spirituality and me

I’m not spiritual, though I can perhaps say that I am drawn to spirituality in my own strange way.

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.

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^th 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!

I never really practised 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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Am I stating the obvious?

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.

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.

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.

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.

The thought of that moment engulfs me in loneliness, how will I ever face it in reality?

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…

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...

मैं सहम जाती हूँ

मैं सहम जाती हूँ। अपने आप को बहुत छोटा पाती हूँ।

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। That one should react to what the actor is doing, and try and catch the beat of the actor. 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 strength समझती थी, वो उसी बात को लेके अप्रसन्नता जता रहा था। जो मुझे लगा फिल्म की सबसे बड़ी strength होगी, क्या वो नहीं है? मैं बहुत सी documentaries 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 documentaries 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 लेकर, और दूसरी तरफ हमेशा डरी रहती हूँ की कहीं घमंड इतना ना बढ़ जाए की गुण हाथ से जाता रहे। पर इस फिल्म में, जो मेरे अब तक के career की सबसे महत्त्वपूर्ण फिल्म होगी, जिसे मैंने भरपूर प्यार और श्रद्धा के साथ शूट किया, क्या मैं असफल रही? Did I let down Manav as director and all those wonderful actors? And as a consequence, did I fail the film? इस बात से मुझे बहुत दुःख हुआ। मैं सहम गयी।

शायद मानव को भी इस बात का एहसास हुआ क्योंकि कुछ ही देर बाद उसका फिर से फ़ोन आया और वो बोला कि the film is looking stunningly beautiful लेकिन एक दोस्त और शुभचिंतक होने के नाते उसे लगा की वो मुझे ये feedback 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।

मैं वापस मुंबई आई। पता नहीं क्यों वापस आते वक़्त मन कुछ विचलित था। मन में ये सवाल था कि जीने का मकसद क्या है। क्यों 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 that is by choice. लेकिन फिर भी ऐसा लगता है की क्यों 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?

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, drinks 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?

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। The only thing to do, the only thing one can do, is to follow one's heart. जो काम अच्छा लगे, जिस काम से ख़ुशी मिले, बस वो करता चल। अगर आप सच्चे दिल से काम कर रहें हैं, तो chances are that you are adding value to the world. 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।

इस बात में भी घमंड की हलकी सी बू तो है!

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 energy और enthusiasm 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...

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...

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 :)

When ignorance is other than bliss

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.

The next day I attended the book launch of Sudeep Chakravorty’s ‘Highway 39’. 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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

Ruminations

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.

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.

Culture-al Woes

Sometime back I happened to be at a memorial concert for a lady I didn’t know and had never met. She must have been a good soul though for there was a hall full of people who had come to attend, and they were in for a treat of beautiful Sufi verses of Kabir, Rumi and others sung so soulfully that I was nearly moved to tears.

As I sat listening I wondered about the people on stage- those people with a talent that takes years of practice to hone and master. I wondered how old they were, how much time they would already have spent and how much more they would continue to spend on understanding music better so their performances could get even more soulful.

And I wondered how much money they made.

I am aware of how pessimistic I sound, but I do despair at this state of affairs where art and culture gets such a raw deal. How many more bankers and MBAs and software engineers will we churn out before we realise what a monochromatic society we’re creating? All the emphasis in our education system, in society even, is on securing the future by working towards a well paying job. ‘Competition’, ‘professional’, ‘job oriented’ are the keywords in a universe that is far removed both from culture or uncomfortable realities of any kind. The only ‘culture’ that a vast majority of our young population has access to is the one they see depicted on television in regressive serials- and that couldn’t be more distorted!

