist rule begins. It started off as a peoples revolution and the intentions were genuine.like all communist regimes. People actually benefit from the equal distribution of food and the ideology encourages better treatment of women. All was rosy and it was during this rule that the second protagonist of the story emerges. The authors mother like most kids of the time became a party member and rose to great heights within the party. She married a man who also was a party member and both held high positions in the party. One of their powerful woman colleagues tries to seduce the authors father but her rejects her advances and there the problems begin.

The woman who felt spited by the rejection rises to extremely powerful positions and uses every bit of power entrusted in her to ruin their lives - this became a common practice in communist China. Officials abused power to settle personal scores. This was especially possible because Mao came into picture and the megalomaniac that he was, began to spur the masses into witch hunts for anti communist people. These anti communist people included all kinds of intellectuals, people with any connection to the Kuomintang, people who showed the lightest hint of dissent. Violence broke out and sadly the authors parents are caught up in it and the authors father being the principle driven officer mouths dissent against Mao. The family now has 5 children including the authors sister and 3 brothers. The family is split. Mao 's famous call to produce steel during the period of the "Great leap forward" begins resulting in a famine that kills millions of people. The torment that the people go through is sure to bring tears to ones eyes.

Mao's fear of losing power keeps him stoking the fire of violence and the tumultuous period of the families life begins. The mother and father are separated, the mother is held in detention and the father forced into bonded labor in the harshest part of China. The children grow with their grandmother and are ostracized.

The methodology used by Mao to instigate people and the policies he advocates to ensure his power does not wane made me wonder about how much cruelty humans are capable of. He does it so smartly that nobody even has the first thought to attribute the miseries of their life to him or the party. Foreign contact is completely off limits, no publications, no movies, no music or arts of any form. No education was allowed. Some of the rules were atrocious to say the least - for eg: normal greeting were replaced with Mao's quotations. So you go to a grocer's store and instead of "Good morning" one would say "Down with the counter revolutionists". People were sent off to rural lands to work as labourers because Mao believed that they needed to live the life of peasants. Doctors, Teachers and all other professionals were specifically targeted and exiled into harsh territories as laborers. The fear of uprising was always on Mao's mind and the most probable instigators of this would be the educated ones. And so he made education farcical without any proper syllabus or teachers. He condemned arts and history or anything traditional as bourgeois and the flock of people eager to impress him go about destroying anything of historical importance. Worse than all this he branded anything aesthetically beautiful as capitalist and therefore anything of beauty from a flower garden to a beautifully made up girl was kept in check, the garden by being destroyed and the girl by being censured in one of the widely and all to frequently held denunciation meeting.

Mao was always on the lookout for anything that might jeopardize his position.And so during his rule until his ripe 80's he denounced many of his close aides, the very ones that helped him achieve all that he had. The changing point in the life of the Chineses came after the demise of Lin Bao, Mao's closest aide and the man who oversaw the operations and administration of the Mao regime.

Mao dies and China begins to change. The authors mother goes to great lengths to get the families names clarifies in the books. In between of this the authors father goes insane for a brief period with all the denunciation meetings he is forced into and the torture he is subjected to. The authors father dies at 54 and her grand mother dies before him . With all the torture and pain and suffering the author had already begun to internally question communism.

The list of the anguishes the people of China faced cannot be boiled down into this post of mine, in fact how the author manages to pen it down with so much lucidity amazes me - such raw wounds would have opened up in her.

The book ends with the author being able to go to the UK for higher education and she becomes aware of the fact that the West had no ides of the repressed and sad life of the Chinese. With encouragement from her mother she writes the book, self admittedly as she states it herself, to let the world know the truth about life in Mao's China.

This book is a must read for the wealth of information it provides of China's cultural heritage, about the ugly side of the perfect communist ideology but why it fails all the time. It opens ones eyes to how much one man is willing to do to keep his power intact - no matter how many lives are lost and no matter how the power is protected. It is beautiful for the fact that it gives an insight into the political background in Mao ruled China through the daily lives of a normal family likes yours and mine. And the impact that a political system can have on the daily lives of a common man just makes itself extremely clear from this book.

One of the best historical books I have read in a long time!

This book is a real life version of what one man envisaged about communism much before all of this. The book is called 1984 and the author is George Orwell.

Not a happy women's day

2015-03-07T20:44:00.003-08:00

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All the messages I see on social media and all the wishing a happy women's day though extremely encouraging, is a travesty to women's rights and freedom in our country. While we go online and wish the women in our lives on a day dedicated to wish them, how many of us have taken the pains to make their lives easier, if not tolerable?

