tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34062473241283426202024-03-14T04:04:03.539+05:30tidbits from nowherepooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-26689750954232734892016-10-02T21:05:00.000+05:302016-10-02T22:00:35.379+05:30<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It feels like
betrayal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It also feels
like the longest relationship I was ever in even if we were mostly not
together. We were the best of friends. Although according to him, he loved me
from before we became friends. Really. From when, I had asked. From as long as
I can remember, he had said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then, as always
happens, we became used to each other. Predictable. I have always maintained
that if you can’t have a meaningful conversation with someone, you shouldn’t be
with him. It’s the one thing I looked for, more than anything else. I didn’t
care as much for attraction,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or for more
material, measurable stuff like success (though the measurability of ‘success’
is debatable, no? I mean, what are the parameters?) although I will admit that
I consider a sense of humour a definite plus. (And yes, he had a sense of
humour.) What I did not realise is that conversations too become predictable.
We still had them, oh plenty! But more and more we knew what the other was
going to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Or at least I was
predictable. I am. I sometimes think that I am predictable to the extent of
being boring. These days I feel grateful. I feel like I should thank everyone
who continues to be in my life in spite of the nothing I bring to theirs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So after a little
less than two years, we split. I backed off. I like to think that he created
the conditions for it, even if I took the actual decision. But this is a never
ending loop. Perhaps I created the conditions which pushed him to the edge.
Then I used it to blame him. But that’s the thing about a loop. There are
no corners, it goes on endlessly. So you can never stop and say this is where
it all started. In any case, he did say I don’t see this going anywhere. That
is a fact. Consequently, I did break away. That is a fact too. We’re great where
we are right now, but the future is definitely apart, he had said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Whoa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It’s a cruel joke
when life hands you the same cards a second time around and it’s a losing hand.
Should I have seen it coming? Now, maybe. Back then it was a bolt from the
blue. No, it was just a bolt. There was nothing blue about the skies those
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We stayed friends
though. The best of friends, like I said. Was that weird? Maybe, but I liked
being unconventional. I had never allowed myself to be told how things should
or shouldn’t be done. Things were done. In some way. It was ‘a’ way of doing
things, even if it was not the usual way. And so we were friends. Of the best
kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then one day,
while having tea at my place (there was always a lot of tea) and rolling a
cigarette (and a lot of smoke too) he said we should get married. It had been
two years since we had broken up, but what did that matter. He said we were so
good together, we were meant to be together. In a warped way, I knew exactly
what he meant. Yes, we were great together. Was that reason enough, I wondered.
What about attraction? We hadn’t been together for two years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A childhood
friend thought I was mad to even consider it. We are great friends, she
countered. Are you thinking of marrying me too?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Two more years
passed. There were other loves, other crushes. But not the same conversations.
Not with anyone else and not with him. That’s because he wouldn’t see me. Too
hard being around you if I can’t be with you, he had said. So for two years we
didn’t meet, didn’t speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Almost. I did
call to check a couple of times if we could be friends again. The answer was a
definitive no.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then something
changed. We met. Suddenly, it was okay to meet. Should I have wondered then? Then I jumped from the fence. I was tired and lonely. I was never going to find
out whether it was a good or a bad decision if I never took a decision in the
first place. (Isn’t that the point of sitting on the fence?) So I jumped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It took us two
days (maybe less) to settle comfortably back in our roles as if we had never
been apart. It’s like I live in a time warp. Life stops and before you know it,
you are two years older without having anything to show for it. You didn’t
‘grow’ two years older because you did nothing that could be called growing. You
just are two.years.older. With a lot more grey to show for it, admittedly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then he was gone
on work for nearly a month. When he came back, everything was the same, but
something had changed. (In his head probably.) So we had the same
conversations, we used the same words, but they had a different ring to them.
Did I recognise the difference in the ring? In hindsight I think I did. But I
ignored it. It was too unfamiliar, I did not know what it was. Or maybe I knew
exactly what it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He feels
detachment, he says. Everything is mechanical, and he feels nothing. Ah,
mechanical. That was the tone. Our conversations were mechanical. It was as if
we had had them before. Our movements were mechanical- whether it was making
soup together or running hands through hair. It was all déjà vu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m sorry, he
said. It’s my fault, we should not have got back together. His face was stony,
unmoving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At least it was
quick, I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For two years
there had been an apparent sense of being loved. The reassurance that there was
someone out there who wanted to be with me. It was a false reassurance, I
realise now (as perhaps I did then too.) See, but that’s the thing about
reassurances. They are so reassuring that you end up forgetting that they may
not actually be true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And for two years
therefore, there was an apparent sense of loneliness. I was alone but not
lonely. Not actually.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He thought he
wanted to marry me, but he was wrong, he says. He calls it confusion. I see it
as betrayal. All a matter of perspective!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In a single moment
I have been left with two years of loneliness.</span><span style="font-family: "century gothic";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(This was written two years ago. Two years later, I am able to post it. I suppose that says something about time, and its healing properties.)</span></div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-36193162739949325562014-10-17T17:18:00.002+05:302014-10-17T17:25:17.290+05:30Ode to missed opportunity or why it could-not-have-been (after all)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have a fascination for good coffee</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I try not to make it too often</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With coffee I associate conversation</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And your company</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(tea does not have to suffer such associations)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes when the coffee is particularly good</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dreamily remember what could-have-been</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Times that could-have-been spent together,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Conversations that could-have-been had</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(It never happened though,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
we were never good friends.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I could never forget</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that which could-have-been)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We could-have-had long conversations</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
over restless starry nights</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We could-have-had long make out sessions</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
over quiet lazy afternoons</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(We would most certainly have led a most decadent life.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I sip my lonely coffee</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This dim October afternoon</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the building opposite reflects tobacco light</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Into my room</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You return to your house,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
resounding with the laughter of children</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and without a doubt I know why…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(apologies for bad poetry :D) </div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-39426061182274052172014-05-30T00:25:00.003+05:302014-05-30T21:47:14.069+05:30Two days two films Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I nearly did not go for the second film either... because I was running terribly late and would have missed the first half. I went anyway, and I'm glad I did.<br />
<br />
The film was 'Menstrual Man'- about Arunachalam Muruganantham from Coimbatore, an extraordinary man who built a low cost machine to make low cost sanitary pads for poor women in rural and semi urban areas. His story is as bizarre as it is inspiring. The lengths to which he went, procuring used napkins from college students and wearing a pad himself with goats blood periodically seeping into it, in order to understand what the experienceis like for a woman...and getting ostracised by family and friends for his weird behaviour, is hard to even imagine. What kind of drive and dedication does it take for someone to do that... he is such a superstar! <br />
His amazingness doesn't end here. He has worked hard to make a self sustaining model, so that women everywhere can be empowered, with little or no back up support from him. This objective informed decisions about the design of the machine- to keep it as simple as possible, so that no servicing is required, and to keep it manual, for the same reason. Besides it makes little sense to make an electrical machine in a country where electric supply is erratic and insufficient, especially in the rural areas.<br />
He also takes into account the difference in the nature of men and women... by empowering women he realises, you contribute to better living conditions for the whole family, not necessarily the case with men who often spend away the money on alcohol or drugs or gambling or other such vices. There's a remarkable insight and sensitivity in the way he has designed and detailed both the machine and the business model. And through it all he has stayed remarkably humble, when he could easily have gotten lured by big money.<br />
One of the most fantastic qualities he possesses is his sense of humour. Every once in a while the audience would crack up with laughter at one of his jokes. Another quality I found fascinating is his intelligence and clear thinking. Sample this: If I was educated, I would have given up. My advantage was that I wasn't, so I kept going. Or his explanation to a bunch of foreigners in London that they only understand the language of dollars, but in the village women would trade napkins for rice- a modern day barter system that would never satisfy the requirements of a western economic model.<br />
<br />
The film was ordinary, but did its job reasonably well. The man of course is a superstar!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EywfIYU0YpU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Also check out his TED talk:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/zkQL7UJYDIY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
Post screening I returned home with a friend and his friend who turned out to be a midwife! I have heard of her before (we have friends in common) but nobody had ever mentioned what she did! I was fascinated. India always had a rich tradition of midwifery, but lately, with all our aping of the west, we seem to have all but forgotten it. The assumption of course is that the delivery is normal and natural, and I suppose it doesn't get more natural than this. All midwives by law are required to be tied to a doctor as well in case of an emergency, which is exactly how it should be and has always been. Anyway, I was thrilled to meet her. She has trained in the US and practises both there and here in Bombay.<br />
I told her about this incident many years back when I had mentioned to a friend that if I ever have a child I would like to have it with a midwife, and she had balked. I'm sure if she met Jumana, with her reassuring presence and ready smile, and heard of her 100+ deliveries, she would feel inclined to change her mind...</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-14168279711324423362014-05-29T03:15:00.001+05:302014-05-29T03:18:57.252+05:30Two days, two films Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I nearly didn’t
go for the fist one. I really wanted to see it of course, but I really wanted
to see it <b>on the big screen</b>,
the way films are supposed to be seen. ‘Gopi gawaiyaa, Bagha bajaiyaa’ is a
CFSI produced animation film based on the short story ‘Gopi gyne, Bagha byne’
by Upendra Kishore Roy Chowdhury. One look at the trailer will give you a sense
of the canvas of the film- it has been designed to be a film for the theatre,
not the small screen of television. Much work would have gone in the sound as
well, and I was really not looking forward to seeing it at Vikalp @ Prithvi, at
Prithvi House- those are hardly ideal conditions for film viewing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But then I wasn’t
sure when the next opportunity to see the film would present itself, and so I
went...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Even though I
must state at the very outset that there is little that I know about animation,
so I can’t talk knowledgably about it, it was the animation that struck a
chord. It’s a beautifully detailed film- exquisite, like some of our folk
forms. The first thing, and the last, and throughout in between, that hits you
is the colour and the detail. While things have been kept simple, a lot seems
to have gone into designing it in a way that maximum possible communication is
made possible by efficient production. A rich multicoloured palate is used
throughout- every frame is a feast (some have too much going on- there were
places I thought the background plates were almost distracting). And the
textures, oh my! Things come alive because of her use of textures… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">She seemed to
have been inspired by shadow puppetry- especially in how she conceived the
ghost, and the way facial features moved within the face of the evil Senapati, with overall movement,
in a rocking motion almost- I had thought while seeing the film. In the
interaction afterwards she mentioned that this was indeed true, and had
informed everything from the animation, especially the movements, to how the
various characters shaped up. While on the subject of characters- I was most
fascinated by the noses! She said the film had about 80 characters- so many
varieties of noses! And I was fascinated by the stitches everywhere on the faces and bodies, like they were cloth dolls stitched into shape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The other thing
noteworthy about the film is another subject I know little about- the music.
