To you

In unbound joy
In despair
In the zenith of my victories
and abysses of my sins
I just need you
Mother, to lend your hand
your light, your wisdom
What is my life
but a quest
for your lotus feet.

                         - Navanita

At your heels

I don't know why I run
after you, like Moon chasing the Earth
spiralling in orbs
with lashing of the oceans
pulling my heart out
see it shrink
And you smile
momentarily to make it swell
just to burst that bubble.
Getting used to this exercise
I am; for,
giving up has never been in my blood.

The Survivor

Don't discern me by my tilak,
that skull cap's neither mine
I agree I go to a temple
but in the minaret too my heart lies.
My unknown tongue, don't detest it so
it means the same, just a
matter of different sounds
My slanted eyes, my pale skin
is only how your God
chose to make me look
I am not the one who killed
in the name of some holy vow
nor the one who planted that bomb
to kill my own kith and kin.
When those two worlds were clashing
I swear, I did not sin
and saw them tear apart
the roots of their own existence
I often speak
but they seldom understand
and the ones that do
will never take a stand
sometimes in fear, sometimes in hate
sometimes in search of opportunity
and profusely, gravely, misplaced faith
They live, they fight and die
to be born in that fire again
while, I sombre like the air
float infinitely in the sky
I see it mutely
and feel the arrows listlessly pass
for every mortal blow of yours,
dearest, survivor I shall be called.

That evening in spring

I feel as if I were a little girl now
and jaunt about the trees
run after squirreels in playful mirth
in the delicate breeze.

I'd make a bouquet of jasmine flowers
and of the ones they call kaner
I would bead them through the pointy grass,
and arrange them layer-after-layer.

Over different ferns upon a bench
and then watch it with delight
the alter of lord or marriage of dolls
or playground of many a mischiveous sprite.

Then tired soon of the static fun
We'd run and play some jumpy games
In humid joy, in nascent passion
of life's little lamp set aflame

I'd not bother about the upside down skirt
that would sway whilst I jump the fence
I'd not worry about the ugly tan
that sun's abundance gave.

I'd roam till dark with torch in hand
and company of faithful friends
in belief that once I grow up big
alone the dark I'd solely safely face.

The rules would be simple
the destination straight
the temple of knowledge
 conquered each year with zealous grace.

I think about those innocent times
like a day passed ago a little while
and soon before I know youth shall fill
 leaves of those fondly remembered stills.

When memory  fails
and heart stops to beat
 for last in eyes they'd joyfully sail
those enchanting evenings of the spring.

Moonlight of Enlightenment: Hearing Dr. Tharoor Live

Life’s always been an unexpected story; like a movie that keeps you wondering till the very end, at every twist and turn, with its bouquet of surprises and the thorns of bad lessons. Perhaps, my Goddess; kind and loving as always, decided to fulfill a wish that I had been yearning for since years, and like she always does, this time too it formulated in a plan which she only knew of.  

I knew I was going to have a fever; a bronchial does not do pretty well at this season of the year, and I am pretty used to it, although I hate it each time it shows its sarcastic symptoms. So there I was, too feverish to make a breakfast and grabbing Coffee and Sandwich at the Gurgaon Metro CCD only to miss my lunch for the day. Well, missing lunch is something I secretly become happy of, because it gives me the weird hope of losing a little more weight. So coming back to the Adishakti’s plan, I checked my Twitter notifications and what I saw not only dilated my pupils but also sent my mind into a whizz. “Dr Shashi Tharoor would be speaking at the Sahitya Akademi! And no office to clash, no code to be delivered on priority. But yes, the weekly evening meditation would be missed…But then I would be going to another temple; that of Maa Saraswati, so hopefully some penance would be done”, I thought. The entire day I felt very sick, like on the first two days of viral fever, but by the time it was 5:30 I got this sudden surge of happy energy, like that experienced during the annual function at school. My instincts told me that I was just about to witness an exhilarating experience, and mind you my instincts have hardly ever betrayed their mistress. When I reached the auditorium, it was almost full although there was still time for the event to start. Luckily, there was still one seat snuggled in between the middle row; I hate being a back-bencher, and being one today would be akin to being coroneted only to be sent on a 14-year exile. As each second passed, I tried to sink in the feeling that this would actually be the day when I would see this magnificent personality, in flesh-and-blood; this very auditorium, that microphone, that dais, this door that he would enter from, and the ions and atoms of this room would be vibrated from the resonance of that majestic voice. It was real, it was happening and it was divine; I am a worshipper of the Shakti, and of no human being am I in so much awe of except this one, and in the normal case I would have been a little disturbed, because getting too much emotionally involved in anything is what we consider being out of balance, not a very fruitful prospect; but my senses told me that I was in complete balance inspite of these myriad thoughts churning in my heart and therefore, I knew this was a special day.