I was at a restaurant recently and the family opposite to me was having a nice family outing. The young girl of the family ordered something and her brother did too. The father ordered what the boy wanted and after censuring the daughter with a hand gesture as if hitting her, he ordered something else for her and her mother - it was a sad sight. Don't women have the right to even choose food of their liking?

Being a woman in today's world is a fight in itself. At home they are expected to be the saviour and the ships captain, first mate, scrubbing boy and engineer, sometimes even used as the safety boat when in trouble! At work they are given lower salaries, ridiculed and given lower priority for career growth. Why, in fact a woman is not considered for a promotion or a raise because she would have to take off for sometime when she has a child - she is a child bearing machine you see!

The truth of the matter is this - a woman cannot step out of the house today without worrying. Unlike a man she is judged in every step of her life. She is fat, she is ugly, she is uptight, she is flirty, she is slutty, she is "maal", she is a natural beauty, she is overly made up, she is over dressed, she is under dressed, she is not a good girl, she is homely - the list is endless. And so when a woman decides to step out of her home she has to be conscious about how she looks, what she wears, how she walks, how she speaks - is there a moment when a woman can be herself? The simple truth is that being a woman in today's world is not an easy task!

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A guy decides to go get ice cream at 12 at night. He decides, goes, gets it, comes home and sleeps. A woman decides to go get ice cream at 10 PM. Is it safe? Her mother/father/husband/brother/room mate/friend in all probability will not allow her to, truth be told I wouldn't let my loved ones out alone at night - we have made it a world where women need to be scared! Even beyond all of this, if she goes - the stares she gets makes one feel any woman going out after 9 at night is a sex worker!

While a lot of our liberal minded stalwarts take a dig at sectarian countries where women don't have a choice to live their lives the way they deem fit, our country isn't too different. Women are looked down on. Even today a girl child is not seen with the same joy as a male child. Recently a relation of ours had a child. Her in laws had accumulated a lot of jewelry for the little one and on knowing it was a girl child they decided to not gift the jewelery and further more the partly paralyzed father in law refused to hold the baby in his arms. When I go to my native village and as required by custom fall at the feet of older family members, the blessing is always the same - may you live happily in life and be blessed with a male heir! I have tried reasoning with a few of them about how a girl child is as good or even better - deaf ears and a look on their face saying - "what impudence!"

I was at a family gathering when a heated argument started between me and a girl cousin of mine. She stormed off. While I had other reasons to see my side of the argument as right, all other family members had only one reason to say I was right - a woman cannot raise her voice like that, women ought to be quiet and calm.

Inequality is everywhere - it's in the Indian army. The army recently displayed a regiment of women at the republic day parade. All nice and dandy, but did anyone know that women are still not allowed in the front line jobs in the army in India? The justification given by the great organization is that our country is not ready for this as yet, men reporting into women would be a problem. I understand that an organization like the army needs to be practical but if the utterly respected army follows a principle of this nature, it is impossible to expect any other organization or person to behave otherwise.

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If a man is overweight nobody cares, if a woman is overweight she is ugly. If a man works late he is working hard for the family, if a woman woks late she is ignoring the family. If a man decides not to do household chores he is taking a break from the stress, if a woman chooses to take a break (after house work, office work, taking care of the kids, taking care of her parents, taking care of her in laws) she is avoiding responsibility. If a man dresses up he is smart, if a woman dresses up she is trying too hard. If a man under dresses no one cares, but if a woman under dresses she is ugly. A man wakes up brushes, has his coffee, reads his papers, shaves, showers, has breakfast and goes to work. A woman wakes up, brushes, makes coffee, wakes the kids up, gets them ready, makes breakfast, gets ready, makes lunch to pack, goes through the stress of make up and dress up and then goes to a job that will look down upon her for the simple and utterly irrelevant fact that she has a uterus and a vagina instead of a penis!

It is not a happy woman's day! I know I sound all pessimistic and forlorn about the plight of our women, but only this awareness will bring about change in our world. Our women deserve love, care, affection, sympathy, but more than any of this she deserves respect and equality!

This post is dedicated to the women of my life, who have silently borne all the hardships to make my life better, happier and more fulfilling.