It’s a musical, so from the first scene to the last, there is
such-lovely-music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Somewhere in the
middle of the film however, a note of disapproval crept into my mind- when the
boys started fighting over the girl. It was disservice enough to women to not
have a single noteworthy female character in a film directed by a woman, though
in a story that perhaps didn’t allow for it, it can, I suppose, be overlooked.
But what explanation do we have for perpetuating the idea of boys fighting over
a girl they haven’t even seen, forget interacted with. It made me shake my
head, and want to shake a finger at Soumitra for having written it that way,
and for Shilpa for having directed it…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Otherwise, it was
mostly a lovely experience. See the trailer and judge for yourself.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/g6Im03hMoy8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-25766133326362928862013-09-01T23:41:00.000+05:302013-09-01T23:41:07.580+05:30DJ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I miss Deepak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Who is Deepak and
what’s happened to him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He is a recently
acquired friend, one who was so open and easy to talk to, that we got along
instantly. That’s saying a lot for someone like me who is otherwise shy and
reserved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He is a follower
of Isha yoga, and it is to their ashram in Coimbatore that he has gone. To ‘be
with himself’, to ‘do only as told’, ‘until there is no ego left’. I suppose
the calling became too strong…</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-51356932723995236592013-09-01T23:40:00.000+05:302015-01-15T21:32:27.289+05:30spirituality and me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not
spiritual, though I can perhaps say that I am drawn to spirituality in my own
strange way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I went for
Vipassana for the first time, I remember being very excited to hear Goenkaji’s
evening sermons. I would bungle through the day, barely able to do as he asked,
unable to ‘experience’ for myself. And I would wait eagerly for the evenings,
for the explanations that I knew were coming, that made so much sense to my
rational mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Supriti had
called when I was at the shivir. (My phone should not have been on, but the
Reliance one was, for it was doubling up as an alarm clock. No one really
called me at that number anymore, so I figured I wasn’t breaking any rules by
having it on me. But Supriti called, and though I didn’t take her call, I
messaged back, and broke a rule as a result.) Anyhow I called back on the 10<sup>th</sup>
day to explain my absence, and I remember telling her how overwhelming the
experience had been. So much of what Goenkaji said was validation for views
already held, if only intuitively. He gave words and made concepts out of half
formed thoughts and beliefs that had been guiding life so far. And provided so
much more new material to think about. It was wonderful!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I never really
practi<span style="font-family: inherit;">s</span>ed meditation however. Much as I have loved the two Vipassana shivirs
that I attended, and I can safely say I gained much from them, it never really
became a mainstay in my life. It’s not like I don’t see what it can do for me,
it’s just that I lack the discipline, I suppose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t confuse
religion with spirituality, and yet firmly believe that every religion must
have once had a spiritual aspect, which has gotten distorted along the way. At
any rate, it has been a long held wish to study different religious texts, at
least those of Hinduism, Islam and Christianity to begin with, the idea being
to go beyond the stories and understand the underlying concepts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Along the way, I
have visited different places of worship, and observed people’s customs, but
more importantly their mannerisms and their ‘vibes’. And come to the conclusion
that it doesn’t matter which faith or philosophy they follow, truth and
integrity is personal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But that’s not
what I had started to say… what I had really meant to say is that along the way
I have visited very many places of worship/ meditation, to feel the vibes of
the place for myself. From Buddhist temples and monastries in Ladakh, Sikkim, Bhutan
and Japan, to Hindu temples in Puri, Calcutta and down South (and so many
others all over the country!), to Jain temples in Khajuraho and Palitana, to
the Bahai temple in New Delhi, to Igatpuri and the Global pagoda in Mumbai, to
the Mother’s shrine in Pondicherry and dome in Auroville, to the synagogue in
Jew town in Fort Kochi… and many more that I may not now remember. Could I
include here the temple in Koovagam that eunuchs go to for their ceremonial
marriage every year, or the temple complex so popular among the transsexual
Jogappas of Karnataka? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What I have been
most drawn to is silence and peace and love and compassion, wherever I have
found it. Sometimes I have found it in places yes, but those places have very
often not been places of ‘worship’. And sometimes I have found it in people.
And those people have very often not been people of faith/ religion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Am I stating the
obvious?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here I am
reminded of Tagore. While attending rehearsals and discussions around Tagore’s
writings (for Manav’s latest play- more on that in another post) I often came
across these words: death, infinity, truth, beauty. My first reaction to ‘truth
and beauty’ was to scoff at it. Especially since so much of what he wrote was
addressed to a woman, undoubtedly a ‘beautiful’ woman- an idea that didn’t
appeal to me. Not being beautiful myself, finding so much emphasis on beauty
seemed highly unfair to me. This however was a very narrow view of beauty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As I thought more
about it, and tried to look for ‘truth and beauty’ around me, I realised it was
everywhere, in everyone. It existed in moments. There are moments of truth and
beauty, and they are often moments of absolute honesty, (and perhaps
vulnerability…?)and they are everywhere… only the very evolved probably manage
to have more in their lives than the rest of us who must experience them in
their fleetingness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Death. I lived in
denial for a long time, arguing that Tagore did not experience ‘more than his
share’. He lived at a time when families were large, and mortality was high.
Everyone would have experienced death from an early age, it was Tagore’s
response to it that made him what he was. While this is true theoretically,
that still doesn’t take away from the depth of his feeling and the angst that
he must have felt, which led to a most remarkable relationship with death, that
would last a lifetime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As I acknowledged
my dishonesty in not giving the man his due, I realised something else. All my
so-called spirituality, all my search, is eventually directed towards one
thing: to make my peace with this thing called Death. All the strength that I
attempt to build up in myself, is in preparation for that moment that I know is
inevitable- when my parents will no longer be with me. That moment which I
dread to even think about, which seems so impossible and so cruel, and yet will
one day be real. That moment beyond which life will never be the same again,
that moment when I will lose my anchor and my support.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The thought of
that moment engulfs me in loneliness, how will I ever face it in reality? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The thought of
that one moment brings in sharp relief the ordinariness and fakeness of my
everyday life. And of the many frivolous emotions I waste precious time on
everyday: guilt, envy, worthlessness, desire, anger…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This then- this love, and attachment to my
parents, as mortal as mortal can be- this is my Achilles’ heel. Losing them
would be the moment of my undoing. The moment which is unimaginable, beyond
which is nothingness, a void, a black hole...</span></span></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-22413195979391646122013-04-21T13:08:00.004+05:302013-05-20T12:23:58.527+05:30Tathagat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Manav was over
the other day. He picked up his copy of Nirmal Verma's 'Gyarah Lambi Kahaniyan'
lying on my desk, and asked me how I was progressing. Slow, I told him, as I
always am with Hindi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He opened the
book, glanced at his own words at the beginning of the book.</span><span style="font-family: "Century Gothic";"> </span><span style="font-family: Shusha; font-size: 14.0pt;">‘</span><span style="font-family: Shusha; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">बहुत पहले पढ़ी कहानियां... फिर फिर </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">पढ़ने</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> के लिए फिर फिर खरीदता हूँ।</span>’ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Lovely words I think, so telling of his
love for Nirmal ji’s writing and full of so much warmth. Or perhaps it is his
voice that is full of warmth when he speaks of Nirmalji and it is the memory of
that warmth that creeps in when I read these words…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I read ‘Bukhar’,
I tell him. Oh, that is a beautiful story, he says. I wrote about it on my
blog. I must look it up, I think silently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What are you
reading now?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The first one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I can’t remember
the name of the story and for that I feel a tinge of shame. How is it that I
never paid attention to the name? I think to myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Parindey, he says
glancing at the Contents. Latika’s story?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, Latika’s I
mutter, wondering to myself how on earth the name Parindey relates to the
story, I would never have imagined! Maybe that secret will reveal itself yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That’s also a
beautiful story, he got an award for it. You should read ‘Kavve aur kaala
paani’. It’s set in Bhawali, he smiles, waiting for me to react. I give him an
expressionless look. Bhawali, he says again, it’s on the way to Sonapani, don’t
you remember? You’ve crossed it on your way to Sonapani so many times! We stop
there everytime for tea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We have never
travelled to Sonapani together, I protest. We have travelled back together, but
we have always gone to Sonapani separately. And I never stop for tea on the
way, so maybe that’s why I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Offo, he says.