This is particularly sad because we have an incredibly rich culture- thousands of languages and dialects, songs, dances, literature and folk tales, architecture, sculpture, art, story telling and puppetry traditions, and more that can’t be categorised but contributes to making this subcontinent beautiful and diverse. How much of it do we really see around us anymore? Much of it has been reduced to being practiced by select families, and the younger generations even in those are not really interested in carrying on. They would much rather be ‘educated’ and find jobs that offer instant money than devote their entire lives to a craft that few are willing to patronise. A few years back, I shot for an organization called Kala Raksha based in Bhuj. It was left to an American woman who fell in love with Indian textiles, to study and write a book and subsequently start an NGO and set up a museum and a school to preserve dying local textile crafts of the area. She had little money to make the film, but we went ahead and shot anyway because she wanted to capture some of their genius on camera before the masters passed away, old as they all were.

Much of our adivasi traditions are endangered by the ‘civilised’ world’s attempts to take them into their fold. Instead of creating tolerant diverse societies, where individual cultures can flourish, the attempt seems to be to homogenise. Always has been, I suppose. What else are all the drives to convert people to specific religions? What are the attempts at ‘educating’ the masses in a Western style?

I’m not sure I know how we can stem this decline. State patronage comes to mind. I wish we lived in a world where people who have the money also had the conscience to do the right things. Then perhaps corporations (some of which are now so powerful, their turnovers are more than those of many countries) would also encourage art. But I’m old and cynical. I don’t believe anymore that corporations that run on the primary motive of profit, would ever do anything without some returns in mind. And if state support is the only answer, then given the state of our governments and their policies, I’m guessing its not too bright a future for many many artistic traditions.

:(

Ageing

On my way to work today

I ran my fingers through my hair

came away with a strand,

the grey at the root

working its way to the tip.

More than halfway through,

just like life.

Random rainy morning conversation

The day began with a conversation with my two maids, both of who happened to land up at more or less the same time today. They’re friends and neighbours often looking out for each other- in fact I found one through the other. The conversation initiator was the rain. It has been raining incessantly for the last few days. Its like the monsoon decided to make a comeback with a vengeance. Not that I’m complaining. This city needs all the water it can get and more. As do the farmers tending to their fields, I suppose. Anyway, there was a fresh bout of furious rain in the morning right about the time that they turned up. Anita, the cook looked out of the window and commented on it. On how hard and relentlessly its been raining, and how the building compound, especially at the back, is waterlogged. I nodded absent-mindedly. My window opens out to the back of building compound, and the view is thankfully mostly green (and beautiful), and if you look down from the balcony or the window, you can see the empty brown patch that some residents use for parking. I’ve been noting the build up of the water in this small brown patch. It often turns into a tiny pond, as it did this morning, until the earth soaks up the water.

But I digress. All the romance of the rain went straight of the window when I heard what she said next. She mentioned how the water had come into their house and upto the ankles, wetting everything. Couldn’t sleep the whole night, she said, because everything is wet, you know, even the mattress, all the while smiling ear to ear. It never fails to amaze me. It’s not the first time that I’ve heard something like this of course, but it just seems so incredible that people can live like that and talk about it so nonchalantly, even happily. She spoke of the water seeping in from the ground. (All this ‘reclaimed’ land in Mumbai! I live on it, and I’m not blind to its repercussions. The city is bursting at the seams, and anyone with half a mind can see it. But the builder-politician nexus will not allow any corrective measures. So land will continue to get reclaimed, buildings will continue to come up, slums too for the people in the high rises need their maids and their guards and their delivery boys and their drivers.)

Then she spoke of the water coming in from above, and went on to explain that her husband, being stocky, can’t climb up properly and put the plastic sheet on the roof. Besides the day they had to buy the plastic sheet, he was at work and she was entrusted with the task of buying it, and she got the wrong size, correct length wise, but short breadth wise; so now they’re stuck with a roof that only provides part protection and the water keeps coming in. Animatedly they exchanged notes about their husbands, how Vibha’s knows how to build a house, and has build enough of a good rapport at work so that whenever he needs it, labour is easy to find. Like last year when the roof of her house came crashing down. Fortunately Anita was around then though Vibha was at work, and she took in Vibha’s kids and called to inform her (yes, they have cellphones!). Vibha was shocked, how could my house just fall like that? But her enterprising husband came with a bunch of men from work, and they put it up again within an hour. My house is also bigger, Vibha said proudly, and drier because it’s at a higher level, so the water takes much longer to seep through. And it has four layers of thick plastic as roofing, so the water doesn’t come in. They went on to speak of some unruly relatives, and how friends are so much more precious in times of need, and of demolition drives, when everyone comes to everyone’s rescue though some neighbours do take advantage and steal. Mostly it is the Corporation workers though. They take away all good stuff, the utensils, the gas cylinder even the bamboo poles used to make houses. All this accompanied with much smiling and giggling.

