Yeah, Yeah, Yeah...you may all laugh - and, you would laugh much more if you could see me now!!
We, the community of IISc, are blessed with a particular tailor called Manekam - the rare one, the jewel - that is what his name means - and he is a fine, fine tailor. Just to show what the competition has to offer, the only other tailor on campus has a strange habit of stitching clothes according to amount of material in front of him. So, for example, if the cloth he has is less for the project in hand, he makes it in anyway, of a size that he can - without once demuring that the fabric is insufficient. On the other hand, if the material turns out to be excessive, he still does not care and makes a garment that could fit two people - inside! So you see, if one is reluctant to leave the boundaries of this quiet, green campus in search of a tailor in the mad world outside- and I am very reluctant - then Manekam is the only option for our tailoring needs.
Also, Manekam, is always really pleasant, friendly, cooperative and has a hard time refusing anyone. He agrees to undertake tailoring orders and then attends to only those that can pressure him. Thus the first ones that can get their work done are the campus security weilding mustaches, and batons. The second in line to access Manekam's sevices are the campus staff union members. They have bent mightier powers than poor Manekam. After that, I suppose, come the campus faculty with authoritative stance and limited wardrobe needs....and so on. Somewhere at the end of this list come the hapless females that at times give in to shrieking at Manekam before festival times, family weddings and so on. Yes...you can take it in good faith that many have lost their heads over a pleasant, poor, person like Manekam - I can vouch for that - but lets not go into personal history.
Watching MunnaBhai has somehow changed my protest profile...
Manekam has pending orders from me from October 2009. I see him now and then, when I go to the Janata Baazar for shopping. To be fair, I have never seen him either lazy or unpleasant. He always urges me to go home, since he would follow me, immediately - with all these beautiful clothes ready for my wearing pleasure. I have never believed him, but have not been particularly inclined to either argue nor desperately needy enough. Today too, my position remains the same. However, I do have some free time.
So, here I am, a fifty year old vain female, dressed in shorts and T-shirt in the same cubicle (a 8'x12' tiny box) as Manekam, who stands a good half-foot shorter. I am at one of his pedal sewing machines, with my Acer notebook firmly planted, smiling and blogging away...
I laugh heartily inside, guffaws are barely contained, at his face! He is trying to insist that I can trust him and he will sew and bring my clothes home! I am mainting a very accommodating position that he should not let me disturb him, as he himself does not disturb my 'work'. He is all confusion, and has immediately brought out my fabrics and is working on them, even as I type this sentence -IT WORKS, IT WORKS!!! Hats off to Munna Bhai!
Showing posts with label social. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Saturday, October 31, 2009
A Bonus Blessing
Their arrival was heralded by sounds of rhythmic claps - their walk and presence distinct. Every train journey in India is colored by encounters with their mocking laughter, their devious ways of extracting money, especially from bashful young men.
She was beautiful, with full wine lips, eyes painted as raven jets, ringlets frolicking on either side framing her face - perfectly. She smiled at me as she entered the railway compartment - I smiled back. She was stunning as she teased, sparkled, flirted, cajoled, and coerced cash from the youths besides me. Work done, she turned to me-
She: "Do you work?" I: "No, I am a housewife"
She:" Then why is your hair cut?" I:" Because it is no longer beautiful"
She:"Women cut their hair if they go for job" I: Silent
She:" Are you ill?" I: " I am a little unwell"
At which, this young gorgeous woman shook her head in sympathy, laid her hand over my gray head - and blessed me.