You must do something about your memory. We have been in Bhawali together. In
fact we changed cars there on one occasion, on a bridge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This I remember,
and my face brightens up. This I remember distinctly. It’s a typical little
bazaar in a mountain hamlet, full of colourful small shops- selling candies,
cigarettes and paan, plastics and to<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">ys, clothes, electrical repair shops, and
thelas, selling pakoras or peanuts or corn; simple, cheerful people with weathered faces, selling stuff with a distinctly small town feel, in a distinctly small town setting. You cross several of these on the way to Sonapani, heck, travelling from
anywhere to anywhere in the mountains. This one was beautiful, the river ran
between the two hills, and our car had stopped at one end of the little bridge
over it. We had to take a different cab from here. We offloaded our small
luggage and kept it on the side of the dusty road. I was sitting on the parapet
of the bridge, on the phone talking to Meghna, my editor friend. I had called
her to tell her all about the exciting time I had just had, but I was afraid it
would jinx my luck, so I didn’t. But this too was on the way <b>back</b> from Sonapani, I think to myself, making
a point to no one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">You should do
something about your memory, Manav breaks my chain of thought, which is
ironically, my memory of those moments in Bhawali. He was wearing a white T
shirt, I even remember that- how’s that for memory. What he is referring to
though, is a genuine problem. I have a horrendously bad memory. I am reminded
here of a peculiarity of mine- if it’s mine alone, that is. I often don’t
remember incidents ie I don’t remember facts, details of what actually
happened, but I do remember how or what I felt ie the emotion that the incident
left me with. Is that weird? I mentioned this to Saeed sa’ab when I met him a
few days back. His eyebrows went up in response, though there was also a strange appreciation in the shape of a half smile on his face. Anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">You should do
something about your memory, Manav breaks my chain of thought, it might get
worse. It likely will, I say, you might soon find me wandering the streets, not
knowing the way to my house. Not like that, he says, that would still be ok,
this is worse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">You should read ‘kavve
aur kaala paani’, he repeats. It’s where the story of Tathagat began, he is in
there.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So that’s what I
am doing now, reading Nirmal Verma’s ‘kavve aur kala paani’. It’s alien, this
feeling, finding in another story a character that I lived with and loved,
whose story I helped put into visuals; a character that I tried to understand,
and argued with Manav about. Here he is again, conceived by a different writer, put in an entirely different
setting, and I am curious to see how Nirmalji has shaped him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Alien and
exciting, this feeling. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Tathagat is the name of the lead character in a film by the same name, that I shot with Manav. He wrote and directed it, and I shot it. It is about time that he told me this little story about the origins of Tathagat!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Though I have to admit there is a certain charm in this situation. If only I could explain how real Tathagat is for me, played brilliantly by the NSD actor Harish Khanna.)</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-14537990823771645902013-04-19T18:45:00.000+05:302013-05-01T10:15:33.078+05:30खिसियाहट<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">आज अपने आप से कुछ खिसियाई सी हूँ।</span><br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
कल सईद साहब से मुलाक़ात हुई, अरसे बाद। बहुत सी इधर उधर की बातें भी हुईं। उन्हें बीच बीच में अचानक मेरे किसी batchmate का नाम याद आता तो वे उसके बारे में पूछ लेते- क्यों वो क्या कर रहा है आजकल। इसी तरह उन्होंने जब ऐसे ही एक के बारे में पूछा तो मैंने उन्हें बता दिया जितना मुझे पता था, जो वैसे भी ज़्यादा नहीं था। वो और राघव एक ही समय पर एक ही निर्माता के साथ काम कर रहे थे जो दोनों की फ़िल्में बनाने वाला था। क्या हुआ पता नहीं, पर राघव की फ़िल्म बन गई और उसकी न बन पाई। लगा था ये बात सुनके कि फ़िल्म बनने के इतने निकट होते हुए भी न बन पाई, कुछ अफ़सोस करेंगे पर वो तो राघव का नाम सुनते ही जैसे भूल ही गए कि हम किस बारे में बात कर रहे थे। उनके चेहरे पर मुस्कराहट छा गई, और वे राघव के बारे में मुझसे पूछने लगे। वो कैसा है, क्या कर रहा है आजकल। इसके साथ साथ वो उसके बारे में भी कुछ कुछ कहते रहे। राघव वही ना जो बहुत laid back था। मैंने मुस्कुराते हुए हाँ में सर हिल दिया। What a wonderful open expansive soul he is, I love people like that कहते हुए सईद साहब ने हवा में हाथ उठा दिए मानो शब्द कम पड़ रहें हों।</div>
</div>
<div>
यह बात सुनके बहुत दिनों बाद I remembered a feeling that I hadn't visited in a long, long time, or maybe the feeling hadn't visited me... a deep sense of loss. यह क्षण किन्तु क्षण भर का ही था, क्षण भर में लुप्त हो गया। कहीं से नहीं आया था और कहीं नहीं में ही गायब हो गया। कोई अचरज की बात नहीं। राघव और मैं बहुत पहले अलग हो गए थे, और अब तो वह नाममात्र को भी जीवन में नहीं है। प्यार भी बहुत पहले जाता रहा। अचरज की बात ये थी कि ऐसी फीलिंग आई भी, almost like a long lost muscle memory- involuntary and lifeless. बेवश और निर्जीव।</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
बहरहाल मुझे ये बात बहुत अनूठी लगी, मन किया किसी को बताने का। सोचा अनुषा को फ़ोन करूं पर नहीं किया। अगले दिन जब अरिंदम से फ़ोन पर बात हो रही थी तो सोचा उसे बताऊँ। पर फ़िल्म की और एडिट की बातों के बीच ये बात रह गई। या फिर मैंने छोड़ दी, जबकि उसे ये ज़रूर बताया की सईद साहब से मिल कर आई थी। परम का मेसेज आया कि वो खाने के बाद चाय पीने आएगा, तो सोचा उसे बताऊंगी। पर क्या वाकई बताऊंगी, इसकी सम्भावना कुछ कम ही थी, यह भी मैं जानती थी।</div>
<div>
दोपहर को मानव घर आया था। बहुत इधर उधर की बातें हुई। वह अपनी एक फिल्म को लेके बहुत excited है, जिसमें वो एक्टिंग कर रहा है। पता नहीं इस उत्साह की वजह से ऐसा है, या फिर मानव ही ऐसा है, पर उससे बात करते वक़्त ऐसा लग रहा था जैसे अपने आप से बात कर रही हूँ। जैसे मेरे शब्द उस तक पहुँचने से पहले ही फिसल जा रहें हैं। या फिर शब्द तो पहुँच रहें हैं- आखिर वो मेरी बातों का जवाब दे रहा था- मगर उनका अर्थ नहीं समझ रहा था, या समझना नहीं चाहता था, या समझने में असमर्थ था। ये बात मैंने उससे भी कही। उसने कुछ जवाब भी दिया था जो अब मुझे याद नहीं। खैर उसको तो बताना ही था मुलाक़ात के बारे में, वो भी मिला था सईद साहब से दो दिन पहले, और उसकी उसी फ़िल्म के बारे में उनसे चर्चा भी हुई थी। बात करते करते पता नहीं मुझे क्या सूझी, मैंने राघव वाली बात उस को बता दी। बात शुरू करते ही मैं पछताई। ऐसा लगा जैसे एक कोमल सी <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">चीज़</span> जिसे मैंने इतना संभाल के रखा था, कैसे कठोर के हाथ दे दी। पूरी भी न बता सकी, बीच में ही रुक गई। पता नहीं उसे समझ में आया की नहीं कि बात अधूरी छूट गई है… कुछ राघव के और कुछ उसकी फ़िल्म के बारे में बात करते हुए हम आगे बढ गए।</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
एक अनुभव जो व्यक्तिगत था, एक क्षण जो महत्त्वपूर्ण था, विशेष था, अब न रहा।</div>
<div>
मैंने अपने आप को थोड़ा कोसा, और फ़िर ये पोस्ट लिखने बैठ गई।</div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-60303060030332965442013-04-08T03:07:00.000+05:302013-12-16T19:16:12.792+05:30मैं सहम जाती हूँ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">मैं सहम जाती हूँ। अपने आप को बहुत छोटा पाती हूँ।</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">पिछले कुछ दिनों में कई बार ऐसा हुआ। पहली बार जब मैं दिल्ली में थी, और मानव का फ़ोन आया। बातें करते करते अचानक ही वो मेरे काम के बारे में बात करने लगा (हमने साथ में एक फिल्म शूट की है, यानि कि उसने लिखी और डायरेक्ट की और मैंने शूट की)। शायद बात उसके दिमाग में ताज़ा थी तो उसे जैसे ही याद आई उसने फट से बोल डाली। उसने मुझसे कहा कि एक सिनेमेटोग्राफर के लिए एक्टर की नब्ज़ को पकड़ना बहुत ज़रूरी होता है। </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That one should react to what the actor is doing, and try and catch the beat of the actor.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> पर ये बात तो मुझे पता है! मेरे लिए ये अचरज ही नहीं शर्मिंदगी की बात थी की उसे ऐसा बोलने की ज़रुरत भी महसूस हुई। जिस चीज़ को मैं अपनी </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">strength</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> समझती थी, वो उसी बात को लेके अप्रसन्नता जता रहा था। जो मुझे लगा फिल्म की सबसे बड़ी </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">strength</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> होगी, क्या वो नहीं है? मैं बहुत सी </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">documentaries</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> शूट करती रही हूँ जिसमें ये एक महत्त्वपूर्ण गुण माना जाता है कि आप उस क्षण की और अपने पात्र की तरफ न सिर्फ़ सचेत रहें पर उसकी नब्ज़ को पकड़ पायें। और </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">documentaries</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> में तो दूसरा टेक भी नहीं मिलता! अपनी इस काबलियत पर मैं हमेशा काम करती रही हूँ। एक तरफ शायद थोड़ी घमंडी भी हूँ इस गुण को </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">लेकर</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">, और दूसरी तरफ हमेशा डरी रहती हूँ की </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">कहीं</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> घमंड इतना ना बढ़ जाए की गुण हाथ से जाता रहे। पर इस फिल्म में, जो मेरे अब तक के </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">career</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> की सबसे महत्त्वपूर्ण फिल्म होगी, जिसे मैंने भरपूर प्यार और श्रद्धा के साथ शूट किया, क्या मैं असफल रही? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Did I let down Manav as director and all those wonderful actors? And as a consequence, did I fail the film</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">? इस बात से मुझे बहुत दुःख हुआ। मैं सहम गयी।</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">शायद मानव को भी इस बात का एहसास हुआ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">क्योंकि</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> कुछ ही देर बाद उसका फिर से फ़ोन आया और वो बोला कि </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the film is looking stunningly beautiful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> लेकिन एक दोस्त और शुभचिंतक होने के नाते उसे लगा की वो मुझे ये </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">feedback</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> भी ज़रूर दे। इस बात की मैं आभारी हूँ और मानव से इतनी अपेक्षा तो रखती हूँ कि वो मुझे सच्ची और खरी ही फीडबैक दे।</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">मैं वापस मुंबई आई। पता नहीं </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">क्यों</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> वापस आते वक़्त मन कुछ विचलित था। मन में ये सवाल था कि जीने का मकसद क्या है। </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">क्यों</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> जी रही हूँ, किसके लिए। गलत मत समझिये, ऐसा नहीं है कि मेरे जीवन में प्यार की कोई कमी है। मेरा एक सुन्दर परिवार है, जिसके सभी लोग मुझसे बहुत प्यार करते हैं। बहुत से अच्छे दोस्त हैं। रोमांचक प्यार की बात की जाए तो उस मामले में भी मैं बहुत भाग्यवान रही हूँ। अभी जीवन में कोई न सही पर </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">that is by choice</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">. लेकिन फिर भी ऐसा लगता है की </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;">क्यों</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> जिया जाए। शादी करके, बच्चे पैदा करके हम अपने आप को बहला तो लेते हैं की हमारे पास जीने का मकसद है, पर क्या वाकई में वो है, या हम जीवन के खालीपन को रिश्तों से भरने में जुटे हैं?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">मुंबई वापस आके आधा दिन तो सफ़ाई में गया। शाम को जब मेल चेक की तो देखा फैज़ा की एक मेल आई हुई थी। गोलीबार में फिर से लोगों के घर तोड़े गए थे, और कुछ 43 परिवारों ने मैदान में रात गुज़ारी थी। बात दिल को छू गयी पर समझ में नहीं आया क्या करूं। अगले दिन एक दोस्त का मेसेज आया कि वो पास ही है, मिलने आ जाए? वो आया, उसी दिन इत्तेफ़ाक से शायोनी भी मानव के घर आई हुई थी सो शाम साथ गुज़री। बहुत बातें हुई, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">drinks</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> के साथ। रात देर से सोई थी फिर भी सुबह जल्दी आँख खुल गयी। दिन की शुरुआत फिर से गोलीबार की खबर और तस्वीरों से हुई। जिस रात मैं शराब पीते हुए बेकार की बातें कर रही थी, उस रात गोलीबार के लोग सड़क पर थे। पर ये तो रोज़ ही होता है, कितने ही लोग रोज़ ही सड़क पर होते हैं, इसमें क्या नया है? क्यों मैं अपने आप को नकली सी लगती हूँ?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">बहुत मुश्किल होती है। किस बात से बंधू, किससे दूर रहूँ? किससे प्रभावित होऊं, किससे नहीं। कभी लगता है कि ये भी एक तरह का घमंड ही है की हमें 'कुछ करना चाहिए', कि हमारे कुछ करने से कोई फ़र्क पड़ सकता है। अपने ही सवालों से कभी तो थक जाती हूँ, और कभी ऐसा लगता है कि जवाब कितना सरल है। हमारे वश में तो कुछ है ही नहीं, ये तो दुनिया का संतुलन है। </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The only thing to do, the only thing one can do, is to follow one's heart.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> जो काम अच्छा लगे, जिस काम से ख़ुशी मिले, बस वो करता चल। अगर आप सच्चे दिल से काम कर रहें हैं, तो </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">chances are that you are adding value to the world.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> फिर ये ज़रूरी नहीं है कि आप खादी के कपडे और कोह्लापुरी चप्पल पहन कर स्लम में काम करें। शायद मैं बहुत स्वाभाविक सी बात कह रही हूँ। लेकिन ये बात मुझे रह रह के अपने आप को ही बतानी पड़ती है। शायद मेरी मध्य वर्गीयता भी मुझ पर कभी कभी भारी पड़ती है। और इस बात से भी मैं बहुत खुश हूँ। ऐसा लगता है कि जीवन में अगर कोई तकलीफ न हो, या तकलीफ की तरफ़ संवेदनशीलता न हो, तो जीवन कितना नीरस होगा।</span></div>