And there he entered; tall with accomplishments, immaculate with the purity of knowledge, and graceful with humility in spite of all the multifarious qualities that he is made of. Hearing him speak was like transcending infinite boundaries; of language, culture and geography, as he ceaselessly moved across his experiences and that of others, talking about how literature has shaped and how the tastes of people have changed over the decades. It all floated in front of my eyes, again like a motion picture; literature of the times of R.K. Narayan to the current age, when the likes of Chetan Bhagat and Amish prevail, and the conditions that affected this change, in conjugation with how the globalization influenced the lives of the people, and hence the literature. I was struck by his honesty when he said that the copies of books that these authors sell outnumber his; he never attempted to compare the literary value between his books and theirs, and he rather celebrated their value. This I could attribute to only one thing; love for the universal form of expression and its proximity to the psyche of the masses. It was like a stream of wisdom flowing from the mouth of a person who had been through this whole process of literary transformation and respected its sanctity along with the importance of its protection. Well, and what he actually said did not sound as insipid as my piece might read and it was neither quixotic, but full of interesting points and metaphors that anybody can well relate to.

In the brainstorming session, I managed to put up the question that often disturbs my mind, and that is the varied interpretation that people often subject any account to, and its severe repercussions. I have been equally worried about how people are ready to come up to a conclusion even without having read or known the context whatsoever. Well, and I must admit that I got pretty conscious while asking this question and I spoke everything I had to, literally in one breath. What Dr. Tharoor gave as the response was brilliant (but then what is not brilliant in his speeches?). The thing that I really appreciated was the honesty, truth, humor, genuine advice and concern with which he answered the question. And I felt a great level of sincerity with which he was answering each question, as if he wanted to pass all the knowledge and thoughts that could be passed to the recipient.

When the session finished I did not really know what to do next. I felt like a school kid wanting to a take a selfie but did not gather enough confidence to do that. I took a picture from a distance and smiled rather stupidly. And then I booked my Uber for the nearest Metro Station and put my concentration on safely reaching my abode in Gurgaon on that rainy evening. I wanted to retain in my limited capacity, all that wisdom, all that charisma, all that positivity that had been showered upon us that evening. If you recollect, I was sick that day and now, I felt as if I did not own a body, a little equivalent to the blissful state of being just the spirit.

There is one thing that I realized about Dr. Tharoor; when describing him, people often get caught up in his exceedingly good looks and are often in the danger of not looking beyond, and that, beyond those good looks shines the luminescence of enlightenment, honesty, intelligence and strength. I am reminded of these lines from Endymion that people have oft used as a yardstick of eternal beauty,

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:   

Its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness."                                                                                          

A million thanks, Dr. Tharoor for spreading amicable and kind thoughts and building agility of rational minds.   

How Far Have We Come

Recently I saw ‘Saheb Biwi Ghulam’, the classic in monotone that finds its place in every ‘Must See Bollywood Films’ list. I was moved to see the plight of the protagonist, Choti Bahu essayed by the famous tragedienne, Meena Kumari. She tried everything; from procuring the ‘miraculous’ Mohini Sindur to turning an alcoholic in order to keep her husband home and was honor-killed in the end (she was suspected of having an affair with the Ghulam, who was actually helping her in her sacred mission). Today this thought in itself is capable of mortifying any woman. Loving somebody heart and soul is one thing but demolishing one’s own personality to achieve some elusive destination is something which any self-respecting and sensible woman of today’s times would not think of. From the woman in the house who was not even allowed to step out or get photographed (yes, even photographed! Legendary singer D.K. Pattammal was severely reprimanded in her childhood when she was accidentally photographed singing) to today’s confident diva who can run companies, parliament, runaway to production houses; name a field where women have not gloriously trodden and I’ll offer a pranam to you. It’s not an overnight leap; I remember that in my childhood, I used to hear people say that boys are better than girls in Maths and Science and that girls study by rote; and lo! I saw this whole line of girl-toppers cropping up. Then somebody said they’re fine till here but they’ll never be as good in competitive examinations and behold, IITian Shubhra Saxena topped the IAS examinations along with women in the top two and three as well. That was 2009. Today dare you to utter a phrase that contains something a woman can’t do and I assure you that the girl standing next will give you 20 logical reasons as to why you’re on the wrong train. Never have I seen such a pool of talented women out to claim the world than today; the girl on my right loves to ride horses and the one on my left dances like a nymph, the one who sits across is an avant-garde artist and the one who sits next to her, is a coding-pro; the biggest fallacy of today’s time would be to brand a woman as ordinary. This, does not however mean by any account that we have been sailing smoothly on a buoyant sea; the challenges are becoming more varied, more complex and less visible. I was reading in the Harward Review the significantly higher challenges women leaders face. If she is to-the-point, business-like and formal, she is masculine. If she tries to be more involved and informal in her dealing with the team; she is unprofessional and ‘too nice’.                                                                   Even your good looks can work for or against you. If you have merit and have made a place for yourself, chances are there’d always be someone who would accredit it to your appearance and say mean things; while its unfortunately, equally possible that a better looking woman can score over you if the people around you are biased(and blind!)                                                                                                                                                                      The world is still not as gender-biased as it should be and we come across sexist remarks every second day. A minister who has essayed roles in soap operas becomes ‘Aunty-National’ while it is cool to be a ‘Dad-Bod’ and then, aren’t blondes always so dumb? We have almost quixotic expectations from women. Earlier it used to be a desire for ‘a convent-educated, beautiful, homely girl’ which has transformed into a ‘working, convent-educated, beautiful, homely girl’. So, now as the ideal woman you’re supposed to strike a complete work-life-balance and manage the household just like you manage your team, and definitely, in most cases if there’s a need at home it is you Madam Manager whose moral responsibility it is to rush home. I have seen women colleagues stay at home when the child falls sick, it is the woman who needs to change her work if the husband is getting a transfer; although I would not like to deny the fact that men have also begun to take greater responsibilities pertaining to the household than before. And I would attribute the greater empowerment of women to their educational and financial independence; her education has broadened her perspective while her financial independence empowers her to move out of dead and ugly situations. Earlier, it was unheard of a woman to move out of a bad marriage and she would endure domestic violence considering it as a destined punishment, while today the woman on virtue of her independence will not stand anything that attempts to  crush her self-respect.                                                                                                                                                             

