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…

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.

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?

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

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

Never Die Spirit

'Never die spirit' is oft quoted phrase for people and cities who bounce back to normalcy after a devastating experience. Bombay seems to be forever on the rebound. Cities can't stop. Financial capitals can never stop in tracks.

Last month on this day hundreds were caught in the cross-fires and ires of terrorists. Hundreds were shifted to one of the hospitals with injury. As the camera zoomed in hospital wards, another tale of another day kept coming back...

Many years ago someone took birth there against all odds. It was a sort of medical research history. Mother was ill. The unborn child was not of choice. Conceived in spite of and along with metal contraceptive, it was a rarest of rare case. It was too advanced a stage for abortion without risking mother's life. So non-medical efforts were made to force a natural abortion. Yet the little one survived. Doctors at that hospital made sure the child was delivered safely without a scratch from the metal loop inside. The miraculous birth went into hospital records. That child had indeed showed 'Never Die Spirit'.

It is the spirit present in everyone which makes sure we survive against and in spite of all odds. Battle against odds begins at the early embryonic stage itself!!!