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इस बात में भी घमंड की हलकी सी बू तो है!</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">आज फ़िर मानव से मुलाक़ात हुई। वो टैगोर पर नाटक की तैयारी में जुटा है। कितना जोश है उसकी बातों में और कितना विश्वास भी। पिछले कुछ महीनों मैं उससे काफ़ी प्रभावित रही। उसके काम के बारे में पहले भी लिख चुकी हूँ। हालांकि उसका काम मुझे पसंद है, पर कुछ बातों से, और एक नाटक से शिकायत भी है। पर इस बात की दाद देती हूँ कि वो जो करता है, पूरी शिद्दत, पूरे तन मन से। वो एक तेज़ बहती नदी की तरह है, उसके साथ काम करना मतलब उसके साथ बहना है। मतलब एक तरीके का समर्पण। अगर आप बहने को तैयार नहीं हैं तो या तो आप उसके साथ काम नहीं कर पाएंगे, या अपने काम में आनंद नहीं ले पाएंगे, या वो ही आप को निकाल बाहर करेगा। बहरहाल, मुझे उसकी </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">energy</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> और </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">enthusiasm</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> हमेशा से बहुत पसंद है। आज भी उसकी बातें सुनी तो एहसास हुआ कि वो कितना काम कर चुका है, और कितना ही और करने में जुटा है। मैं फ़िर सहम गयी। अपनी ज़िन्दगी कुछ फीकी सी लगने लगी। इसलिए नहीं की मुझे अपनी क्षमता पर विश्वास नहीं हैं, या मैं तुलना में लगी हूँ- वो तो बेवकूफी होगी। शायद इसीलिए कि अपनी क्षमता का एहसास है...</span></div>
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पर उसमें भी तो कोई नयी बात नहीं है। मैं अकेली तो नहीं हूँ ऐसी जो अपनी क्षमता के अनुसार काम न पाएगी न कर पाएगी...</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Inspired by Manav, I wrote this post (almost) in Hindi. It took two pegs of rum, three cigarettes, thrice as long and some help from the English-Hindi shabdkosh :)</span></div>
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pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-2269741065604513702013-01-23T23:52:00.000+05:302013-04-22T00:22:49.978+05:30What's in a name?... No really...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I ran into Piyush
Mishra at NSD on Sunday. We had returned from shoot just that morning, and I
had gone straight home with no intention of stepping out again, but a few hours
and a series of phone calls later, found myself at Café Turtle at Khan Market
with the same film crew, or what was left of it in Delhi. Manav was keen to go
to NSD and the rest of us followed- I intended to take the Metro from Mandi
House, and the others wanted to hang out at the Theatre Festival.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So anyway, I ran
into Piyush Mishra. I walked up to him with hands folded in a namaskar, like I
always do. He was his flamboyant self, saying Manav mila, usne bola Pooja
Sharma ne film shoot ki hai. Main bola kaun Pooja Sharma! I laughed and said,
haan aapko to naam se kabhi yaad nahin rahega. ‘Arre tumhara naam hi aisa hai,
duniya mein karoron Sharma hain. Mera naam bhi Priyakant Sharma tha, maine badal
dala.’ I know this, I told him. I have read the <a href="http://caravanmagazine.in/arts/artists-demons" target="_blank">Caravan interview</a>, though I
didn’t remember his exact name, and certainly not that he was a Sharma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This conversation
reminded me of another conversation I had had with my father many years back,
while on an after dinner walk. I was in high school then, and was due to appear
for my 10<sup>th</sup> Board exams that year. It was my last opportunity (or so
I thought) to change my name. I didn’t like my name. I wasn’t sure what I
wanted it to be, the alternatives were equally unimaginative, now that I think
about it- Priya or Priyanka… but anything would be better than Pooja, I had
then thought. So on that walk I casually asked my father, so who kept my name?- hoping to start a conversation that I would eventually veer towards the idea of
changing it. It was me, he said. But Pooja was not such a common name back
then, he added apologetically. In that moment my heart melted. To hell with it,
I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And Pooja Sharma
I stayed.</span><span style="font-family: Century Gothic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-78329792293114092422012-11-13T00:26:00.000+05:302013-07-10T13:43:41.719+05:30Manav Kaul: More plays, mixed reactions (Part 2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Ilhaam’ had not made much of an impression on me.
As a result, I ended up giving the next play ‘Shakkar ke paanch daane’ a miss,
an error I deeply regret now that I have read the play, but I’ll come to that
later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Right after we
returned to Delhi from shooting the film that we are working on together, there
was a festival of Manav’s plays at Mandi House. By this time I knew him
reasonably well, or enough at least to know that he is very talented with a
sharp, quick thinking, improvisational mind, and a spontaneous and infectious
energy. And further, he is a team player who gives people their
space. This I knew of the person, but towards his work I had had a mixed
reaction, having seen only Hansa and Ilhaam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I made it a point
then, to see all three plays that were being staged, including Ilhaam, which
was to be the first. Even after the second viewing, my opinion about the play
stays largely unchanged. I still have the same problems with it. Perhaps I am
unable to see things his way, perhaps he is content with his interpretation… in
any case, in my opinion the play lacks insight, and is heavy with a bias and an
interpretation that is almost Western in nature.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The second play
‘Park’ was something else altogether. It was hilariously funny, with an
underlying theme so simple and so profound- it was superb. The design was
simple- it’s centered around three people and three benches in a park and
happens almost in real time. The beauty is in (the nature and content of) the
interactions between the three people, borne out of their individual quirks.
The idea of occupying and claiming space was lovely in itself, and it seemed a
bit of a stretch to bring in the Israel- Palestinian conflict, Kashmir and the
adivasi- Maoist struggle, especially since all of these are complex issues with
fairly complicated histories. I found it surprising that Manav should slip up
in this regard considering that he is half Kashmiri. I don’t know enough about
Israel- Palestine, but to equate adivasis to Maoists would be offensive to
anyone familiar with the region. Having said that, the references were clearly
made in good faith, and the audience responded to it in the same spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As the
characters’ back stories are revealed, the play enters a different and
unexpected zone- it becomes an insightful comment on some of the ills of our
education system, and our way of bringing up children. Manav seems to be a keen
observer- of people, and trends and events and such- as a good writer ought to
be, and this shows in his detailing, especially of characters. There is an
everyday simplicity and earthiness to his characters that is refreshing. (This
response might seem peculiar, but bear in mind that it comes from someone who
is mostly unfamiliar with Hindi writing as well as theatre, having read none of
Hindi literature, and seen very little theatre.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The three actors
were fantastic. Some credit for this may be due to the director as well; who
seems to know a thing or two about handling actors, and pays great attention to
performances, a trait that was on display earlier on, on our shoot too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The third and
last play that I saw was called ‘Laal Pencil’. This was essentially a
children’s play; here’s the official synopsis: a young school girl is relishing
her new found stardom amongst peers and teachers ever since she suddenly,
mysteriously starts writing beautiful poetry. What no one knows is that it is
not her, but a magic red pencil that she found in class that's writing the
poetry. The constant struggle between truth and falsehood, desires and
righteousness, love and hate, and the pain of keeping a secret, lead upto the
girl's final decision. Will she or won't she? Based on a Korean novel, 'laal
pencil' is a poignant tale of a girl with a secret.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The plot of the
play is simple enough, and does not stray far beyond what is stated in the
synopsis. But it is highly stylised in its presentation, while also offering,
in oblique ways, a critique of the way children are treated, both at home and
in school. There were all kinds of tools employed- from costumes (the students
wore only one shoe), to make up (the students were in mime style make up- with
their faces painted white) to shadow play (Pinki’s parents fight behind a
screen and her father, who has gone away, is never actually seen) to word play
(the argument between Pinki’s parents is fantastic in it’s simplicity while getting
the message across more effectively than would have been possible with normal
dialogues) to more word play (the students almost never say anything
intelligible- always repeating generic phrases, in a allusion to the rote
learning that is prevalent in our schools) to symbolism (the pencil grows
bigger as Pinki’s guilt increases, the students drag themselves across the
stage to reach ‘the other shoe’) to multiple role play (at some points there
are multiple actors playing the same character, Pinki) and so forth. There were
several more, these are only the ones I remember offhand. Besides, I’m not a
theatre person myself and my responses are such as can be expected of a lay
audience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This play
certainly had a message, and even employed Mahatma Gandhi in order to get it
across, or perhaps to legitimise it. This is just as well, for Truth in itself
does not seem to command the respect and high regard that it should in society,
and is usually propped up/ legitimised / appropriated by invoking religion and/
or the fires of hell or the next birth, as the case may be. To invoke the
Mahatma then, is to clearly state your secular credentials. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I seem to vaguely
remember Manav saying that ‘Laal Pencil’ is not a play for children. In a way I
see his point- the message in the play is as relevant for and applicable to, an
adult. Besides we as a society would do well to return to all those moral
science lessons we read in school, for we don’t seem to be doing a very good
job of applying any to our lives. Besides, there is much in the play that
demonstrates both an understanding and a critique of our schools, teachers and
parents, and to that extent I suppose it is certainly one that adults ought to
see. But it is very clearly also a play that would appeal to older children,
who might recognise some of their angst, depicted on stage.</span><span style="font-family: Century Gothic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-11719496512658912392012-11-04T03:52:00.000+05:302013-04-08T08:28:13.454+05:30Manav Kaul: First Impressions (Part 1)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A little over a
month and- one film seen, one shot, three plays seen, one read, and several poems
and blog posts read- it’s been a <a href="http://www.thehindu.com/arts/theatre/article541909.ece" target="_blank">Manav Kaul</a> overdose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Links: Manav's <a href="http://manavplays.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">plays</a>, <a href="http://manavaranya.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">poems</a> and <a href="http://aranyamanav.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">other writings</a>.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I had not heard
of Manav when I went to see his film- as part of the Osian’s Film Festival in Delhi,
and on a friend’s recommendation- it’s called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Hansa/340127319391726?fref=ts" target="_blank">Hansa</a> and it’s one of the
loveliest children’s films I have seen. It has a simple story, just like
the people that it portrays- hill people, with their simple lives and simple
joys and sorrows (and I don’t mean that in a condescending way, far from it!)