Women have certainly traveled a long course; we have evolved from the oppressed creature of the dark ages to the enlightened maiden of progress and we still have to travel an equally far distance to a world where our existence is celebrated in its purest form, in the way we are, and the way we look and the orientations that we have.  The path might not be so easy, but then what fun is treading the road more traveled?

100 Shades of a Litterbug

Earphones propped in their destined place, I aligned my head at a perfect 45 degree to amuse myself with the scenery outside. The bus was beginning its ascent on a flyover in Ghaziabad, and what was going to be a chasm below had some beautiful vegetation(alright, I agree, there were just some trees, but I was trying my best  to enjoy nature). Suddenly, below there, came a man dressed in immaculate white and walked towards the trees enthusiastically. Ah! I thought, overjoyed, one amongst the brotherhood of nature-lovers, and he turns a swift 180 degrees and widens his legs. I realize I have had my bit of enjoying mother-nature.                                                                                                                                                                    
People of India, for ages have given utmost importance to cleansing of mind, body and soul, and at least this tradition is going to be handed safely to the next generation; though the type of cleansing has undergone a genetic mutation of sorts. From bathing at 4 to bathing 4 walls at once whilst you cleanse your innards, getting rid of that mucous dangling in your throat or of that rotten dal and sabzi that might have filled your refrigerator with divine fragrance; the mode of cleanliness is insignificant. The basic fundamental is that the home and heart should be clean, for public places let the municipal corporation bang their heads, or pinch their noses for that matter. India, as we have known has a rich and varied cultural heritage. From architectural marvels, to breathtakingly beautiful paintings, when we look back upon our past we can hold up our heads high with pride and admiration. The generations to come might have a different version to this altogether. Instead of paintings by Raja Ravi Verma, a man would be showing his creation to his offspring. “Look son, that artistic red spot there was splashed by your grandfather as he devoured a paan benaras waala. And that wall yonder, the rich brown color to it was imparted by your grandmother’s amazing chemically reactive delicacies.” “Daddy those red-green spots on that wall..Who created them?” “That, my child was your maternal grandfather who had tuberculosis”.     

One must not forget to credit the litterbugs for their contribution in the world of reality adventure sports.  From dodging kachra thrown from the first floor lady, anticipating chewing gums stuck at varied locations like the hand rail in elevators, inside desks in class rooms, in cinema halls; in the same manner as you would dodge bullets and anticipate hidden bombs, litterbugs are always ready to give you some adrenaline rush plus the litter. In fact, this sport has become such an integral part of my life that my dear neck has learnt a whole lot of yogic angles, when it tries to save its purity from the fountain of spit emanating from the window seat of a nearby bus. One must not forget their contribution to science as well. In the first classes of chemistry, when teaching their subjects of ammonia, what example do the teacher’s often give? Well of course, they say, go and pass by any wall well drenched and there you will find the first hand odor of ammonia.

Just like there are never enough words to describe great actions; there are never plenty words to describe the glory of litterbugs. I am very sure that the litterbugs in your lives must have also left indelible impressions in the album of your life. After all as they say, get the best-out-of waste.