She was beautiful, with full wine lips, eyes painted as raven jets, ringlets frolicking on either side framing her face - perfectly. She smiled at me as she entered the railway compartment - I smiled back. She was stunning as she teased, sparkled, flirted, cajoled, and coerced cash from the youths besides me. Work done, she turned to me-
She: "Do you work?" I: "No, I am a housewife"
She:" Then why is your hair cut?" I:" Because it is no longer beautiful"
She:"Women cut their hair if they go for job" I: Silent
She:" Are you ill?" I: " I am a little unwell"
At which, this young gorgeous woman shook her head in sympathy, laid her hand over my gray head - and blessed me.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Sacred Secular
I am a self proclaimed agnostic...maybe there is a God, or many Gods, a spirit that guides us, or a greater truth that beckons us. I have decided that if this whole damn life business is just a Maya, an illusion, then let me be illuded, deluded, play the part - as if its real - participate in earnestness in this great time-pass. I seek no liberation, no salvation, no enlightenment, no heaven beyond now, no hell to guide my moral force. And yet, can I really discount the religion and culture that fashioned me - that unerringly still guides my path, untangles my rights from wrongs? I dance to a background orchestra, chorus of all my ancestors that I call my conscience. My conscience is my only true mentor, a guide to what I will and I will not do, boundaries that I can never cross, at least in my imagination. My imagination itself the sheet on which I lay down my paints, my lines and its vastness is bequeathed to me by my past. This past that put me in direct play with the entire vast universe, animate, vibrant, where all roles between all its substances, are continually interchanging, a rock could one day be me, and I - a scuttering cockroach - all apparently in a blink of an eye, in seamless movement of time, backwards, forwards, across dimensions and multi-dimensional.
Yet, I get ahead of myself. The background first, since all of this has a purpose - an agenda, as do many of my blogs. A dialogue in quietness with myself to resolve inner questions, or at least phrase the questions better.
I grew up in a conservative Jain joint family. We belonged to a sect that called itself sthanakvasi and swetambar - which means that the family did not participate in idol worship and our monks wore clothes. All our living, actions, inter relationships within the family, with the outside, to the animate and the inanimate world and to the world of Gods, demi-Gods, devils and demons was played out within this backdrop, this stage of being a conservative Jain. It was a colorful world of effortlessly intermingled real and imaginary, present and mythical, spiritual and magical. It effected the way we thought, spoke and acted. There was a singy song for many things we did, like,
One sin to spill water
five to spill milk
countless sins to waste food
if intentionally willed!
and this would have its opposing counter of
One punya for gifting water
five to gift milk
countless punya for gifting food
if intentionally willed!
---
punya = a good deed credit that counts towards one's postion in next birth.
When we spilt milk, we bowed and smeared some of it on our foreheads - that we place you with respect on the top of our being, and intended no offense by our carelessness.
As Jains, we were very strictly vegetarian and staunch followers of non violence. Thus grandmother would rinse her plate after every meal and drink this water; allow ants, mosqitoes to bite her without waving them away ( because they needed to live); the louse we got in our hair as kids was gently wrapped in strips of soft cotton and taken far away to let free; no pesticides were ever used inside our home; we did not eat many vegetables during most year, and for the four monsoon months, we ate no vegetables at all. This was the time when jains of all sects performed great number of fasts, with and without water; it was a time for prayer and purification; time to work off some of the accumulated karma by self denial, and disciplined non-action, because all action involved violence,visible or otherwise.
Through out the year, grand father filled dairies with religious mantra, and these pages were torn, mixed with flour, and fed to the giant red carps in the pools - we stared at the greedy carps in wonder while grandma told us that they were greedy to improve their next rebirth by eating all the powerful mantra stuff. So the fish would become humans, and humans could become fish, ant, bird, or God (enlightened souls). We were told that we were in this endless game of enjoying rewards, or living out punishments for our actions in previous births - only when this accounting was zero (not just equating one's sins and punya) , could we become truly enlightened.
And then there were stories, stories for every evening of my childhood, sitting with a brood of another ten, twelve cousins at grandfather's feet to listen to stories of princes, monks, magic, and the glory of the highest enlightenment - liberation from the cyclical birth and deaths. I only remember asking one question often " If there is no birth after enlightenment, where do you live?" The answer was always " there is no you - so you do not need a place to live" and this completely boggled my young imagination. Could not imagine a no-me! Now I can imagine a no-me even without dying - is this a realisation or a delusion?