It is full of heartwarming little details and characters that are quirky yet
believable, with their own little idiosyncrasies. More than anything else, it’s
a film that treats children as young adults, with respect for their
intelligence and sensitivity, and without mollycoddling or shielding them from
the realities of life. There is stuff in the film that parents may find hard to
explain to their children, but it is in no way stuff that they should shy away
from. It is also a film with some wonderful performances, especially by the
younger actors. It is a little crude, rough- at- the- edges so to say in its craft, but I am
more than willing to overlook that not just because it is Manav’s first film
but also because there is so much in the film that is beautiful and does work!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Unsurprisingly it won awards at Osian's. Read about it <a href="http://www.longlivecinema.com/from-theatre-to-film-manav-kaul-talks-about-his-award-winning-directorial-venture-hansa/" target="_blank">here</a>.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I returned to
Bombay determined to see Manav’s plays, two of which were scheduled to be staged
at Prithvi soon after my return. He is primarily a theatre person and I was
excited about seeing his plays after seeing such a promising film debut. So I
promptly went for ‘<a href="http://www.manavplays.blogspot.in/2011/02/blog-post.html" target="_blank">Ilhaam</a>’, the first of the two plays, the first day that it
was staged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">‘Ilhaam’ is a
story about a family man who attains enlightenment and what happens thereafter-
how he and his family cope with it. Here’s the official synopsis: ‘Bhagwan is
the epitome of the mundane – a middle-aged banker, married, with two grown up
college-going children. However, one day, while sitting on a decrepit park
bench he stumbles upon ‘enlightenment’. Therein begins the battle between the
world outside and his world inside’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Let me state at
the outset that I had a problem with ‘Ilhaam’ from the word go, with it’s very
premise. The play basically seeks to engage with Bhagwan’s struggles post
enlightenment, without actually concerning itself with what the process of
reaching this enlightenment may have been. There are clues along the way that
seem to suggest, as does the synopsis, that Bhagwan literally ‘stumbles upon’
enlightenment, an idea that is as fantastic as it seems preposterous, though in
all fairness there are also clues that suggest Bhagwan always had a disposition
that made him a suitable candidate, including a history of talking to birds,
running away from home as a child and being untraceable for a year, and time
spent in an asylum. And yet there is little to suggest that it was a conscious
process, nor is the process or enlightenment itself accompanied by a better
understanding of the world, a fact that seems blaringly contradictory to the
idea of ‘enlightenment’, whatever it may be (since we can only conjecture.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Manav seems to
have limited his own canvas by resorting to clichés- in his journey towards
enlightenment and thereafter, Bhagwan sits in a decrepit park bench for hours
on end, watching children who don’t exist, at play. He talks to birds and can
converse with a mute beggar. He dances without music (a graceless dance with
staccato movements… because Nature is so graceless?!) All the while that he
finds himself closer to Nature, he also finds himself further away from his
family and friends, at one point reaching a stage where they become totally
unintelligible to him. For some inexplicable reason, his ‘enlightenment’ is not
accompanied by sensitivity towards his own family nor understanding for their
concern. I find this conceptualisation puzzling- I can understand the
difficulty in portraying a sense of detachment- and therein lies the challenge.
But should this detachment have been devoid of love and compassion and a deeper
understanding of the ways of the Universe? Did Bhagwan really need to be so
perplexed by all that was going on around him? If the intention was to portray
Bhagwan’s internal struggle, would that not have been better served had Bhagwan
been a little more aware? He might still have found himself to be equally
helpless, but would have been more believable as someone who did indeed attain
some kind of enlightenment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The play is
peppered with philosophical questions, (and references many authors) which are not just perfectly legitimate, they are of a
high intellectual caliber, something that one can expect of someone as well
read as Manav. But then it seems to be precisely that- an intellectual response to a
concept that can perhaps only be understood or believed in if one has faith. In
my limited experience, I have come to recognise and accept the difference
between intelligence and wisdom. Manav seems to be coming from a place of
intelligence and attempting to tackle questions of wisdom... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Having said that,
I did find his take very interesting. According to Manav, enlightenment is a
reversible process, ‘curable’ by the force of will and medicine. Such is the
fate of his Bhagwan, who goes through psychological treatment- willingly it
would seem- for he makes a choice to return to family life over staying
enlightened, which seem, according to him, to be mutually exclusive states of
being. This is a choice he makes in a conversation with his ‘Chacha’ (who the
Chacha turns out to be is a delightful surprise in an inspired piece of
writing)- a conversation that is the high point of the play, and one which
encapsulates its essence.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-73685269266853988522012-10-30T16:35:00.000+05:302013-04-08T08:29:42.322+05:30Ud jayega hans akela<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If ever I have known
nostalgia, now is it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And if it could be embodied
in a single tangible thing, it would have to be this song.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kY2k0JcfByg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For a little less than a
month a group of people came together, strangers most of them, to shoot a film. What followed was a joyride. For those 20 odd days, as we all woke up
at unearthly hours and dragged ourselves out of bed and over the mountain paths to the locations- we were close, so close- we were friends, buddies, partners in
crime, companions on a journey, contributors, nay collaborators in a common creative effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On those walks and drives
to location, we often had music playing on the cab music system or someone’s
cellphone. On the longer drives, Sayani and Sahil would often hum or sing
little snippets of old Hindi film songs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But the one that stuck in
my head is this one that played off Manav’s cellphone on the long drive to
Devaria tal, and then again on the walk up to the hut when the two of us went
to shoot some time lapses and plates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The shoot came to an end,
as it had to. And people began to leave one by one. And I felt a sadness I had
never felt before… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And these lines, quoted
from the song, could not be more appropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Jaise paat gire taruvar ke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Milna bahut duhela<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Na jaanu kidhar kirega<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Lagya pawan ka rela<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As the Leaf Falls from the
Tree<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Is Difficult to Find<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Who Knows Where it Will
Fall<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Once it is Struck with a
Gust Of Wind<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I wish them well, everyone who was with us on this beautiful journey, whether or not our paths ever cross again.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">:')</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-85400235163279203102012-09-06T01:32:00.002+05:302013-04-08T08:28:50.936+05:30The building next door<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’d noticed the
name before<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">on the building next door</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">though only in
passing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Do you pause
anymore<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">when you come
across a building</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">named after a popular icon?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Neither do I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And this one was
inside Police Officers’ Colony!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And so it came to
be<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">that here I’ve been
living<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">without a clue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Until last week when I visited
someone who lives in it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">At the entrance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I found a bust <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">bearing his name!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh yes, said she.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This plot of land
belonged to him,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">as did the
building.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When he died,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">his family
distributed the apartments<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">among his crew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This one belonged
to his still photographer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There it was then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He died before
the building was even finished,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">and he certainly
never lived in it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But if he owned
it, surely he must have come here,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">walked the same
earth?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That thought
was enough to fill my heart</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">with a child like glee!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I glided home,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">imagining that
time in the long lost past<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">when Guru Dutt
may have walked the same path.</span><span style="font-family: Century Gothic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-293670585218263132012-09-03T17:08:00.000+05:302013-04-08T08:29:04.392+05:30When ignorance is other than bliss<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A few days back at the
Andheri Sports Club, as I sat outside the squash court changing shoes, I
happened to overhear a conversation that this girl in the next chair was having
with someone on the phone. She was explaining that she hadn’t known about the
sms ban, and had been repeatedly trying to send a sms and failing, until
someone informed her that she could send all of 5 messages in the course of a
day. It’s because of Assam, she said. She didn’t know exactly what, but
something had happened in Assam, she explained, because of which the government
had imposed the ban.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The next day I attended the book launch of <a href="http://www.harpercollins.co.in/author.asp?Author_Code=1929" target="_blank">Sudeep Chakravorty</a>’s ‘<a href="http://www.flipkart.com/highway-39-935029334x/p/itmd9yr5mwguxrvr?pid=9789350293348&ref=732ef900-1f5c-44ed-b485-3c1fdf423fad" target="_blank">Highway 39</a>’. In the question answer
session that followed after the introduction and reading, someone asked Sudeep
a question about the Khasi tribes, and the Naga situation. Sudeep and other
panelists were quick to shake their heads, and he began his response with the
correction that Khasis belonged to Meghalaya, not Nagaland. Never make this
mistake with someone from the Khasi tribe, or for that matter from Nagaland, he
said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There is nothing
new or novel about either incident. If at all it points to how similar the two
people were- both were from middle class Mumbai, one was apparently very
ignorant, to not have heard of Assam in spite of it being constantly in the
news, and the other was apparently not just well informed, but well read enough
to know about the book launch and interested enough to land up for it, and yet
didn’t know a very basic fact about the NE- different levels perhaps, but
ignorance just the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have often
heard this refrain- that we know next to nothing about the NE, that we don’t
take enough interest, that we distance them by this attitude of 'us and them'-
and all of it is true. Sudeep started his introduction by saying that the seven
sisters comprising the NE and its people are so dissimilar, that it’s almost
unfair to club them together under the umbrella of the ‘North East’. (According
to him they should be called the Far East to begin with, they are not really
the North; though I have a feeling that the term probably got coined as a
result of the North- South divide, which is very strong in India. The seven
sisters are in the North *relative* to the South.) At this argument I found myself thinking, but the South is made
of different peoples with different cultures, but we do club them together and
say South India. Heck, India itself is such a mix of people, but we all live
under the umbrella of being Indian, don’t we. While I see the point he tried to
make, it held only so much significance for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Coming back to
the general level of ignorance about the NE, thing is, from all I can tell,
people seem to be ignorant in general, and not just about the NE as a special
case scenario. Yes, they know less about it than about other things, and to
that extent there is a certain kind of isolation. But they probably also know
less about any number of other things that they should know more about- even
stuff that concerns them directly- such as the amount of pesticide in their
food for instance, or how many local train accidents happen daily in Mumbai.
