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.

:(

It’s a strange bird

It’s a strange bird: love.

Almost every text ever written has touched upon some aspect of it, we’ve read about it, seen films, heard songs. Even after all that we know or ought to know after all that exposure, we still falter through life making mistakes and yearning for it. Almost everyone who ever lived has struggled with love. How is it that the one thing that we should know about, is the one thing that eludes us? How is one feeling capable of so many manifestations? It is but one ras out of nine. How then does it dominate the creation of all kinds of art?

Speaking from personal experience, I can say that I have known several times, several kinds. I have always been grateful for it, even if I sometimes faltered in my expression. Sometimes it has sneaked up on me when I least expected it, or from quarters that I least expected from, sometimes it slipped away from where I desperately wanted it to stay. Sometimes it’s stayed well beyond I had imagined or anticipated. And sometimes it has come back like a boomerang, long after I thought it had died a natural death. Sometimes it has changed shape, devoid of a reason to stay as it originally was, or to wither away. Sometimes it evaporated altogether, without a trace, leaving only a doubt and wonderment about the reason for its existence in the first place. I refer here mostly to romantic love of course, though I, like each one of us, has known very many different kinds. And yes, it varied wildly in intensity, much of it was unrequited and hence untested, but that isn’t really the point.

I continue to be enamoured by it.

Not so much by its presence or absence in my life but by the elusive idea that it is. An idea that captivates all yet remains just out of reach of many, or with the very real possibility of slipping away anytime, for others.

It’s hard to articulate, but I feel a sense of mystery and wonderment and yet a submission, for there’s no other way really to respond- like you would while contemplating say the universe. Can we really contemplate the universe- its origins, its size. It’s always been there, and it’s always amazed man by its mysteries and continues to. So I feel has been the case with this one emotion that can fill us with joy and wring at our hearts with a brutal, physical pain. In another manifestation it’s the one emotion that can cause wars and inspire peace, in equal measure.

From where I am currently, I feel a strange detachment with life and with the world. It’s like floating over yourself, and seeing things for what they really are, stripped of the trappings of attachments that tend to skew our perspective. From here nothing is indispensable and everything is precious. Love is beautiful as it should be, but it isn’t selfish or compartmentalised. It is ever expanding, and it makes you see people that you never thought you could like, with compassion. From where I am, love comes easy. I see beautiful pictures and I love the photographer, I read a beautiful piece of writing and I love the writer. I see a good film and I love the filmmaker, I see a good design and I love the designer. I may not have met them, but I feel a love anyway.

But I digress.

Even with regard to romantic love, there has been so much learning. Couples that I absolutely adored, broke up. Couples that I thought were doomed, survived. People married for reasons inexplicable to me, and they are happy. I have friends who found love early and have spent over a decade together. I have friends who struggled, unable to work out even long standing relationships, then marrying in a jiffy. And I know several people including myself, who have in their past, that one relationship that has become the defining one of their lives. Which is not to say that they continue to pine after what could have been, or draw comparisons or parallels, just that they are shaped more by that one experience than any others.

For me personally, getting over and ahead of that one was a liberating experience. Having touched the heights of happiness and the depths of sorrow with it, everything else since has been easy. I wonder, in fact I worry sometimes if this detachment is really a maturity aided by the new perspective accorded by Vipassana (which has had a small but significant role in my life) or if I have built an impregnable wall around me to shield myself from further hurt. It’s schizophrenic almost, to oscillate between those two states- of supreme peace and self-assuredness and of a deep, unforgiving confusion.

I’m not sure any of this makes any sense. This was an idea forming in my head for much of yesterday, and even as I sat down to write I realized it had already slipped away. All it left behind were these scattered thoughts.

More questions- reverting back to an earlier post

A couple of days back while on our way home, looking out of the auto rickshaw Malu and I noticed a young boy swinging on a pole, using his T-shirt. He had put the front of his T-shirt over the pole, and was leaning backwards, using his foot as fulcrum and his weight to swing. In front of him, a young girl was sweeping the pavement with broad strokes of a piece of cloth. For a second it seemed odd, until we noticed the tarpaulin sheet behind her, covering up their belongings. There was a water-bottle and a glass perched on the boundary wall adjoining the pavement. This then was home, and she was readying the ‘bed’.