It had something of a humbling effect, this ‘girly’ conversation with my maids. It reminded me of how petty I can sometimes be in my concerns. It reminded me of the resilience of people, especially the poor in this country and I suppose in the world, and their ability to smile and be happy in situations that seem so hopeless to me. I wondered about my own ‘armchair intellectualism’, and its usefulness, if any. I wondered about the order of things- how it’s always been and will always continue to be (so why despair over it?)

And having gone through the motion of pondering over such questions, no wiser in the end than at the start, I sat down and wrote this post.

Meanwhile, it continues to rain.

Coffee post midnight is a bad idea... Contd

Is it the caffeine
that’s keeping me awake
Or thoughts as yet unthought?

My head hurts
from lack of sleep
But I struggle to stay awake
hoping to finish that one last conversation with you
Inside my head.

Coffee post midnight is a bad idea

Is it the caffeine
that’s keeping me awake
Or thoughts as yet unthought?

The power of numbers

I heard a new word last week, and subsequently read it in the paper. I’m sure it’s been around now for a while, since the phenomenon it describes certainly has, it’s just that it seems to have missed my eye till now.
It is ‘mobocracy’.
In India in recent times, it is a word well worth coining.
Here are some facts: Sometime ago a mob had attacked an art student’s exhibition in Baroda, alleging that his paintings were provocative and offensive to the Hindu religion. In Bihar over the last week, twelve people were lynched in two separate incidents, on suspicion of robbery. In Nawada district, a mob gouged out the eyes of three youths for stealing a motorcycle. In Bhagalpur, a chainsnatcher was beaten up, tied to a motorcycle and dragged through the streets. In Mandya in South India, eleven Dalits were injured when a mob of over 150 people from “upper caste” attacked a Dalit colony. In Firozabad, a Dalit woman, whose son was accused of eloping with a girl of another caste, was burnt to death while her family members were held hostage. All except the Baroda incident occurred in the last one month.
Whatever the provocation, religious, social or caste based, and whether spontaneous or preplanned, mobocracy is a phenomenon fast on the rise.
I am reminded of a thought that had occurred to me sometime ago. The occasion was janamashtami, better known as dahi handi in Maharashtra, named after the extremely popular game that is played in every locality in the city, and that attracts bigger sponsorships and consequently bigger amounts of prize money with every passing year. All over people were on the streets that day, dressed in their very best, laughing, chatting, dancing to music blaring from loudspeakers.
Needless to say travelling by road that day was a nightmare. And that’s what made me think, looking at all those people on the streets, so carefree, and occupying the roads with such authority, that that’s what it was about. Here’s the common man, who slogs day in and day out to earn his daily bread, and goes about his daily life resigned to fate, with little hope of a better future. He toils because he must. And he hopes that the future will be bigger and brighter for him and his close ones, that he can make it so by working harder and harder still, but realizes too that that is but a dream, atleast for the majority of the people. The overriding feeling for most of his life is one of helplessness. Certainly I have felt it a lot of times, when I have found myself unable to help, either myself or people around me.
And then there are days like janamashtami. When he can dance on the streets and he is king of the road. When he feels a certain power. What is this power? The power to obstruct normal life, even for people way more influential than himself, who he bows down to every other day of the year?
And where does he derive this power? I suppose in numbers. So is that it then? It’s the power of numbers that gives people the confidence to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. And that’s what mob psychology is about. It could be one man’s vendetta, or the frustration of many, coming to the fore every time a mob gets out of hand. But whatever the source of the unrest, numbers render people nameless and faceless, and give them the power to commit acts that they wouldn’t dare otherwise for fear of social or legal repercussions.
That’s mobocracy. The evil face of the power of numbers.

saddi Dilli, amchi Mumbai

I have often found myself at the centre of a Delhi versus Mumbai argument, given that I was born and brought up in the former, and have now made the latter my home. Let me state at the outset that I love both. Both cities have their strengths and weaknesses, and it’s unfair to compare two entities so different in nature.