I’m not trying to make a case for ignorance. I’m saying ignorance is non
discriminatory. People are too caught up in their own lives and troubles, or
maybe it is that they can process only so much information, and their own
surroundings fill up that capacity, but also, we have all been deliberately and
considerably dumbed down by our schooling system on the one hand and the media
on the other, and a culture of curiosity and of questioning has not been
allowed to develop. This indifference then extends towards everyone- towards
the farmers in Vidarbha, towards Kashmiris, towards tribals fighting for their
lands, towards rural populations fighting for their right to traditional
livelihoods- the list is a long one, and yes it includes the NE. And wherever
the situation is complicated, such as is in the NE, it becomes even easier to
ignore- it just takes way too much effort to engage!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Seen in this
light, the reaction of the girl on the phone and the man in the audience
questioning Sudeep, are completely understandable, are they not? Maybe not
entirely acceptable, but at least understandable? Can we really demand that
people (presumably more privileged by virtue of being from the mainland) know
about the problems of communities in the NE, when they are struggling with
enough of their own? Conversely, do we apply the same standards to them? At the
risk of inviting much wrath, could I question the NE-ers- their stand on the
Koodankulam anti nuclear movement, or Kasab’s sentence, or just about any other issue from the 'mainland'. This is not to take away from their struggles and grievances in the
least. All that I am saying is that it is unrealistic, and an impossible dream
to expect everyone to be both informed and hold an opinion about everything
(this statement even sounds ridiculous, but hopefully the point I’m trying to
make comes through.) In any case, for a number of reasons- the very diverse and
complicated histories of the many communities of the Indian state being the
foremost- it is unrealistic to imagine that the common man, from the NE or
mainlander, from the North or the South, the Kashmiri or the 'Indian', can
possibly be aware of issues that seem of burning nature to communities that
suffer them. We can hope that there are enough in each case- aware and willing
to question and demand justice- to form a critical mass, so that issues don’t
get overlooked. And that responsibility does lie more with those who are privileged
to have had say an education, or are otherwise empowered, maybe by their
wisdom, traditional or otherwise. It does lie more with those who are in
positions of power, or in positions of being able to drive change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perhaps just
about the only thing we can hope we can be, perhaps the only thing to be done,
is to be tolerant. To view the world through the filters of love and
compassion, and perhaps much of the dividing lines will dissolve away. And the
question of us being different from them won’t lead to a display of power, to
control and persecution, leading in turn to retaliation as a consequence. And
that perhaps, is the only thing we can and should teach our children as well-
to see the beauty in diversity, and to respect and accept differences. If we
could succeed in doing that, then we would raise a generation that would view
everyone- whether they be from another state or another country- with kindness and compassion. And then being ignorant would not be such a serious malady.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-70808043874136664862012-08-20T16:29:00.001+05:302013-04-08T08:30:00.204+05:30Book Spine Poetry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Inspired by <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/" target="_blank">brainpickings</a>, which was in turn <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2012/08/17/book-spine-poetry-reader-submissions/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+brainpickings%2Frss+%28Brain+Pickings%29" target="_blank">inspired</a> by artist <a href="http://www.ninakatchadourian.com/" target="_blank">Nina Katchadourian</a>.</span><br />
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUvOLXPzCTG2eXN4OboflSuFDMb6NzK_6itkQKQDNfeG8Kv0S3y2yL1YZo2krAvWUoos9laO23Urba_m50EgTEyjPkgrLaYmvAs1MMXZnfCJIxzyz0ltvn4immSGzHxrzT8h71OpaKWOa/s1600/IMG_1989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinUvOLXPzCTG2eXN4OboflSuFDMb6NzK_6itkQKQDNfeG8Kv0S3y2yL1YZo2krAvWUoos9laO23Urba_m50EgTEyjPkgrLaYmvAs1MMXZnfCJIxzyz0ltvn4immSGzHxrzT8h71OpaKWOa/s400/IMG_1989.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Being Indian-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">behind the beautiful forevers,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">everybody loves a good drought</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Being Indian-
Pavan K Varma<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Behind the
Beautiful Forevers- Katherine Boo<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Everybody loves a
good drought- P Sainath<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3olPTDn5wQnsBle0G0xXTR7m11UswPvchisxEhUMdtvwySJvSaxsKlDmMO0YOb6aHLZTezfBJGtLcjnnfMf-q8sYRIxn1E1J2dwYTe-kfUrl_9TdM7ePTmb9l8hD5HTb6XiQwt0EclN_/s1600/IMG_1991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3olPTDn5wQnsBle0G0xXTR7m11UswPvchisxEhUMdtvwySJvSaxsKlDmMO0YOb6aHLZTezfBJGtLcjnnfMf-q8sYRIxn1E1J2dwYTe-kfUrl_9TdM7ePTmb9l8hD5HTb6XiQwt0EclN_/s400/IMG_1991.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">India after Gandhi-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">poor souls!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the inheritance of loss,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">multitude,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">identity and violence-</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">a fine balance!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
India after
Gandhi- Ramachandra Guha</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Poor Souls-
Joseph Connolly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Inheritance
of Loss- Kiran Desai<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Multitude-
Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Identity and
Violence- Amartya Sen<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A fine balance-
Rohington Mistry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3olPTDn5wQnsBle0G0xXTR7m11UswPvchisxEhUMdtvwySJvSaxsKlDmMO0YOb6aHLZTezfBJGtLcjnnfMf-q8sYRIxn1E1J2dwYTe-kfUrl_9TdM7ePTmb9l8hD5HTb6XiQwt0EclN_/s1600/IMG_1991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></a>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeYOQ8A05BQkL34RvbqV83MHz7qQrYfCrq_-xBEF4cU9NO5_sNc7yFHC5iujU-Gfe4ZHRtUhtMGf8R0ubhJVc5mruZJGuhGIvOb0zdA_UaBHU0RDCW2KhqH0QgED1xXF-XxlNyhCwRB9D/s1600/IMG_1994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeYOQ8A05BQkL34RvbqV83MHz7qQrYfCrq_-xBEF4cU9NO5_sNc7yFHC5iujU-Gfe4ZHRtUhtMGf8R0ubhJVc5mruZJGuhGIvOb0zdA_UaBHU0RDCW2KhqH0QgED1xXF-XxlNyhCwRB9D/s400/IMG_1994.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">all these years,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the fear of freedom</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the wonder that was India!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All these years-
Raj Thapar</span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The fear of
Freedom- Erich Fromm<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The wonder that
was India- Basham</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-77563265245839145342012-08-12T02:12:00.000+05:302013-04-08T08:30:13.786+05:30Of eavesdropping on conversations in cabs...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So I overheard
this rather interesting conversation today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It so happened
that I landed up in a cab with a stranger in the front passenger seat. Cabs were hard to come
by today, and we were both headed in the same direction- the cab guy was
gracious enough to suggest that I hop on as well, (for he had taken on the
other guy first,) and the dark, lanky passenger nodded his agreement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As soon as the
cab started the lanky boy in the front seat started fiddling with the newspaper
on the dashboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ye aaj ka hai?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nahin, kal ka.
Aaj ka nahin hai mere paas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Arre, aaj ka
paper dekhne ka hai.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Kyun, kya hua.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Burma mein logon
ko kaat rele hain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(Incredulous)
Acchha? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Haan, bahut logon
ko. Bacchon ko bhi nahin chhod rahe. Ek mahine ke bacche ka sar kaat dala. Usi
ke liye log jama hai Azad Maidan pe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Acchha? Kyun maar
rahen hain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Kya maloom, bahut
kuchh to gadbad kiya rahega.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ye Burma kidhar
hai?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nepal ke baju
mein.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Acchha. matlab
India mein hai?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nahin. India mein
nahin hai. India mein Assam mein maar rele hain. Kaat ke phhenk rele hai.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Acchha? TV pe
dikha rahen hain ye sab.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Nahin, TV pe
kahan. Sab daba dete hain aisi khabar ko. Kahin nahin milegi, na TV pe, na
paper mein.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Cabdriver gets a
phone call- his mom has called to apprise him of the trouble at Azad Maidan,
and to ask him not to go there. He speaks to her, hangs up and relates the news
to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">At this point, my
destination is near. Much as I would have liked to hear more of this
conversation between the very interesting passenger and the
simple, rather ignorant and easily believing cab driver, I had to ask the cab
to slow down. The lanky guy shuffled around as I paid up, he got out of the cab
and left without offering to share the fare. As I entered the building, I realized he was there in the
foyer, not ignoring me but not acknowledging either. We entered the lift
together, and got off at the 10<sup>th</sup> floor. On the way I stole a couple
of glances at him- there is something oddly familiar about him. He waits for me
to get out first. Chivalry, I thought, or has he just decided to let me lead
the way since I obviously know where I’m headed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was late, and
even though I was curious to at least ask his name, or check if he has come for
the screening, (in which case I would have asked him to come with me,) I just
rush through to the theatre. A minute after I find myself a seat, I see him
walk past and sit a few rows ahead. The first film has ended and the second one
begins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And there he is,
on the screen. Videokaaran.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/eKSkTIbaa5g?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-39629633331276277932012-08-11T12:08:00.001+05:302013-04-08T08:30:29.170+05:30Baromas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">'Have you seen
<a href="http://www.harudthefilm.com/" target="_blank">Harud</a>? Its the best film on Kashmir yet, absolutely brilliant. Has convinced
me, if there was any doubt, that fiction is the way to go.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A couple of years
ago a friend of mine who had made a documentary on the women of Kashmir, sent me this message. I mostly agree, though I also feel
that we live in a fool's paradise when we imagine that the films we choose to
be associated with make any difference at all. And yet, we go on believing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here’s another
film then, very different in style from Harud, and yet equally relevant. I hope
it does for farmers what Harud could or could not do for Kashmir.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/-ZlF00lyTDs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Baromas</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(from its facebook description)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Baromas is a
feature film in Hindi based on the Sahitya Academy award winning Marathi Novel.