As we observed this scene, an unlikely memory came rushing back. Some time back I had posted about the incident of this teenage girl who was picked up by the police for flinging her employer’s baby from their fourth floor balcony. What disturbed me about this story and the way it was reported was the amount of emphasis there was on the intentions of the ungrateful girl in flinging the baby away because she ‘was irritated by its crying’ contrasted with the kindness of the family that had taken her in. (She is a migrant from Bihar who was living on the street until recently.) The moment I read the news report, my first thought was about the girl- ie why was she brought to the house? Was it really out of ‘good intentions’ or for the cheap domestic help she could be? But most importantly, was she in any way molested- physically or sexually? These are all valid questions, if you ask me. But the Good Boy (yes, he makes an appearance again! That story unfortunately is unfinished- the short of it is that we became good friends and more, and spent a lot of time together for awhile. The long of it shall appear by and by) disapproved- both of the writing and the thoughts it encompassed. He felt that the writing was not lucid enough- it simply wasn’t clear what I meant by ‘not asking the right questions’. Though I’m not sure that’s necessarily true for he did get the drift. He further disapproved of my suspicion. He asked me why it wasn’t possible that the man genuinely meant well, and how I could think so ill of him, without any proof.This strikes me as very odd. There was enough evidence in the story I thought, skewed as the perspective was, to question the family’s intentions. It was a clear case of employing child labour. I suppose we are so used to the reality of our children having to work to feed themselves that we no longer find it out of the ordinary. And there may not have been evidence of any molestation, but that girl could not have been more vulnerable, and therefore it was an angle that definitely needed to be looked into and as far as I could tell from the story, it wasn’t. There isn’t even an iota of doubt in my mind about this. If there wasn’t any molestation or ill treatment, well wonderful! But there’s ground to check and make sure that there wasn’t.

And to his question, ‘So you’d rather that she stayed on the street?’- My response would be, ‘We’re still asking the wrong question!’

I understand where he is coming from. It becomes a matter of choices really. Is the security of a house better than the pavement, even if it means the loss of freedom? Better clothes, food to eat better than begging on the street? Made to work at home as opposed to being molested on the street? Since those are the only choices we seem to be able to offer to so many children, I suppose an act of the kind that the family did, is only welcome, while we pray fervently that she stays safe and well. Which is his (hopeful) stance.

I am more realistic, or maybe more cynical- I’d rather have the matter investigated. And I'd like to believe I’m also more demanding. I’d rather that we did not accept these as the only choices. That we fought for the future of our children. And that we were not content with such a solution for ‘taking them off the street’.

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.

When we met again

Many years I spent wondering
what could have been
How things might have been different
if we had spoken up
Would they have been different?

How we may have been different people
had we not been racked by an unnecessary guilt
Would we have been different?

How we may have met
had we met without context.

Many years later, the storm has passed
leaving behind an engulfing peace,
a quiet acceptance
and faith in the belief
that if this is how the Universe intended it to be
this is how it best is.

And so it was amusing to see
that meeting after years
you were more nervous than me.

13 days vs 10 years…

Sometime back, in a fit of understandable rage, a friend of mine wrote this on facebook:


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3 SIMPLE REASONS why IRON WOMAN IROM SHARMILA's case probably doesn't get the attention an ANNA gets-


1. A WOMAN is heading this agitation.
2. She is from the 'CHINKI' NORTH-EAST, which is not really India, is it? Only Delhi and Bombay and the other two metros are India, no?
3. She is fighting for a SPECIFIC, REGION-BASED, 'NARROW' issue - the repeal of the AFSPA. She is not fighting a 'GENERAL EVIL' like ‘CORRUPTION' so why should we give two hoots, right?
Honestly, I don't care as much about this vague piece of shit called 'CORRUPTION'. I myself am bothered, disturbed & repulsed most by environmental & cultural corruption/pollution (But who gives a damn as long as pockets are filling up, right?)
But I think I should care even more for a human being's life, no?
Shame on the Government/s for letting someone go hungry for MORE THAN TEN YEARS and conveniently ignoring her. Ten years and counting. This is one world record India should be ashamed about.


Can we please make this the next viral internet 'REVOLUTION'?
Can we please not let someone die for doing the right thing?
CAN WE MAKE IROM EAT PLEASE?!


This will be the real test. Do we care as much about insignificant human life as we do about all-important money?
SPREAD THE WORD.
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And this was my response:


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Ok, I didn’t want to be drawn into discussions about Anna Hazare and especially not the inevitable comparisons with Gandhi and Irom Sharmila. But since it’s you, I will write out my few bits, not in any particular order.


