Saturday, November 21, 2009

The Narrow - Minded Indian

I met an IITian today in the library and struck a conversation with him.Talking of general things he asked me where I had done my schooling and college from. I have done my graduation from Lady Brabourne College, which is one of the top 5 colleges in Kolkata. The inception of this knowledge lay in the British era and it was formed exclusively for the education of Muslim girls. It is one of the very few colleges that have a separate department for Urdu and Persian.This IITian fellow had a notion that many Christian students study in  this college and when I corrected him saying that there are more Muslim girls, he spontaneously said - "How pathetic?"
He asked how I could study with Muslim girls, and I couldn't believe my ears as he asked me that.
"Why do you say that?", I asked him and he asked if I have forgotten 26/11.
"You blame the whole community for 26/11?"
"No, I know they are not all to be blamed but then they are an unbearable lot ,even in IIT we can't tolerate them", he said.
May be he has not forgotten the horrific day and feels strongly about it but he has hardly understood 26/11.
I hate to be rude with people but this time I was itching to be and didn't hold myself back as the words spat out of my mouth - "You don't call yourself a modern civilized man, do you?"

Ironically this guy did his schooling from St. Xaviers and then graduated from IIT and now is a research scholar there. As I shared this instance with my sister she said that there is no relation between being an IITian and being an Indian. She is right when she says that. But it is sad nonetheless. One might hold a dozen degrees against his bosom and yet continue to survive with a closed mind and heart. Phew such a suffocating way to live! The truth is that education is mostly found to be far from the holistic growth of an individual and caters to the ambitions of the students in measured spoons.

Its almost an year now since 26/11 happened and we have several debates and discussions taking place nation wide on the security issue and how much the system has changed. But read between the lines and one will find that the mindset of the people, which is at the root of all things, has remained the same if not worsened.

For me I have learnt a lesson, a significant one too. Next time when I will hear a Varun Gandhi make a hate speech, I will not be surprised and think of him as some kind of an alien. I would know that he is one amongst many.The illusion for me has shattered and I am glad that it has. But I am optimistic as never before and feel the urge to pray and wish with greater sincerity for the opening of the closed minds and hearts of the people. I say this with a firm belief that there will be voices in galore to join me in my prayer.

Friday, November 20, 2009

I had written this story in college as a part of an assignment.Read it after long a time today and thought of sharing  with you all  - 

It is commonly said that life has few surprises to offer as and when one grows in age.The same could be said for the old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Roy.The weeks, months and years comprised for them the same days, repeating themselves over and over again with little or no variation. Mr. Roy, a retired government officer, was known to be an upright man and lived by his own clock.He would take a cup of tea  sharp at 5 in the morning, then a stroll in the lonely streets of the yet to rise neighbourhood.The newspaper, which he read with alternating expressions of disgust and disapproval, would then occupy the first half of the day.

Day would slip into noon and lunch would be followed by a siesta, sharp at 4 p.m. there would be a knock at the door, which would be attended by Mrs. Roy to let in a neighbouring friend. The two would talk for a couple of hours but then what shall they talk about, there was nothing pleasant to talk of. The Government seemed to be heading nowhere with the Minimum Needs Programme, the Nuke Deal was a recipe for disaster, the economic policies were no good. The leaders didn’t know how to take India- a nation where a large chunk of the population lived from hand to mouth - to progress. Mr. Roy too had lived in those strained circumstances for the better part of his life but then he knew how to fit in his needs within his income and managed to send his only son to a convent school and then to a nationally recognized medical college.Yes, that was the only pleasant thing to talk about.
It would be during this  procession of conversation that Mrs. Roy would walk in with tea and snacks, and the neighbour would compliment her for the variety she cooked, she never repeated the same snack in a month.That was a compliment indeed for Mrs. Roy, who cooked with all her heart and soul. Kitchen was her sacred space and even before the sun could steal a look at earth she would  be there cleaning her sacred space and making tea for her husband.

Serving meal to Mr. Roy was was the most priced thing for her, she would look at him as he would eat the meal quietly.He never asked for more and she never forced him to take more.It was this unexpressed contentment that she cherished all day.
Beside this Mrs. Roy would stitch clothes for new borns of some distant relations, acquaintance or neighbours, and while knitting in the verandah she would occasionally peep into the adjacent room and see her husband reading,sleeping or talking to his friend.He knew that she looked at him and yet he never would return that glance. Why should he, he had nothing to tell her?

The day would thus pass into night, followed by an early dinner at seven. The intervening hours before the couple went to sleep at nine were left to the newsreaders and the characters of the daily soaps, who bore the burden off talking and raising their voices in the otherwise quiet house. Sharp at nine the lights and television would be turned off and Mrs.Roy would wait for her husband to lie down, pull the coverlet over him and then go to bed herself being reminded of what she had once told her daughter-in-law. “How do you bear with Baba’s silence Ma?",her daughter-in-law had once asked, and she had just one spontaneous answer –“I love him, beta.”

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

In Love of that Momemnt and Eternity ...

The pink of the petals untarnished beyond bloom
the fragrance rising  to  touch the end to be,
the love of the plant and the call of the soil,
the wither of the petal and the death of the flower.
No urns left,no ashes remain
the flower bloomed and withered never to be.

I watch and wonder - can man not thus cease to be,
in such calm that he knew not what pain had been to
And die in love and cherish of that one moment and

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Monday, November 9, 2009

An amazing experience

Reading often results in experiences beyond expression and a similar thing happened while I was reading a poem on Facebook. Zerai Mefsin, a memeber in the group - J. Krishnamurti, (like me)  had posted a poem therein, which I cannot refrain from sharing with you all here -The Essence.

Take the plunge and unravel the wonder.
Would love to hear your reactions.

Friday, November 6, 2009

55 Fiction – Unfettered Death

“It died”, cried a tender voice,"the poacher…” 

Words were hushed by sobs, laments on freedom leading

to death and  fear rushing through the veins.

Those petty sounds shook my clipped wings,entered my

spirit - caged  and I wondered if I’d ever be shot by a

poacher and breathe my last in open air.

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Pay it Forward

Receiving an award from Swapna has meant a lot to me (between I have flaunted quite stupidly about it on Facebook and Twitter, it being my first one I allowed myself that fancy.)More importantly what this award made me realize was the importance of appreciating and being appreciated. Keeping the ego aspect at bay, appreciation is actually quite a beautiful emotion. It connects one to the beauty and innocence around, towards which we are mostly nonchalant or may be are just shy to respond, and what more it spreads love and positivity.
I mean just imagine a little girl, say three to four years old, for whom her doll means the world to her. Instead of just passing on her little play or just being nostalgic about your childhood days, you reach out to the girl and say -
“Your doll is so pretty! She is quite a darling like you.” And just wait to see that innocent smile flower on her lips and trust me it would and would bless your day with sweetness and simple joy.

Well I guess I have bragged quite enough to put you to sleep. So I will stop right here and express my appreciation for my favourite bloggers by giving the “Good Blog Award” to them.
So here you go -


Accolades and cheers awesome bloggers!

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Escape from Sound to Silence.

A puny chirper on a tree that I call mine has often seen me duck whenever the massive rush of  voices and sounds has blown over. It got that share of amusement quite often than I  would have preferred it to. Can’t help, the news of noise pollution touching the zenith is almost everywhere. I ducked and it stared at me with a muted gaze.
But today when I heard that tremendous onrush and in the agony to escape almost usurped the chirper’s branch, it looked at me with a gaze that now voiced  I had no hope of escape  – “Hey! don't you think you are too noisy yourself to escape that sound?".

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