The movie is produced by Sajith and Priyanka. The director is Dhiraj Meshram.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-49626973092607907872012-06-25T00:45:00.000+05:302013-04-08T08:30:45.358+05:30Update- and I still mostly don't look forward to the rains<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And as if to
prove my point, a day after I posted the last piece, I had another conversation
with my maid Vibha.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So she took a day
off because her child was unwell, and then turned up late the next day. When I
enquired why, she said they were preparing for the rain, keeping stuff up at a
height. So late, I asked with surprise, you should have done that in the very
first week of June, Bambai ki baarish ka kya bharosa. Yes, she said, but we had
heard that there might be demolitions, so we were waiting for that. But then
there were the pre monsoon showers the previous day, and so much stuff got wet,
that they went ahead and prepared for the monsoon anyway. What does this
preparation entail- a brand new tarpaulin roof. They had a roof of course, but
it was an old weathered sheet, enough to shield from the summer sun but not
enough to bear the brunt of the fury that the monsoon rain in Bombay can be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, whether
or not demolitions follow, they have had to put up a new sheet to keep out the
water. How often do demolitions happen, I ask. About three or four times a
year, she says. I am incredulous. You rebuild every single time then, three or
four times a year? Yes, she says simply. We rebuild. It takes them two to four
hours to rebuild and get everything in order, provided they don’t lose much to
theft.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Rebuilding a
house, twice a year (she admitted later that there isn’t always demolition
every time there is a threat of one, so it actually really happens about twice
a year.) A house that will be defenseless once the monsoon hits with full
force, and the streets begin to overflow with water that simply doesn’t have
anywhere to go because we’ve built multistory buildings and blocked its natural
drainage path. Upar se aane wale paani ko to rok bhi lete hain, she had said to
me once, neeche se jo aata hai uska kya karen. (We are still able to prevent
water from coming in from above, what do we do about the water that comes in
from below- that collects in the streets and threatens to and sometimes does
come in to the house through doors.)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-83590989541302079552012-06-09T00:53:00.001+05:302013-04-08T08:31:01.286+05:30Why I’m not looking forward to the rains<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Why indeed? I
mean, who doesn’t like pleasant weather and the romance of rains after the
oppressive heat that is Bombay summer? Well, me for one. I’m not looking
forward to rains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It’s not like I
don’t like rain. It’s beautiful of course. From my window. The moment I have to
step out, it doesn’t seem so great anymore. Bombay in the monsoon sucks. It’s
filthy most of the year; during monsoon it’s filthy and wet- ie gross. If you
are not from the privileged class that travels only in cars, chances are you will
have to wade through dirty water at some point or another, every single time
you step out. And even if you are from the privileged class, in fact especially
so, you will get stuck in traffic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And then there is
the matter of all those people living on pavements and in slums, with no proper
drainage to speak of. Do they find the rain romantic when the water reaches
their doorstep and beyond? Do they find it romantic when their roof starts to
leak, or when the streets become rivers of floating muck, and excreta from
several living forms? Do they find it romantic when they spend nights huddled
under plastic sheets?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I’m not sure when
I started to view the rain differently. I don’t want to be a spoilsport when
everyone seems to be waiting with such anticipation, and there is joy all
around. Maybe <a href="http://tidbitsfromnowhere.blogspot.in/2011/08/random-rainy-morning-conversation.html" target="_blank">this conversation</a> is partly to blame. At any rate, I can safely
say, as lovely as the rain still is from my window, as stunning as the skies
are these days, and luscious the green, I will henceforth always have mixed feelings about rain.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-32399693241191340042012-05-30T01:26:00.000+05:302013-04-08T08:31:16.513+05:30A day in May<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Scorching sun,
oppressive heat; no sign of the slightest wind, not a leaf stirring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Househunting
blues.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">An owner trying
to impress on me that the rent is justified, after all it is a ‘good society’,
a reference to a building being gated, relatively well maintained and with
inhabitants who are typically a little better off. A hierarchy even in buildings.
‘A good society’ does not mean good people, it just means people with more
money, I think to myself but don’t say it. When will the Mumbai housing Gods
smile down on me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sweaty, hot and
depressed, I come back home and stare out of the window at the limping palm
leaves that I am going to miss very much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Call from Faiza.
There have been demolitions in Ambujwadi and Sion Koliwada.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My househunting
blues are now coloured with a tinge of guilt.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-68134909523692338802012-02-05T00:46:00.001+05:302012-02-12T18:28:48.931+05:30A healthy obsession... or maybe OCD?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have what some
might call a bit of an obsession. :)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I like to take
informed decisions, but the process of ‘informing’ myself can sometimes be
long. And I mean *long*, by most people’s standards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The latest one concerned drinking water, and one would think that that alone should have been reason enough for a
quick decision, but that would be underestimating my ability to procrastinate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, to begin
at the beginning: I moved into my current house at Yari Road about 6 months back.
It’s a nice enough house, though the building is very old and not very well
maintained, but that’s another story. Even when I had first moved in, the
broker had informed me about the water situation- that the water in the tap is
a mix of BMC (ie municipal supply) and borewell water, and therefore, I should
procure drinking water from the couple of taps in H block that have continuous
BMC water supply. For the first week, while I was still settling down, I got a
20l bottle of Bisleri while I tried to figure out what to do about drinking
water. For those of you who are not from the country, let me tell you that the
water that is supplied by our municipal corporations, though treated, is often
not fit for drinking. There are all kinds of impurities and contamination to be
found in the water, and while many of us seem to have developed a healthy
immunity thanks to having grown up here, sometimes even we succumb to water
borne diseases. And that is why there is a wide variety of water purifiers
available in the market, all of which do brisk business.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Having said that,
BMC water is actually not bad in most places. There is a friend of mine who
scoffs at me and drinks water straight off the tap, but then he has the
constitution of an ox. I have in fact had water at his place many times and
survived it, but that simply wasn’t an option I was willing to consider as a
permanent solution. Besides, much as I would love to trust our government
agencies, it’s just not practical. So as I sipped on Bisleri that first week, I
happened to visit a friend who lives in the same building. I was surprised to
learn that she had no idea that the water in the tap wasn’t entirely BMC and
had happily been using it, albeit with a storage water filter. I corrected her,
and told her how all the residents, or most of them anyway, get their drinking
water from H block in cans. That’s what all the big white cans lined up on the
ground floor are for; they pay the guard a monthly fee to fill them up and
leave them at their doorstep everyday. But she couldn’t be bothered, she
declared, and neither could I, I decided.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And how about the
purification? Well, as far as eliminating microorganisms is concerned, the
surest, most effective way is boiling water and that’s what I decided to do,
in lieu of getting a filter. Sure it’s tedious, and sometimes one plain
forgets; the worst is when you plain forget after you’ve put the vessel on the
burner, and an half hour later you smell something burning- you run into the
kitchen to find a red hot steel vessel, disfigured for life! But you get used
to it all after a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what happened
now, six months later? Well, lately I’ve noticed a layer of oil in the boiled
water. Also there is a residue of salt in my plants, left behind by the
evaporated water I assume. Both these trouble me needless to say, and when my
maid mentioned to me (not for the first time,) that I should reconsider
where I’m getting my drinking water from, and worse- that she never drinks water at my
place because I use tap water, that really was the last straw!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got myself
another big bottle of Bisleri and got down to the task of researching to figure
out a solution. Here are the findings of two days of off-and-on and half a day
of concentrated researching and reading:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kind of
purifier you use depends on the quality of water in your area (but of course.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my case, since
part of the water was ground water, it was likely to contain oil, solid
contaminants, and dissolved salts. All of these are hard to remove, and only by
a process called reverse osmosis. RO filters are some of the most expensive in
the market and are not efficient- they waste 2 to 3 times as much water as
they purify. These factors effectively ruled out a wall mounted water purifier
connected to the tap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This left the
other solution- getting water from downstairs in a water can. I am not very
comfortable with the idea of a plastic water can to get and store water,
however temporarily. This is not to say that I have managed to eliminate
plastic from my life- not by a long shot, but I am trying!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even if one gets
BMC water, there is the matter of purifying it, although this task is much
easier since this water does not contain oils and dissolved salts and is
already treated with both UV radiation and chlorine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Therefore, even a
simple storage type water filter should suffice (which typically uses
activated carbon though companies nowadays have patended technologies, using
two or more steps) though even in this case, boiling is best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have read
reports of doctors saying that one should boil water even after filtering/
purifying using a purifier! By the way, the right way to purify water by
boiling is to bring it to a rolling boil and let it boil for about a minute if
you reside near sea level, and for 3 minutes at higher altitudes. It doesn’t
even need to boil really, it just needs to attain a temperature of 72deg for
about 5 minutes, but since this is harder to achieve practically, bringing to
boil and letting it boil for 1 minute is recommended (although is there was a
way around it, it would lead to substantial saving in fuel consumption.) Storage
of this water needs some care so as to not contaminate it post boiling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And while several
top companies such as Eureka Forbes (the market leader in water purifiers),
Tata and HUL, all have very affordable storage water filters in the market, do
a basic search for reviews and you would realise almost none are hassle free,
though HUL clearly scores better than the others. (I won’t get into the
technologies they use, for while I am vaguely aware of them, I am none the
wiser as to which is better.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, there is an
environmental cost to boiling water- it uses LPG which is not a renewable
resource. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So there it is
then- that is my dilemma. Most people would just go for a filter I suppose and
it is probably the wiser choice. It saves one the hassle of having to boil
water and does a reasonably good job of purifying water of BMC quality. A filter
like HUL’s Pure-it actually uses a two stage process where it eliminates solid
articles by passing the water through thin semi pervious membranes, and
chlorinates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heck, most
people would have done that without the research and the waste
of a couple of days! :)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ll just draw
solace in thinking of myself as a little better informed- for whatever it’s
worth.</span><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-5588019936723306792012-02-04T20:17:00.000+05:302012-02-04T20:19:22.642+05:30Wislawa Szymborska<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First a quick
post to honour this wonderful poet I just discovered.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see, I was
never into poetry; or literature for that matter. I used to read voraciously as
a child, but had no one to guide me in new directions so it was all fairly
usual and popular stuff. All the authors I read were ones I discovered myself
or those that close friends were reading. In hindsight, I feel that I missed
out on a great many. This is not to say that my teachers didn’t try. I remember
getting books as prizes year after year. When I look back now at the books that
I was gifted, I can see perhaps a conscious effort on the parts of my teachers
to acknowledge my reading preferences, and introduce me to new books, usually
classics. I still have copies of ‘Twenty thousand leagues under the Sea’, which
I never took to, and ‘Silas Marner’, that I read and enjoyed and many such,
which were prizes for various academic achievements.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never took to
the classics, somehow. Shakespeare and Charles Dickens bored me, mostly
(blasphemy, yes!) though I did fall in love with ‘A tale of two cities’, which
was such a welcome change from the morose ‘David Copperfield’ or ‘Oliver
Twist’; as for Shakespeare, all I can say in my defense is that I find plays
hard to read. There was also the fact that I never read the originals because
the language was just so tedious and hard to understand, and I suppose one does
lose something of their beauty in translations, especially in translations for
children. I hope to go back to such classical authors someday, and discover
them anew. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My reading habits
grew worse as I grew older, and speed declined, and how! I nearly gave up
reading because it took so long that it almost seemed like a chore. This was a
long and sad phase that is not yet over, though I am trying to get back to reading.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which is not to
say that I don’t spend long hours in front of my computer screen, reading all
kinds of stuff- newspaper articles and blog posts mostly, but still. It’s just
that I don’t have the attention span for long pieces, which of course books are.
