Death

Death comes knocking
Odd hours, odd places
For some it arrives before birth
While for some its long lonesome paralytic wait
Unpredictable
Death comes knocking at odd Time

It hits young and old
even while crossing road
Its even an internal malignant growth

For dictators and leaders
Its powerful weapon of war
But for plenty its a humble means of livelihood

Sometimes Death wears fierce mask and shakes Earth
Buries, drowns people, animals in sleep
Sometimes it even makes a smart move
It forces mad self to plunge dagger into self

Death, death, death
Stalks Life
Spares no one
Erases all
But leaves us with metaphors for poetry, epitaph
Unavoidable, unpredictable and inevitable death

Aai - My Mother

It’s been a month, but still my mind is unable to register her tragic death.  I can’t make sense of the sudden fire accident which took her away from me. She had been making early morning tea for decades, how could she err on that fatal morning? Was she becoming forgetful? Questions like these hound me -questions without answers. 

Like her death, I can’t make sense of her life too. There are such extreme dichotomies that it seems surreal. Some people’s life peak at youth or middle age or much later – hers had peaked when she was hardly in her early youth. Thanks to her liberal father, who owned a photo-studio and travel agency she had wide exposure even in a small dusty town like Bijapur. They had an in-house bakery and a museum collection (which was all lost, that is another story for another day). Their household had entertained everyone from foreigners, travellers to political leaders of India’s freedom movement. My grandfather had walked with Mahatma Gandhi during the famed satyagraha movements and there are photographs of all great political stalwarts which bear testimony to this fact. He had even been to Noakhali which is now in Bangladesh. When I try to think of her childhood, I can only imagine a lively household, buzzing with activity and people. She had studied only till school finals but she had gone on to participate in cycle rallies, lawn tennis and other sports activities to represent her town and district at different levels even after that. She was accomplished classical singer who had given solo performance at Mysore Darbar and sung freedom songs at political rallies. She even had Nehru patting her back after one such performance. She was such a free outgoing free bird who was pushed by marriage into a diametrically opposite household. My father came from an orthodox Brahmin family. I think that’s when her decline began. Maybe Mysore performance was her peak, so it had to go downhill from there.

It must have been difficult for her to fit into my father's small mud house full of restrictions and regulations. The house even lacked a toilet. She often talked about humiliation of walking down to common toilet with curious eyes peeping to see the new bride. But she lived through it all and she made her marriage work in spite of restrictions which included a ban on her solo singing performances in public. I really don’t know what made her stick to such a marriage. Maybe she had no choice because soon after her marriage she gave birth to two children in a row. Then I came along unexpectedly years later. Children are a kind of magic glue which make even odd marriages work.

I always saw her as a strict, bitter but fun loving and spirited woman. She had refused to tag along with my father to different cities he was transferred to. She opted to live alone with three children in a suburb near Bombay which had pretty decent English medium school nearby. She was a pretty autocratic mother. She had imposed a ban on playing music in the house, which I guess was a reaction to the ban that was imposed on her.  She was very strict about our studies, so much so that we had nicknamed her as “Hitler”. She believed in the power of formal education, she took private tuitions of my school-mates to add to the family income. She ensured we had freedom and fun once we were done with our studies. We went out often during father’s monthly visits and even otherwise. The fun outings included movie and eating out together. After years of doing this, a kind of fatigue had come over her. She would prefer staying back than commuting by crowded local train and trudging all over downtown Bombay (we couldn’t afford a taxi ride) with three children in tow. But then she didn’t have a choice in that matter too, so she did come along grudgingly.

Later, she gave complete freedom to all three of us during our college days. She would get worried but I remember her waiting at the door for my sister when she would return late from her college. Later, she waited for my brother and then for me. We all enjoyed our extra-curricular involvements and came back with stories for her. My new friends would soon become her friends too. She enjoyed company of people. She was a proud to be an atheist. I remember once being stranded during monsoon at a friend’s house for three days. There was no telephone then, I had panicked and wondered if my parents would report to cops or whether she will pray to God. But when I returned after three days she told me she had faith in me and she knew I would be safe somewhere and would return once water levels had receded. She had not panicked.

There are innumerable memories of her and her spirited ways. I can go on. It is not surprising she opted to live alone at the age of 70. It was like going back to her old ways of running a household on her terms but there was a huge difference, she was 70, scoliosis had bent her back which made her almost immobile and it was an empty nest. Yet, she preferred being by herself to living with her children and grandchildren and adjusting to their modern busy life style. I remember her call after India won Cricket World Cup. She had told me excitedly that she had danced alone in her flat and watched fireworks lit up the sky. Her tragic end did not do justice to her long difficult life. She deserved better. She had dreams and wishes, which will forever remain unfilled…

Greetings From Pune!

