Blue Megh

The clouds oppressed, lightening split the skies, thunder rolled, the damp earthy fragrance arose even as rain dropped in big globs on my upturned face.. blue surrounded everywhere, all blue, indescribable blue of ink, prussian, royal, navy merging into raven blacks...the regal Megh blue of Indian miniatures, of peacock dance, of crashing waves - as the alaap unfolding with excruciating expectancy of long drawn awaitings, no rhythms yet, no beat of a steady pour....and then, all longing removed, rain drum down to a pakhawaj beat, soon to a dizzying, torrential unbearable speed, the voice and the drum merge with colors, each challenging and challenged....I sat in an auditorium, exposed and drenched in rain cascading over me, streaming all around, elated, drunk on this evening's Dhrupad in Raag Megh.

On Songs and Serenadings...Twice Over

Lately, I am serenaded at night. By my two most loved ones...my son and my daughter. I go to hug and cuddle them in bed at bedtime and they are each awaiting in their darkened rooms, with their favorite songs for me, ready on their iPods.

We lie sharing one earphone each, cuddled under one blankie, listening to their favorite songs for me. If I cant understand the words, they recite it in soft voices to me, even as the song clangs, bangs, ferociously overpowers my senses, rubs out all, except this feeling of warmth, closeness with my once very-little-ones that are bigger-than-me now.

I lie in this incomprehensible world of the new generation, their different vocabulary, different songs, different way of expressing feelings, but the same way of showing it - under a blankie, cuddled in bed, warmly loved and sharing that love - my two young loved ones and I.

Michami Dukhadam - I Seek Forgiveness

Today is a day I value most - amongst all days - as a day when we, as Jains, seek forgiveness, of all. It is a day of Savantsari Pratikaman with which our Pajosan - the yearly days of Jain festival end.

I seek forgiveness of all - man, bird, beast, insect, life forms seen, or unseen, whom I harmed, by my actions, while sitting, standing,in speech or in thought, knowing, or unknowingly, in any way at all - I seek heart felt forgiveness.

May I be forgiven.

Language Evolution and Politics

I recently read with keen interest the contents and discussions following a question 'lack of an audience for poetry?' examined in kufr. As an outsider to language studies, I was intrigued, intellectually challenged,and enlightened by the variety of points made especially in the long discussions that followed the two posts. But mostly, as a mainly English speaking Indian, I was oppressed by a sense of guilt at how distanced I had become from the language of my roots, my forefathers. It is this sense guilt that led me to examine the history of how my language evolved over this generation, originating from a family of mainly Gujarati speaking to my children who speak comfortably only in English. I hope this introspection will help shed light, at least from my perspective, on the question of whether or not political manipulation or ruling class subjugation had any role to play in the course of my mostly unconscious language evolution. Granted, I am no dalit, and cannot know the angst of the class experience. Yet I have wondered, whether the largess of the ruling class trickles down on the basis of pre-selecting their own kind, or just towards those who can supply their demands. These are usually met by a qualified lot already within a financially favored strata. It appears that wealth and benefits trickle down systematically from the wealthiest, to lesser wealthy, middle class, and finally the needy and poor. Similarly each successive tier from the bottom upwards attempts to climb up to the next rung towards higher wealth, comfort, and a better standard of living - and, just maybe, these processes happen without a strong caste/class biases, but more supply/demand basis. Accessibility to wealth creation mechanisms, traditionally have been ill favored towards those with least wealth.

Coming to the question of languages, Kuffir in his blog's discussion summarises:
"my aim in this series of posts, is to examine why and how language is used by the ruling classes i)as a tool of segregation and ii) and as a means of patronage.

in my view, it's irrelevant whether india adopted english or german or sanskrit or mandarin after 1947- all the ruling classes wanted to ensure was to make the best education and jobs available only to a select few, and foster a feeling of inadequacy among the rest. they seemed to have succeeded consistently until now."

My position, as a well off, English speaking Indian on the upper rungs of the financial and comfort ladder, is this: I am part of the privileged class Kuffir is talking about, and so I need to search my soul and face some home truths. My introspection has led me to believe that while what Kuffir states, undoubtedly happens, the generality of his statements might be misplaced.