Unfaithful

2015-02-23T08:38:00.001-08:00

His mind was in shambles. He couldn't focus anymore on work nor could he focus on Ashwini as she now nibbled his ears playfully. His attention was constantly on how he was going to break the news to Priya. He was imagining all the possible reactions it would elicit. He had now been with her for over 5 years but was not able to imagine what her reaction would be. Would she be angry? Would she cry and shut herself in the room? Would she take the new kitchen knife they had got and stab him?

What bothered him even more was the fact that she had not yet discovered his secret. She was extremely smart and never missed noticing things about him no matter how small like a small change in his demeanor or a change in the way his clothes smelt and so on. He consoled himself saying it was his guilt ridden mind playing tricks.

"Are you not in the mood Ashok?" Ashwini asked. "You seem lost these days. You are forever immersed in your own thoughts. You only make a few hours time for me and that too you spend on your stupid office thoughts.

He was relieved she thought it was office thoughts. He didn't want another of those fights about him not telling Priya about them. He meant to break it open and get it over with but he was not able to find the courage. She had been a devoted wife, always on the lookout for him and the kids. He was not able to tell her that he expected more out of life than her just being a good wife and mother. He wanted her to join him in his social circle, to be a balancing figure in his life. Their lifestyles were disparate and he knew it from the beginning. But he didn't imagine that one difference would lead him here, into another woman's arms.

"Priya, you know me so well. Yes it is office work that is bothering me" he said and hugged her tight as he kissed her. As he switched off the light, a fleeting image of Priya lying on the couch waiting for him to join her for dinner passed his mind. He ignored it and joined Ashwini under the sheets.

When he left Ashwini's place it was already 11 PM. It was an hour past the time he had said he would be home. Earlier he would call Priya and inform her of delays, but they became so frequent off late that he didn't inform her and she didn't ask. He had told her that he was given the additional responsibility of managing a few more clients accounts and so had to stay up late for a few days. This was what he had told her a year back since his affair started. The very same socializing that he considered important in his life gave him the circumstance or rather the opportunity to get into all of this. It was an office party at one of the best bars in town. He had been drinking hard and ended up dancing with a girl.

From there the usual courting and things happened and the lying at home as well. A few months down the line he told Ashwini of his marriage, along with a barrage of lies about an unhappy marriage and how it was killing him. It was a blatant lie and he knew it, he was in a marriage of complete pleasantness, but he wanted more. He wanted excitement, not the boring secure marriage he was in.

He promised Ashwini he would end it as soon as the time was right. He played the same story every day until now. She understood his fear and threatened to end it if he did not take the next step.

He stopped at the corner shop to light a cigarette, to delay the inevitable by a few more minutes. He reminisced about the days when he felt so in love with Priya and he didn't know how to express it. Was he making a mistake? His mind wanted it all. Priya's love, care, affection and stability and Ashwini's excitement, spontaneity and youth. Somewhere in all these thoughts he decided he was making a mistake but he was too deep into it all now.

He got home and as he had expected she lay on the couch waiting for him. He sat beside her and she smiled as she arose and saw him.She got up to serve dinner and he said he had eaten. She still had a half-hearted smile though her disappointment came through.

"Priya - there is something I have to talk to you about."

"Tell me Ashok" she said, smiling still.

"I am sorry Priya, there is someone in my life other than you. I am in love with someone else" he said plaintively as if he was the one hurt.

He watched her with discerning eyes, to see what she was thinking, to see how she would react.

She sat down on the couch and still smiling looked at him. "I know Ashok. I have known it from the time it started. I knew it from the time you came home late from that office party. You have no idea how much I know you. Even the smallest things about you are of utmost importance to me. You think I didn't know when you skipped meals at home all these days? I waited for two reasons Ashok. One was in the hope that it was a mistake and that you'd set it right and come clean and the second; I wanted you to come and tell me rather than me ask. Please don't ask forgiveness and abase yourself. I am still in love with you and will be for who you were, but this is not one of those things that is forgiven and dealt with.

I have applied for work again and am starting off this coming week. I will move out with the kids in a weeks time. Good night"

He sat in the darkness, his mind doing the if only argument. If only he hadn't drunk as much. If only he hadn't met Ashwini. He now knew for sure that it was mistake of massive proportions. He also knew it was destroyed now- his happy marriage. There was no way it was going to be set straight.

Conversions - into smarter citizens!!!