Delhi has been synonymous with home forever. We shifted to Delhi in 1982, if memory serves me correctly, and my family still stays there. I have seen the city grow exponentially, both vertically and horizontally, with buildings in the city growing taller by the day, and boundaries of the city expanding with every new master plan. Delhi is no longer a city but a recognized State, with its own legislature and government. And there is an entity called the National Capital Region (NCR), which includes the neighboring satellite towns of Faridabad and Gurgaon in Haryana, and NOIDA and Ghaziabad in Uttar Pradesh.
Mumbai, growing equally exponentially (I’m sure there’s data to say which is growing faster, but that isn’t of as much concern to me) seems on the other hand, to be favouring the vertical route. With land in short supply, and the disadvantage of being a coastal city, so that it cannot possibly expand much in the direction of the sea (although God knows they keep trying by reclaiming more and more land,) it has turned to the sky to accommodate it’s ever increasing population, and its growing demands. It is the capital of Maharashtra and the seat of its State government.
But these things don’t interest me. I am more of a people person. And therefore to me, the most defining characteristic of any city is its people and their environment. And the people of Delhi are a mixed lot. It’s truly a cosmopolitan city and that reflects in its demography. So even though the majority of the people are North Indian, one finds in this city people from all parts of the country, speaking their different languages and bringing with them their unique cultures.
A large proportion of the original inhabitants of Mumbai were and continue to be, Marathi and Gujarati speaking i.e. belonging to the states of Maharashtra and Gujarat. And much like Delhi, many peoples from many parts of the country have settled here.
In spite of this similarity, I find the people of Mumbai a lot friendlier and warm hearted than Delhi. The common man on the street is a lot more pleasant and approachable, as also honest and helpful. The women though are something else altogether. The women of both cities are mostly similar in characteristics, as can be expected, but somehow Mumbai women are a lot more aggressive.
The two cities work at different paces. Mumbai makes Delhi seem laid back in comparison. Neither seems to sleep, whatever the hour of the day, but Mumbai scores over Delhi as regards nightlife. Most significantly, at least for me, Mumbai offers to its women, the chance to have a nightlife even unescorted.
Also the women in Mumbai are able to exercise a lot more freedom in the way they dress. There is no denying how utterly and shamelessly lecherous the Delhi man can be. This leaves one with no choice but to dress relatively more conservatively so as not to attract too much attention. I talk here of course, of the very middle class women, such as myself, who often use public transport to do their traveling.
Strangely enough, public transport in Delhi, where it is possibly most essential, is not divided along gender lines. The backbone of Delhi are its buses, and now along some routes, the Metro, but neither has separate compartments or areas marked for women, as say is the case in the trains in Mumbai or the buses in Bangalore. Mumbai trains have separate bogies for women though its buses are more unisex. The buses in Bangalore have a system wherein women use the front part of the bus, using the single door in front for both entry and exit, while the men use the back part.
These divisions ensure that during peak rush hour, all the jostling is happening amongst women and men separately. This, though I found very strange and surprising at first, especially when traveling with friends in Mumbai when we would separate out at the originating station and reconverge at the destination station, has grown on me with time. Anybody who has faced the squeezing and pinching on crowded DTC buses, followed by the inevitable altercations and much swearing, would prefer the separation, gender equality be damned.
These are some observations based on dealing with the people of the two cities. I find the visible character, notably in terms of its architecture and street culture, also very distinct and different. I’ll save that for another post.