Yes. I am visiting my own blog after more than six months. In these months I have migrated from East of India to West just like birds do following their calls. I still really cant comprehend what my true calling is, nevertheless, here I am, trying to settle down in a new city, walking down new roads, discovering new book stores and new books. Its same me, at a different latitude and longitude, trying to tackle the same problems and realities, only the geographical location has changed but it feels great to live in a city nestled in the Sahyadri hills.

Unfortunately I had to spend first couple of weeks in different clinics but I am glad to have found trustworthy doctor who cured me of Vertigo and E.Coli and a nice dentist who walked into her clinic with flowers and smile and cured my dental agony (my agony was of course her ecstasy, for she charged me a lot like all modern dentists do). My son as always has been great support during this difficult phase. It feels great to be back at my keyboard and share my tales again.

There is this one book I would recommend highly today to all book worms- Other Colours by Orhan Pamuk. I felt so normal after reading these essays and my madness, my travel, my restlessness, my search for my space, dignity and inner peace doesn't seem to be all in vain. I know, I don't need to validate it all through others quotes and books, but, trust me my faith and belief both had deserted me and I am glad its all coming back. I can now trust absolute strangers and build a life here in this new city without old fears and paranoia. In this city, I have also met old relations and friends I didn't expect to meet and best part is ,I feel same after two decades, its like picking up old conversation. I am also visiting ancient archeological sites with my son. I am eating familiar traditional Maharashtra food after two decades and introducing different culture, language to my son. Its been mixed bag so far. I am waiting to get back my energy levels to climb some forts around here. Each city has something to offer to every weary traveler, for me its given me a fresh breath of air which i needed!

Happy New Year to All

Christmas and New year celebrations have really lifted my spirits. I am really surprised that I am signing off a rather disappointing year on a very positive note. There comes time when one gets tired and looks away from all realities and chaos of one's life. I now accept chaos and absurdity as only norms.

I am going for my daily walk and looking at life from a safe distance. I make no plans when I leave the house but most of the times my feet take me to bookshops. I have added more books to my collection. One day I took my son to an art gallery and had great time watching him watch huge canvasses, riot of colors and sculptures. His interpretation and perception is very unbiased and different. It was an inaugural day of an exhibition and even artists were keen to know which picture captivated his attention the most.

I also watched an extraordinary bilingual movie, Arekti Premer Galpo (Just Another Love Story) based on lives of two cross-dressing transsexuals. It was the first time I went alone to a modern multiplex to watch a movie. It reminded me of good old days when I use to go out and watch classics in international film festivals, movie-clubs. Only the feeling of excitement and anticipation was missing but movie truly surprised me. Probably because it projected vulnerability of an individual as strength and suffering of transsexuals and homosexuals too was viewed in a wider context. It hit the bulls eye, the problem truly lies in human society which enjoys to marginalize and oppress the minority of all kinds. Its a sick perverse society which enjoys stoning others for pleasure and leisure.

Last week I was shocked to read about Iranian director Jafar Panahi being sent to prison and banned from making films because he tried to project reality through his movies. I often watch his movies on one of the TV channels and they are amazing small magical parables which essentially explore ideas of freedom and independence of an individual.  Then came the news that Dr. Binayak Sen has been sentenced to life imprisonment on the charges of sedition. How many more creative, compassionate souls will be crucified by the State? Why 'Power' invariably gives birth to demons? Kudos to these brave hearts who will continue their good work even from prison. No one can imprison good compassionate human soul.

I have no expectations from next year, no resolutions either. Like the famous song goes, Whatever Will be, Will be.

Wish you all a very Happy New Year!!!

Not an Ordinary Year

I am watching another year go by. This year was not like rest years of my life. I faced many a storms including painful episodes of my mother shifting out to stay alone at the age of seventy and my son’s abuse in school. Life humbled me a lot in this one year; it stripped me of my confidence, creativity, sanity and even support systems. You can say I have lost most of my treasures including my peace of mind. Sad part is I can’t even comprehend or count my precious losses.

I don’t want to spend last few remaining days of the year counting my losses. But some images will certainly haunt me forever. Images of my bent mother bending to show me gratitude, my terrorized son pleading desperately not to send him to school after his class teacher had abused him, a young relative transforming into someone else and vanishing into dark world. Most importantly, I will never forget my helplessness and  suicidal rage in the face of it all.