Taking matters post 1947, for instance, except for those with inherited wealth, the surest way to improve one's lot was via education and getting a government job. Most aspiring sections in our society still feel education is the key out of hard life - it is mostly the wealthy or the poorest that do not directly pursue wealth via education. But the rest of the highly mobile, upwardly moving class is focusing on education, especially English education, to improve their lot in life. In my life at the farm, when I offered to help local village children with their studies, the only subject they were interested in was English - even though they did not need this for their academic performance.

I remember growing up in fairly strained financial circumstances and my parents saying they could not give us wealth, but had instead given us education - by this they meant English education. It is interesting that our wealthier cousins went through limited years in vernacular schools.

Even while we were, within a single generation, shifting to English as a mother tongue, so were countless others, following the same path in making the same choices for their children. It had very little to do with the lot of the poorer sections. We were just being prepared to get a somewhat bigger section of the pie - trained to move upwards. It just so happened that we were in the correct financial bracket to afford the luxury of a language, which undoubtedly, has been a single most obvious reason behind the financial mobility of my family. Now, we speak English at home, not to 'foster inadequacy' amongst others, but as a common language between my husband and I. Our losses have been many, a divorcing from our 'native' language, songs of its bards, the stories and festivals, the belonging has disappeared. Would I have consciously made the same choice? I am not sure...

I am at this point reminded of the very interesting blog that I read almost a year back. Here, Ram argued that "choices of individual agents make a system. There is no overall design as such" i.e. no conspiration, no intentional victimization, no intellectual ruling class consciously subjugating the rest.
Like I say " we are most like insatiable termites, we consume, consume, and the biggest termite consumes the most".

Tonight's Walk

I walked in dark
on a forest path,
lit by fireflies;
light misty rain
dampened my hair,
I sang, intoxicated
on the heady, earthy air.

Last Night

Night pelted rain
on wakeful earth,
trees bent in pain,
grasses lay down,
flowers wept;
torrents coursed
her wounded self
to dawn in a melody
- Bilaskhani Todi.

Hope

Desires alight
burnished bright
on wings of a moth
on a distant flight
to the million
electric lights
studding
inky nights.

Borobudur

There are some places in the world that defy words. Borobudur - the largest buddhist temple in the world, is one such place. Suffice it to say that its scale is stupendous, the artistry extravagant, the imagination that guided the climbing of each successive tier leading from a life of kama and moha to the ultimate realisation or enlightenment, absolutely inspired. We walked the steep steps to the last highest level, conscious, wondering, and silent.

Prambanan

We reached the temple complex of Prambanan when the evening was turning a golden shade, the searing temperatures had mellowed, and the air shone with mirror clarity. Our drive was accompanied by a view of the majestic Mt. Merapi - a very active volcano on outskirts of Yogya, breathing out its smoky breath into the intense blue evening sky.

The temples of Prambanan were built in the 10th century by the powerful Mataram kings, and are the greatest hindu monument in Java. The temples are dedicated to the hindu trinity Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh and are each accompanied by a smaller temple dedicated the vehicles Hamsa, Garuda, Nandi. Most of the temples were destroyed by a series of natural disaters and are still in process of being painstakingly reconstructed towards their original grandeur.

My Sisters and I...

We sped on four motorcycles, my sisters and I, climbing steadily in early hours, braced by chilly wind, a suggestion of soft drizzle, inadequately clothed in windcheaters and sweats, big, stupid grins pasted on our faces. We were having a time of our lives. No husbands, kids, families, cares, worries, responsibilities, duties... in fact, no nothing! We were in Java to celebrate my 50th birthday and had immediately transformed into our childlike states. We were busy playing, having fun.

On that particular day, we were racing to visit the ancient hindu temple sites of Candi Ceto and Candi Sukh situated on the slopes of Mt. Lawu, outside Solo. The setting of the temples was spectacular within mist-hung mountains, with temples being organised in various levels culminating at the top in a flat pyramid structure. A lot of the imagery, as often is the case in Hindu sculpting of bygone eras, was charged, erotic, leading to many an exchanged glance, wiggled eyebrows, uproarious laughter. Here are some photos!