2015-02-20T07:20:00.001-08:00

All this commotion about re-conversion and laws to curb coerced conversion, I had to share my opinion on this. After all I am a citizen of this beautifully secular country. The BJP that mooted the point of instating a law to curb "coerced" conversions has suddenly pulled the "I was misquoted" trick - courtesy Mr Venkiah Naidu. It looks like the Delhi elections had had quite a sobering effect on their hindutva ambitions. The added push came from our PM's chaddi buddy Mr Obama as he stated it not once but twice about the sudden surge of communal intolerance in India. Mr Modi, quite the fast learner I have to hand it to him, made changes. He suddenly came out into a christian function addressing the nation about the freedom of choice for its subjects as far as religion is concerned.

The VHP is going all out to make itself heard and with all its might it is managing a few furtive conversions spread sporadically across the country. Their initiative can be called tepid at best. Their antics are really not worth a mention anywhere as all that they seek is publicity, and what other way to court fame than to display decadence in public! They are getting the publicity they want but they are missing the point entirely. A look at the voting pattern in Delhi in recently concluded assembly elections will tell even a child that hindutva is a failing propaganda in India today. They are a little too late on the hindutva bandwagon to have a positive impact on the vote bank anymore.

Now a small look at conversions in our country. Hinduism was a religion that held on to a long time in our country. It has been there in spite of rule by dominant islamic and buddhist rulers. It has also stood the time of the british, who were completely christian. So then what prompted the hindus to convert when the missionaries came. What prompted our steadfast hindus to choose buddism? The answer to this is glaringly available to us in every city, every village and every town of our country.

Last week I was having a discussion on the rout of the BJP in Delhi with a friend. The topic as expected swerved to the failing of hindutva and hate politics. As we approached the conversion issue my friend recounted a story from his life. He hails from a village that looks upon his family as one of great influence and respect. They have wielded respect from the villagers for generations. Recently when this friends brother was in the village he saw a bunch of people of the dalit community walking towards him wearing sandals. He called them up and beat the pulp out of them for the impunity they displayed - how could they wear sandals and shirts in front of him? On being asked by his family members he spewed venom about how these low lives have suddenly become so brazen.

I used to live in the house of an old lady when I was in school. I remember her mouthing filth about the men who came to her house to do the farm work. They were not allowed on the cement courtyard of the house and had a separate can of water kept a little away form the house if they wanted water to drink.

Kerala at one time had the unique disturbing distinction of seeing its lower caste women walk around without covering their breasts. This was the unwritten rule promulgated by the higher caste brahmins and any behavior in contrast to this decree would be met with punitive action.

And that is the reason for conversions. Plain, simple cruel inhuman discrimination is what pushed conversions in our country. Who would want to let go of traditions, customs and culture if there wasn't a strong enough reason to? The caste hindus pushed their brethren into destitution in the name of class divide and today when they have found better lives here comes along the custodians of religion wanting to bring them back.

Let us get back to the Delhi campaign again. It gives me joy every time to reminisce about the BJP's debacle, but that apart please take a look at the image below that is a courtesy of The Hindu.Only two categories of people accorded the BJP votes that was a sizable portion of its population. And no surprise to see one of them was caste hindus or brahmins if you will. It is no coincidence that Mr Mohan Bhagawat is exhorting his minions to bring in more of dalits into the folds of the RSS. It is imperative to their survival.

Although I think that VHP's intentions are clearly on attracting publicity, I have an idea for them and for all the hindu custodians to prolong their hold on hindu followers. Why don't you try to make your religion more accommodative for everybody? Why don't you guys try to be a little more humane and then maybe you can prevent even more defections. Maybe you can then preserve the existing lot. If you are blind to the fact of religious oppression, visit a few villages in Madurai, Erode, Bihar, UP etc and I am sure you will be enlightened.

The youth wont budge though, they're a smart lot - they know that all you politicians are a bunch of leeches constantly on the lookout for the next victim! Delhi is a proof of this.

The proposal

2015-02-15T00:08:00.005-08:00

Image source - http://health.howstuffworks.com/relationships/advice/how-to-propose-to-your-girlfriend1.htm

"Do you love me?" She asked him as they walked languidly hand in hand to nowhere in particular.

"Yes, I do. Without an iota of doubt. With absolute clarity I do." He replied as he watched for her expression, but she gave away nothing.

She looked ahead without turning to him. Her stoic expression was only an external one. Her mind was bouncing with joy. She was delirious with joy but the fear that she always had about being open and then getting hurt prevented her from showing her mirth.