My only solace is I did what I could for my mother and my little son. But I have lost my complete trust and faith in humanity and human kindness I must  mention silver linings of this dark year – few friends who believed me and gave me courage to hang on, my son’s new school which opened doors to me as well and great authors and musicians who illuminated my darkest nights.

Biggest realization has been, one really has to face music alone in life. Life is a solo performance. I am so often tempted to end this disappointing solo act but I cannot, I have one important audience, my cheerleader and supporter, my little son.

A Journey

A Journey

Why? evolves to

Why not?

Hopeful becomes

Hopeless

Meaningful dissolves

Into Meaningless

A journey from

Evolution to

Dissolution?

Milan Kundera and Being

After many days I found a book which I read through day and night without a wink of sleep or sense of fatigue. Milan Kundera has that ability to take readers on an imaginative trip while keeping them rooted in the reality of human existence. Immortality is a novel, but through it he has explored many philosophical questions which are unavoidable.

What I liked about the book is his ability to create characters and give them a modern life full of modern dilemmas. It is a novel within novel which is created out of one single gesture of a woman. So we see birth of Agnes, a very real but fictional character and her life journey becomes our own. People created around Agnes are interesting too because they are so real with real eccentricities, obsessions and fixations. This book is a meditation about life, death, being, love, sex, immortality, human memory, human mind and manipulations and human indulgences like music, literature, art and even war.

What I simply enjoyed reading was the conversation between Hemingway and Goethe in the other world. They are taking a walk in the other world long after their deaths and they discuss the images they have left behind. Images, which have made them immortal but over which they no longer have any control. We actually see a flip side of immortality.

Milan Kundera reduces great men and art to images and even imitations of themselves. All philosophy, literature, music, art is a mirror to view the human world but he also questions the validity of that very mirror and what it reflects. At one point, all the past understanding of human nature and life by great men actually looks like a baggage we can do without because it hardly comes to any aid when we face real existential dilemmas.

I also believe in what he says about importance of chance and coincidence. Isn't it a coincidence that when I was thinking about death and immortality I came across Immortality and Milan Kundera's reflections on the subject? The book made me laugh, wonder, ponder and observe human life from a happy distance.

It is also a happy coincidence and chance that I can share my ramblings without any inhibitions with some friends and strangers who chance upon it.Yes, please forgive me for my imperfect English, I am a bad editor with a lazy brain. I know, it is no excuse, but right now I want to ramble for no particular reason, maybe a time will come when I will start editing my sentences before hitting 'Publish Post'. Right now, the state of mind I am in, each blog is my momentary death, I have no wish to become immortal.

Facebook and Immortality

Recently I re-activated my facebook account after a gap of few months. This was the second time I was doing so. I like this control option of facebook because it lets me disappear from public eye and what I like more is every time I re-activate I hardly notice any change. Some 'friends' and their wall updates just remain the same which almost implies our social behaviour and the image we project to the world by sharing links, views hardly ever changes. This gives me a sense of permanency in the world where everything is so fleeting and transient.

Social media has made it possible to live out our lives in open. We can choose any mask to hide our ugly spots and create an illusion that we are what we project to be. But there are many brazen and bold people who just let their thoughts and ideas flow freely in public domain. I had one such 'friend' on facebook. A New York based blogger shared even little moments of his routine life on facebook. I was a not keen follower of his blog, website nor an active friend on facebook or twitter. I don't think i ever interacted with him except for accepting his friend request. But still through his regular updates he let me have  a glimpse of his life, his thoughts and his amazing essays. It was extremely generous of him. His social media skills were awesome because he had more than 2000 friends and followers on facebook and blogs. He was one of the friends whose updates I subconsciously expected but didnt really look forward to. His presence was so distant that when I re-activated my facebook I really didn't miss his updates for few days, but someone really seemed missing from my facebook.

Two days ago I was 'editing' my friends list and I saw his name. Even when I clicked on his name I was thinking he must have put up link of his new essay on art, literature or an update about his daily walk to bookstore to read New York Times. But what I saw on his profile page numbed me. His wall was full of condolence messages and obituary links. It took me a while to comprehend that he had died. I went back in time to look for his last update and it was indeed about his regular walk for coffee and New York Times. After that there were messages confirming his death. It was so unexpected and I really wanted to reach out to know what had happened and I had no other option but to send a message to his facebook account itself. I really hoped someone had access to his account but now it seems highly unlikely.

It is a new reality that our virtual personas and identities will outlive all of us. There is no way to know about death in advance and we won't even get time to de-activate our accounts or put up a farewell note. These social media accounts and walls will be our tombstone and epitaphs, which we will not be around to see or read.  Ofcourse human memory is short and a person does get erased but still we can leave behind our virtual footprint if we want to.