Which is why it surprises me somewhat that I didn’t take to poetry earlier,
which does come in lovely short capsules, mostly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, I
still can’t claim to like too much of classical poetry. I admire it for its
technique and mastery, no doubt. I just don’t take to stuff that is too lateral
in meaning, or makes me reach for a dictionary (or rather, open
dictionary.com.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are
advantages of course, to not having known of countless authors and poets- and
that is the joy of discovering them. There is a thrill that I get from reading
a good book or story or poem that is indescribable. Sometimes it makes me
shiver with excitement; sometimes it makes me sigh with wonder at the sheer
beauty of the words, expressed with such simplicity. Sometimes there is an urge
to share the words, and they end up as facebook status messages and mails to
friends. The last such book that I read was Milan Kundera’s ‘Life is
Elsewhere’. And this post is to share a couple of poems of Wislawa Szymborska,
a name that I can barely pronounce and a woman that I didn’t know existed until
she passed away recently, leading to her being quoted by several of my friends,
as a tribute. One line caught my attention and I’m glad it did, for it belonged
to a beautiful piece. And the search led to several other beautiful pieces,
from which I reproduce two here:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Under One Small
Star</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
chance for calling it necessity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please, don't be
angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">May my dead be
patient with the way my memories fade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
time for all the world I overlook each second.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forgive me,
distant wars, for bringing flowers home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forgive me, open
wounds, for pricking my finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I apologize for
my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I apologize to
those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pardon me,
hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pardon me,
deserts, that I don't rush to you bearing a spoonful of water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you, falcon,
unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">your gaze always
fixed on the same point in space,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">forgive me, even
if it turns out you were stuffed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
the felled tree for the table's four legs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
great questions for small answers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Truth, please
don't pay me much attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dignity, please
be magnanimous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bear with me, O
mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Soul, don't take
offense that I've only got you now and then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
everything that I can't be everywhere at once.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My apologies to
everyone that I can't be each woman and each man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know I won't be
justified as long as I live,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">since I myself stand
in my own way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't bear me ill
will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">then labor
heavily so that they may seem light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one struck a
chord! Yes, my apologies, many, many apologies, for all that I want to be, try
to be, but fail more than I succeed;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">apologies to all
the people that I love, in the many ways that I love them, which sometimes goes
unexpressed, or not expressed enough or is sometimes just not sufficient- for
them or for me;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">apologies to all
the less fortunate, for it’s nothing but my good fortune that I have food to
eat and a roof over my head, it could very easily have been otherwise;
apologies for all the times that I have expensive dinners or wear expensive
clothes, it’s not the divide I wish to highlight, sometimes I just indulge in
my taste for good food and beauty;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">apologies to all
the persecuted, you don’t deserve it any more than I do; apologies for laughing
and making merry while you have your house burned down, or run for life, or are
tortured in prison, I do stand by you;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">apologies to all
of you fighting distant wars, or living in war like conditions, sometimes in
not so distant places; apologies for the normalcy I enjoy- simple freedoms like
travelling without having to carry identification papers and roaming the
streets after dark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And such
apologies to many others that I may not yet remember, but who sometimes, just
sometimes, introduce a tinge of guilt in my everyday living. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other one is
a wonderfully simple poem that ends with such hope and beauty, even as it drives
home a feeling of injustice perhaps, but also inevitability. So much, in such
few words!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The End and the
Beginning</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After every war<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">someone has to
clean up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Things won’t<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">straighten
themselves up, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone has to
push the rubble<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to the side of
the road,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">so the
corpse-filled wagons<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">can pass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone has to
get mired<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">in scum and
ashes,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sofa springs,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">splintered glass,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and bloody rags.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone has to
drag in a girder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to prop up a
wall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone has to
glaze a window,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rehang a door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Photogenic it’s
not,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and takes years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All the cameras
have left<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">for another war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll need the
bridges back,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and new railway
stations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sleeves will go
ragged<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">from rolling them
up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone, broom in
hand,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">still recalls the
way it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Someone else
listens<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and nods with
unsevered head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But already there
are those nearby<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">starting to mill
about<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">who will find it
dull.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From out of the
bushes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">sometimes someone
still unearths<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rusted-out
arguments<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and carries them
to the garbage pile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Those who knew<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">what was going on
here<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">must make way for<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">those who know
little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And less than
little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And finally as
little as nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the grass that
has overgrown<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">causes and
effects,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">someone must be
stretched out<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">blade of grass in
his mouth<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">gazing at the
clouds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-74899746639481158212012-01-06T18:07:00.005+05:302012-02-04T20:19:35.306+05:30Food. For thought? No, just food!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Isn’t it nice when a belief you intuitively hold, sometimes not even aware that you hold it, for it’s a hazy unformed thought at the back of your mind, the need for having articulated it never having arisen earlier, turns out to be one that others hold as well? There is a feeling of acknowledgement and validation, not that it is needed, but which is nice to have anyway. That is one of the most distinct memories of my first Vipassana <i>shivir</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favourite part of the day in the <i>shivir</i> used to be the discourse in the evening. (And it took only a couple of days, and listening to the discourse one day in English and one day in Hindi, to realise that he was much better and at his humorous best in Hindi.) It was a pleasure to hear that discourse, to hear him explain in simple language using everyday examples, such concepts as love and compassion towards every one and tolerance towards other religions. I often found myself nodding in agreement, and a sense of excitement rose up in me as I realized that what I was listening to were concepts that I had intuitively believed, but had never strung together in words. It’s a wonderful feeling. It gave me goose pimples sometimes, at other times it made me teary eyed, and filled me with gratitude for everything in my life, all the joy and pain, all the people I loved and who loved me, and all the people who didn’t, and everything else that had come together over the years, towards this moment in time, which was as beautiful as it could be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Does that sound tacky? Maybe it does, but that is how it was.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXXkxQOZJzMcy0-lC51guEi5wv8CdfE6-GTjnXkEGvuHBA_oFntBjR_ncGVn8mOzO974HK50_C4fkpLfDRaD0fXhcX4AGGqIwORiisf32W-swzvfDQ13zxu2nx6XN-yptFZIZ7jaExU7r/s1600/It%2527sLoveThat%2527sCooking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXXkxQOZJzMcy0-lC51guEi5wv8CdfE6-GTjnXkEGvuHBA_oFntBjR_ncGVn8mOzO974HK50_C4fkpLfDRaD0fXhcX4AGGqIwORiisf32W-swzvfDQ13zxu2nx6XN-yptFZIZ7jaExU7r/s200/It%2527sLoveThat%2527sCooking.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it happened again recently, as I chatted with Neel, a dear friend from college days. Neel and Supriti are two beautiful people, and fantastic designers of buildings, furniture, lamps, and almost anything else that takes their fancy, who live and practise in beautiful Pondicherry as the design ensemble, ‘Ovoid’. They are also dear friends, who I happened to have the good fortune to visit in the later half of November. In one of our innumerable conversations, Neel mentioned to me why they make it a point to cook themselves, no matter how busy they are. He said food is best, and most nutritious when it is cooked with love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It made me smile, for I couldn’t agree more. It is perhaps this secret ingredient- love that makes a mother’s cooking special. Have you ever noticed how you can tire of the best food, from the best restaurants, or the best cooks, but you never tire of your mother’s cooking no matter how many times you have it, over however many years. Have you also noticed the pet peeve of many a young bride that no matter how hard she tries, she can never quite match up to the standard of her mother-in-law’s cooking? :) In India of course it is taken to something of an extreme, for a mother’s love is often best expressed by food and the act of feeding. Indian families, many of them, tend to be rather undemonstrative in their show of affection, and uncommunicative too, to the extent that many topics are taboo, no matter how important they may be. But food remains the one way in which a mother continues to express her love, however old her child may grow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I digress, the point is: food cooked with love has a special wholesomeness, and a transfer of a kind of energy and good vibes happens, for lack of a better term, when you eat food that is cooked with love. There can be no substitute for this magic ingredient.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it was perhaps this belief, as yet unarticulated, that made me cook all these years in Mumbai, coupled with the fact that it’s very hard to find a cook whose cooking you can endure for any length of time!And so it was also that I was thrilled when my maid walked in today with a dabba full of yummy veggies, sent over by someone who I once worked with as part of a film crew, but who I otherwise barely know. And it made me smile to read <a href="http://youcantlockasunbeaminthedark.blogspot.com/2008/06/its-love-that-is-cooking.html">these words</a>, as I providentially enough, stumbled upon <a href="http://youcantlockasunbeaminthedark.blogspot.com/">this blog</a>. </span></div>
</div>pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3406247324128342620.post-56041187054409053492011-12-09T19:38:00.001+05:302012-02-04T20:19:47.390+05:30Ruminations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 85%;">There was a time, when I was in school and the Ramayana and Mahabharat formed part of course material. Thus it was that I knew even the complex Mahabharat with its many characters fairly well and could predict which episode would come next in the tackily produced Mahabharat that was aired on Doordarshan then. I took great pride in it too. It never occurred to me as unusual that a religious text was part of school course material. Many years later, and for many years now I have felt miserable about my dismal knowledge of other texts and cultures that form part of my country. I am quick to proclaim myself a secularist, but I’m never sure I even understand what that truly means. I now have friends from different faiths, and several of them have cross married. I’m always delighted when I see them celebrating each others’ festivals and explaining to the children their respective significance. So it is that Tanvi is as excited about making rangolis on Diwali as she is about picking out the perfect Christmas tree. And so it is that I almost faced a language barrier when I first met Sanaa, for I started to chat with her in Hindi while she blabbered away in Bengali and Malyalam with equal ease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m equally distressed when I see youngsters so enamoured by foreign cultures, their concept of Diwali is more about playing cards and bursting noisy crackers than about the victory of good over evil. And of course I’m distressed by my own lack of understanding about my religion which is being misrepresented by the fundamentalist Hindu right on the one hand and simplistic and distorted depictions in films and television on the other. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>pooshahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15528297871198230190noreply@blogger.com0