They stopped at a small piece of land that jutted out into the abyss below. The view was astounding. Verdant hills in the far off horizon looking blue and enigmatic with clouds passing by and a hazy mist in the front to give an aura of mysterious lands. She looked at the mountain tops and wondered how it would be to go live up there. Just her and maybe this new found love of hers. No one to bother them or no commitments to hold her back. The hermit like life was something she thought she would like.

He looked at her face directed towards the far of hills. Her mind was filled with thoughts, he could see. Her brows furrowed and her eyes twitching every now and then .He could see she was feeling intense things. He didn't want to distract her. He turned towards the view and saw a small streak of smoke from one of the houses in the valley below. It engendered in him thoughts of a warm village with its quaint little houses and streets. The warmth of the people around and the small little parlour where he would sit with his book besides a fireplace. A mellowed and social little life among the people of his village - this would be a life that suited him he thought.

She looked at him and seeing him lost in thought squeezed his hand a little tighter and he was back in her gazer, smiling.

"Shall we move on?" she asked.

He smiled and nodded. He would have liked to stay on but he reasoned that this road was filled with such breathtaking views and they would sooner or later reach up on another one.

As they walked he could see the mist from her breath as she exhaled. She saw him watching her and turned towards him with a look on her face that asked him what it was.

He shook his head, took her arm around his waist while he put his around her shoulders so that he could get closer. He whispered in her ear - " I have something to tell you."

He knew she would push him away. She had very sensitive ear lobes and it tickled her to just have his mouth near her ears. But she seemed to like the warmth in the cold weather. She looked up at him and looking into his eyes with all the gentleness in the world asked him what it was.

He stopped and turned to face her. He held her hands and looked at her intensely.

"This phase of my life with you has been the happiest so far. These are the memories that I want to cherish for the rest of my life. For the first time in my life I am without a doubt sure about something - you. Will you marry me?"

She looked at him with the same stoic expression on her face. The pause seemed like eternity to him. She smiled for the first time that day, a sparkling gleam in her eyes and said "Yes".

He smiled, kissed her cheeks, took her hands and began walking again. She was again dancing with joy inside.

He went back to imagining life in the warm village with her and she went back imaging a life in the woods all by themselves, just her and him and the silent trees.

'

Nostalgia

2015-02-11T08:48:00.000-08:00

A sparkling new but stolid looking building stood in one corner of the compound. The old building was razed down and had given way for plots for the three families that inherited the property of their forefathers. The land rate was now phenomenal and a house in this area was a gold mine. There were a few plants left adjoining the compound wall - among which I spotted a curry leaf bush; a warm memory of someone picking it off fresh for the rasam flashed across my mind. Deja Vu or memory my mind fails to establish.

I walked along the path that was once an overgrown tract of land in one corner of the house of my grandparents. It was left to grow wild with no care and it had assorted plants ranging from the curry leaves, lemon trees, gooseberry trees and thick undergrowth that was rumored to harbour snakes. An old door used to open out to this area and every time I opened the door as a child, it was akin to entering another world fraught with danger and still to be explored for the rewards of fresh gooseberries and guavas. It was an adventure that one savored day after day as a child exploring the world within a compound.

The new building was large. It was constructed with the latest offerings in the market, glittering white tile floors, shining polished brown doors with dead bolts and hi-tech locks. The bathroom fittings were all sophisticated with multiple taps and tubes. Arty lights adorned the walls and air conditioning was available in all the rooms. The kitchen was well stocked with all forms of utensils and provisions. It was the new age home of the wealthy and one couldn't ask for more and yet my heart wasn't able to feel joy.

In one corner of the compound stood a small concrete tank that adjoined the front facing wall of the house. Memories of skinny dipping in it came to me. Appatha would yell from the house saying that was the water we had for the day as water supply was scant, regardless of which I enjoyed my bath while my dad and Ayya stood laughing at my antics. Adjoining this tank was a well. It was home to a group of sparrows that got jittery whenever I was close by. They would go in an out of the well with twigs and feathers to cosy up their nest. The well had disappeared now. Only the tank stood testimony to my brief but wonderful childhood memories of my grandparents home.

As I look at the modern building and the old ramshackle tank I felt deep sadness. With time even the current vestiges would disappear and give way for more new buildings. That would no doubt garner quite a phenomenal economic value, but who is to tell the world that memories matter more?

My nostalgic moments which brought a smile to my face ended with a frown brought by the knowledge that I was seeing my childhood being chipped away, brick by brick.