Now I have a non-existent person on my friends list and it really seems absurd to delete him. His virtual footprints on social media sites and most importantly his thoughts, ideas, writings have remained and they have made him immortal. I admire his family, friends and colleagues efforts to maintain his websites. Everything is there except him.

Sacrificial Lambs - A Quiet Journey to the Platter

Last night I took a tram ride with my son and as it passed through the old part of the city, under a flyover, we saw goats, lambs and cows in large numbers huddled together. The place was crowded and it looked like Sunday cattle market.

As the tram passed close to them, I saw their brilliant dark eyes and innocent faces. Did they know their fate? None of them struggled desperately to be free. Maybe they trusted their masters. Sometimes price of trust is too high!

I felt weird to be witness to their last moments of life. Some of them were fidgeting for no reason, others were calling out, some were looking for a tiny blade of grass on that concrete roadside. They were all very much alive, almost defining Life. My son wanted to bring one home as pet. I glanced helplessly at hundreds of them. Did I see or imagine fear in their eyes?

Cinderella

These days I spin luxury blogs for some websites. It is certainly not easy to spin a yarn about luxury yachts, top fashion brands, top luxury hotels and all the extreme indulgences of the rich. But its work and a good escape too - I get to go on a virtual trip. I walk down fashion streets of best cities where brands open new stores and I can go sea faring too.

Yesterday I was amused to read and write about some super luxury shoe brand's plan of opening a new store in Beijing and not only that, they are planning to change designs to suit tastes of the east. Yes, China is opening doors to them all but it still has iron walls. Hong Kong, Shanghai are leaving Japan, US behind in luring investments and brands. What do we call communists in power with capitalist wealth? No wonder China is furious about Nobel Peace price being given to jailed human rights activist, even countries need to maintain brand images and reputations these days.

I often think about Cinderella story, there was a Prince who went in search of  her, but I doubt whether these luxury brands, super rich will ever go in search of poverty stricken beauties like Haiti. Of course luxury world and celebrities do a lot of charity work, they donate money and they mobilize lot of funds but it never really reaches the distressed. Money circulates only in certain orbits.

I watch rich people's world which has both means and ends and I glance at Haiti's news where earthquake victims still don't have a shelter. Rich business houses are the true winners - they make money, they create means to spend more money and thus money is kept in circulation within rich and if possible they siphon off more money from wannabe middle class, neo rich and even poor farmers. There is very little scope of trickling it down ever thanks to geopolitical and economic state of the world. The only hope for uneducated poor are the reality shows which can turn their life around. Yes, fairy tales do happen in this world where billionaires are important than the billions.

Have you ever tried traveling from Haiti to China via US and Europe without moving an inch? I am sorry, I have turned into a bad tired rambler...I must sleep.

Daily Life

Big Fish, Tiny Fish

Moving behind glass

Going in Circles

Watching

Room

People

Going in Circles

Daily Life

Goes on

No Beginnings

No Ends

Only New replacing

Old

Planet Spins

Goes in Circles

Moon Spins

And Goes in Circles too

Just like Thoughts

All Meaningless

But they 

Exist

Daily Life

Goes on in Circles

Even after

Exit

Human Relations and Schrodinger's Cat

I feel human relations are paradoxical like the hypothetical Schrodinger's Cat. The moment you want to make measurement and poke it you realize its either dead or alive. Maybe its best to let it be, know its there and feel its presence. Why open the box when one of the possibilities is definitely hideous?

Some courageous, curious souls often open the boxes only to find the cat dead and for some lucky souls it comes alive to give company and warmth. But then when is the cat ever real?

My Daily Walk

For some reason and at times for no reason I have started stepping out everyday for a walk or a bus ride. I like watching life and seeing faces which hide their life history and stories. No, I don't even want to attempt reading minds or talking to strangers but still I like observing and connecting to life...

One day I did not get a seat in the bus and as I stood I felt someone moving closely behind me. I felt disgusted. I turned around with anger and was shocked to see this tall well built tough looking man sobbing and trembling. His body was shaking uncontrollably. He glanced at me for a second and moved away but yet his sobbing continued. I moved away too but I kept glancing at him. He was not answering calls, he didn't care where he was and who was around him and seemed really heartbroken.  He answered only one call and said he was on his way and they should wait for him. Probably he had lost someone very close and dear. I looked away and let him have his private moment of grief in the over crowded bus. Sometimes crowd gives us privacy which privacy of home denies.