This background that fashioned me, I completely rejected, as an adult, in my evolution to be a superior rational being. My living world is guided by mostly rational actions, or at least logically justifiable. In fact, I place a greatest value on both rational thought and consequential actions - in that order. However, I have been denying this sneaky suspicion that often times, my actions are already identified, and then I use reason and rationale to justify them - that is, I am living my life backwards. I remember, this was often a way I approached science. I often instinctively knew the answer - that only left a minor problem of working out the math. Now, it appears that despite my great show as a modern, urban, educated, westernised woman, I am mostly faking this layer over my true self that I had little to do with crafting. My truths, boundaries, texture of my compassion, the depth of my non-violence did not come from the lengthy hours with physics texts. And by rejecting this core, I have somehow broken that thread of continuity that would have served my children well. This is after all the crux of my problem. In rejecting religion, I have somehow failed to rig signposts, shine beacons, illuminate a way with an inclusive awareness of all nature, respect for all props in their maya dance. The importance of self that imbues a modern western model does not acknowledge our minor role in the universal web, or the greater consequences of collective individual drive. It fails to speak to children in a tongue of wise ancestors, separate sacred from the profane, of magical possibility of irrationality, of compassionate responsibility that is larger than a person's singular drive to success. At their tender age, between youth and adult, world beckons them to high exam scores, shiny career options, point them towards job options that will buy them real estate, car, wine - but will they, like me, even know that they are nursing an emptiness of these accumulations, will they have a vocabulary to reach deep and listen - to a voice beyond rationale, reason, to quest for themselves when they have acquired everything and it means nothing? Is this how we have all failed? we, the next generation of parents that have substituted glitzy TV for stories, presents for personal time, logic for conscience?? Have we failed, so terribly?? How do we atone? What should I do?
Yet, I get ahead of myself. The background first, since all of this has a purpose - an agenda, as do many of my blogs. A dialogue in quietness with myself to resolve inner questions, or at least phrase the questions better.
I grew up in a conservative Jain joint family. We belonged to a sect that called itself sthanakvasi and swetambar - which means that the family did not participate in idol worship and our monks wore clothes. All our living, actions, inter relationships within the family, with the outside, to the animate and the inanimate world and to the world of Gods, demi-Gods, devils and demons was played out within this backdrop, this stage of being a conservative Jain. It was a colorful world of effortlessly intermingled real and imaginary, present and mythical, spiritual and magical. It effected the way we thought, spoke and acted. There was a singy song for many things we did, like,
One sin to spill water
five to spill milk
countless sins to waste food
if intentionally willed!
and this would have its opposing counter of
One punya for gifting water
five to gift milk
countless punya for gifting food
if intentionally willed!
---
punya = a good deed credit that counts towards one's postion in next birth.
When we spilt milk, we bowed and smeared some of it on our foreheads - that we place you with respect on the top of our being, and intended no offense by our carelessness.
As Jains, we were very strictly vegetarian and staunch followers of non violence. Thus grandmother would rinse her plate after every meal and drink this water; allow ants, mosqitoes to bite her without waving them away ( because they needed to live); the louse we got in our hair as kids was gently wrapped in strips of soft cotton and taken far away to let free; no pesticides were ever used inside our home; we did not eat many vegetables during most year, and for the four monsoon months, we ate no vegetables at all. This was the time when jains of all sects performed great number of fasts, with and without water; it was a time for prayer and purification; time to work off some of the accumulated karma by self denial, and disciplined non-action, because all action involved violence,visible or otherwise.
Through out the year, grand father filled dairies with religious mantra, and these pages were torn, mixed with flour, and fed to the giant red carps in the pools - we stared at the greedy carps in wonder while grandma told us that they were greedy to improve their next rebirth by eating all the powerful mantra stuff. So the fish would become humans, and humans could become fish, ant, bird, or God (enlightened souls). We were told that we were in this endless game of enjoying rewards, or living out punishments for our actions in previous births - only when this accounting was zero (not just equating one's sins and punya) , could we become truly enlightened.
And then there were stories, stories for every evening of my childhood, sitting with a brood of another ten, twelve cousins at grandfather's feet to listen to stories of princes, monks, magic, and the glory of the highest enlightenment - liberation from the cyclical birth and deaths. I only remember asking one question often " If there is no birth after enlightenment, where do you live?" The answer was always " there is no you - so you do not need a place to live" and this completely boggled my young imagination. Could not imagine a no-me! Now I can imagine a no-me even without dying - is this a realisation or a delusion?