While its natural to remember Irom Sharmila at a time like this, it’s not fair, neither to Irom Sharmila nor to Hazare. It’s two different causes and two different movements, independent of each other. One doesn’t become more important or legitimate than the other because of it numbers… and well, what can I say about the other… The thing is, I’m uncomfortable about the tendency to compare things- causes, people. Why should they be justified on the basis of how they stand up to each other? Why should anyone have to choose between corruption and AFSPA as being the bigger evil? Isn’t it enough that they’re both evil? And it seems almost an insult to Irom Sharmila for Hazare to write to her asking for support. They claim to be non political. Isn’t it a kind of politics though- you support my movement and I’ll support yours. Huh?
Having said that, it’s alright really by me- to each his own. The man in Manipur is a lot more troubled by the AFSPA than corruption, and the man in UP obviously cares two hoots about it because he’s weighed down by his own problems and has no inkling of what the Army’s been upto in Manipur or in Kashmir anyway. There is even less of a case for a movement automatically gaining legitimacy on the basis of numbers. By that logic, the Hindutva movement would be much larger than the anti corruption movement!
So I’m uncomfortable from the start when I read ’13 days vs 10 years…’
Moving on, the first reason you enlist is that the agitation is headed by a woman. I have to confess, that thought never occurred to me. Nor do I think that’s a real enough reason. There is much female discrimination that goes on in this country, and incredibly there is an equal amount of female veneration. Once you reach a certain stage though, I don’t think it matters, even in this country, which gender you belong to. Or so I’d like to think.
The other two causes you enlist are in my opinion, the real reasons. Who cares about what happens in the politically insignificant NE? Then again, whose attention is it that you seek? The government’s? It’s perfectly aware of wrongdoings in Manipur and elsewhere. For the government it’s really a matter of political significance which ultimately translates to numbers. If the Hazare agitation hadn’t managed the numbers that it did, it would have met the same fate, right? The sad, sad reality today is that it needs not moral justification but numbers for the government to come out of its slumber. And here too, corruption has a role to play. There are reasons why some places are kept constantly unstable. It’s called the business of war, and there are gains to be made from it. It’s a kind of corruption at the end of the day.
It’s really how you define it, this corruption. Just because it has been simplified and made palatable for the common man does not mean that it should be regarded as such. And by saying this, I do not in any way mean to belittle the ‘common man’. I just mean to be realistic. The common man has enough problems of his own. Who are you expecting will understand and support a cause, any cause, unless it touches them directly? The farmer contemplating suicide in Vidharbha, or the tribal watching helplessly as his land is taken away for the next development project, or the mother in Kashmir whose son disappears or the Dalit in UP whose wife is raped or the slumdweller in Mumbai whose shanty gets flooded every monsoon? Which ‘common man’ in this country has the time for Irom Sharmila? Who has even heard of her, or of AFSPA? But corruption… everyone’s suffered at the hands of corruption. So of course it’s something that they can immediately relate to.
But I digress. Don’t underestimate corruption. It’s not merely a matter of money. For those that don’t get the employment that they are entitled to under the MNREGA, or don’t get full wages even after working, it is a matter of livelihood, for those who don’t get the ration that they are entitled to under PDS, or who have to pay for their BPL cards, it’s a matter of survival. Understand corruption for what it truly is and the extent of the harm that it’s doing. Corruption may well be claiming more lives in this country than we realise.


That still doesn’t make Irom Sharmila’s cause less worth fighting for. But again, let me clarify. Is fasting as a symbol of protest something that I agree with? No! However right the cause maybe, fasting cannot/ should not be the means to achieve an end. Fasting is violence of a kind, even if it is to your own self. And it is coercive, it leaves little room for dialogue, or at least it places a time limit on it. That by itself should be enough reason to be opposed to fasting. But the way governments react to it these days, by forceful feeding which is violence of another kind, makes it, to my mind, even less desirable or effective a tool of protest. What use is a person whose organs fail, or whose mind no longer functions to an optimum because it has had no nutrition for however many days/ weeks/ months/ years, to a movement? Well, very useful apparently, if you can gain mileage out of it, as Team Anna managed to do, and Irom Sharmila and Swami Nigamananda, and all those teachers who were sitting on a fast sometime back in Mumbai for a cause that I’ve forgotten, did not. (For all you know there are many others in all parts of the country sitting on similar ‘fasts’ right this minute. As an aside, are you going to support them all?) No wonder then that a simple minded man like Anna is the one fasting, while the movement is being organized, strategised and co led by a group. Of course I understand that it is not easy to go on a fast, and not everyone can do it, and the people who can, have a deep belief in their cause and nerves of steel, and ought to respected for it. Having said that, its still not a form of protest that is, to my mind, ethically right.
Besides, a fast by itself does not guarantee results, though it does demonstrate the hopelessness of the person who undertakes it.
I’m all for Irom Sharmila and what she’s fighting for, because she, like any other citizen of the country deserves to be heard, because it is her right, and not because she has been sitting on a fast.
So if you’re suggesting that I should care for her because ‘I should care even more for a human being's life’, then well, I care for her life anyway. And I care for her cause because I believe she is right, but more than anything else she has the right to protest. I disagree with her means, but that’s a personal opinion.
I suppose what I am trying to tell you is, of course I’m with you, but for different reasons.
Can we please make this the next viral internet 'REVOLUTION'?
Can we please not let someone die for doing the right thing?
CAN WE MAKE IROM EAT PLEASE?!
Of course we should.
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