Yesterday I was again in a bus and this time I was in no mood to glance at life around me. Suddenly a small girl broke my silence and cycle of thoughts. She was traveling with her mother and had no inhibitions and her round big eyes had lots of questions. She asked me, 'Where are you going?' I told her the place. She immediately corrected my pronunciation. Then she again demanded, "What is there in the place where you are going?" Next question was, "Where did you go?" "What was there in the place you went to?" I was getting annoyed but she was so full of joy and laughter that I didn't want to be rude to her. She kept on talking and smiling and I kept answering patiently. Suddenly she asked, "Don't you know how to get angry and show your big eyes to people who trouble you?" I told her, "No". Then she quickly turned to me and said, "Wait, let me teach you".  She enacted range of emotions and showed me how to show anger and how to make scary faces to scare people away. In that crowded bus that little angel taught me an important lesson of life.

The Haunted Old Mall

Like any other city of the world, Calcutta has undergone change and there are many new swanky shopping malls everywhere. These modern shopping malls have become a rage among young shoppers and why not? They offer best of brands and products at best prices and plus there are food courts, restaurants to hang out.

Any change is good but I feel very sad when I enter old shopping zones of the city which are probably more than hundred years old. The New Market is one such place which has shops selling almost everything including awesome bakery products. The old building with ancient architecture is very compelling but the emptiness there is so haunting. Just other day, couple of years ago it was difficult to step in to New Market during peak shopping seasons. 

Yesterday out of pure impulse I walked into another old, once famous a.c market and my immediate urge was to run out of there. It was swanky and clean but very empty. It seemed as though I was the only shopper who had entered the place since morning and the very moment I stepped in all shop keepers starting shouting out loud to get my attention. There was an escalator which was not working, so I decided to take stairs to check out the other floors. But the moment I turned away from escalator it started moving and it took me a while to realize that there was a man sitting there to operate it every time a shopper stepped on it. It came across more as cost cutting measure than energy saving one. It was the same story on the first floor - many small shops and no buyers. Shopkeepers looked desperate to sell but it was scary and I felt like a prey being hounded by many predators.I ran out.

The emptiness, the sudden moment of escalator and voices calling out kept haunting me through the day.

Floating in Space

Why is it hard to believe that I am indeed floating in empty space?
We are on a free trip around the sun remember?

Is it only gravity that keeps us glued?
Is only gravity that defines our weight?

I look at the stars in the dark night
To remind myself that dark space around me is empty and not dense

Then why does it seem so dense?
So suffocating?

I struggle to stand out
I struggle to feel special

Its a momentary struggle
Lasting a lifetime only for me

Nameless faceless
I stand glued to this blue planet
As it takes me on a free ride around the sun

A Lunatic and the Curse

A lunatic
Hurling a stone
Tearing clothes
Eating dirt
Sleeping with dogs
Raging against the world
Mocking it hysterically
Always on the move
Reminds of a curse
Curse of being misunderstood
And abandoned
Yet defying all curses
Lunatic survives
Mocking humanity, sanity
And the sanitized world

Paths in the Woods

The paths I never took
they beckon me sometimes
Lost in the woods
I wonder if that path
Which I never explored still exists

It was a wild path
Dark and full of thorns
It had not fooled me
With promises of destination

Lost in the woods
I no longer seek
a way out
But I must find my
Final resting ground

Chains of Liberation

You ask “Why don’t you dance with joy?”
There have been infinite invisible chains around my feet
I never knew that I was supposed to undo them one by one
I kept them all ‘as gifts’
I waited for some loving hands to undo them
I didn’t know I have to undo them myself
One day you came along
And laughed at me…
You reached down my feet
But ended up adding one more chain
Now I struggle to undo them one by one
Only one of them can’t be undone
It’s the ‘chain of liberation’
Which you gave me as a farewell gift!!!
1999

An Idiot

When She looked at the horizon
They laughed
They called her an 'Idiot'
No one knew
She could see that the sky never kissed the earth

When She looked at the Sky
They laughed
Idiot
No one knew she was looking at the infinite space seeking

When She kissed a youth
They mocked
'What would an idiot know about love?'
No one knew it was her way of paying compliments to Life
For being alive, for being able to laugh and cry and...
For being able to love

1999

On reading and books

To hide myself and my face i decided to bury myself in a book. The words looked strange. I couldn't correlate them. The string of thoughts went on in the back ground, tearing me away from the book. The more disturbed I was, the more I tried to lose myself in the words and search for their meanings. I masked myself in them. Slowly I weaved myself into the words and structure of the book. As meaning and story emerged, I no longer needed a mask and there was no need to hide!!
1999