This background that fashioned me, I completely rejected, as an adult, in my evolution to be a superior rational being. My living world is guided by mostly rational actions, or at least logically justifiable. In fact, I place a greatest value on both rational thought and consequential actions - in that order. However, I have been denying this sneaky suspicion that often times, my actions are already identified, and then I use reason and rationale to justify them - that is, I am living my life backwards. I remember, this was often a way I approached science. I often instinctively knew the answer - that only left a minor problem of working out the math. Now, it appears that despite my great show as a modern, urban, educated, westernised woman, I am mostly faking this layer over my true self that I had little to do with crafting. My truths, boundaries, texture of my compassion, the depth of my non-violence did not come from the lengthy hours with physics texts. And by rejecting this core, I have somehow broken that thread of continuity that would have served my children well. This is after all the crux of my problem. In rejecting religion, I have somehow failed to rig signposts, shine beacons, illuminate a way with an inclusive awareness of all nature, respect for all props in their maya dance. The importance of self that imbues a modern western model does not acknowledge our minor role in the universal web, or the greater consequences of collective individual drive. It fails to speak to children in a tongue of wise ancestors, separate sacred from the profane, of magical possibility of irrationality, of compassionate responsibility that is larger than a person's singular drive to success. At their tender age, between youth and adult, world beckons them to high exam scores, shiny career options, point them towards job options that will buy them real estate, car, wine - but will they, like me, even know that they are nursing an emptiness of these accumulations, will they have a vocabulary to reach deep and listen - to a voice beyond rationale, reason, to quest for themselves when they have acquired everything and it means nothing? Is this how we have all failed? we, the next generation of parents that have substituted glitzy TV for stories, presents for personal time, logic for conscience?? Have we failed, so terribly?? How do we atone? What should I do?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
And The World Grows Younger.....
As life has accumulated history of merged years, decades and now straddles a brink almost half a century old, a wonderful development unfolds before me...even as I watch, the world grows younger, in days, weeks, months and years. As I watch, I am surrounded by a growing populace of the immortally young, effervescent, energetic, of booming laughter, bouncy step, a glow that belongs to gods...young men and women surround me everywhere and fill me with hope that this shall always remain, or hope - as long as they remain, or at least a germ of hope that this renewal carries a hope of future redemption, salvation from ills that we have bequeathed them...for they care not for blames, complex analysis, imposition of past, but will carry life forward on the buoyancy of their laughter, the surge of their chorused songs, the sparkle of their many billion eyes.
And what am I? as this world grows younger? I am as an ancient tree, in an ancient forest, watchful, indulgent to the seasonal surges of renewal bursting around me in young neons and luminescent greens, to the splendour of new and the pull of the young - attracting the bees, butterflies, birds into a wild chorus of overspilling life... I am that which watches through silent spaces- neither young or old - just eternal.
And what am I? as this world grows younger? I am as an ancient tree, in an ancient forest, watchful, indulgent to the seasonal surges of renewal bursting around me in young neons and luminescent greens, to the splendour of new and the pull of the young - attracting the bees, butterflies, birds into a wild chorus of overspilling life... I am that which watches through silent spaces- neither young or old - just eternal.
Friday, January 9, 2009
A Rule of Five
Yesterday, we had a visitor home for dinner. As my daughter and I were walking back home from our dance lessons, she skipped along side and asked
"Why have you invited him home for dinner? do we know him?"
-" We dont know him personally, but since we are hosting his visit to IISc., we thought it would be nice to have him home".
"What exactly do we know about him? Lets see...His name is Mark Edwards...so he must be a foreigner"
-"Not really...there might be Indian people with that name"
"We heard of him through Supi, so he must be connected with Wynad (Gurukul Botanical Sanctuary that is actively working to preserve and safe guard the fragile ecosystems there)"
-"Hmmm.."
"He is going to visit Centre for Learning ( a non formal school outside Bangalore) and so must be into Krishnamurthi kind of stuff"
-"Hmmm.."
"He is going to give a slide presentation...so he must be a photographer"
-"Seems like that..."
"He is going to talk about environment, climate change...so he must be a nice person"
-"Atleast he cares about important things"
"Thats just five things that we know about him..is that enough(to invite him)?"
-"Well...knowing three things about a human might be too less, knowing seven might subject it to additonal errors..so, to know five things might be just the right number"
"Do you know five things about me...?"
-"Well...lets see,you were born from me....."
Since then I have been wondering,do we usually care to really know five things about another human being, even amongst those close to us?? Isnt it high time we tried?
"Why have you invited him home for dinner? do we know him?"
-" We dont know him personally, but since we are hosting his visit to IISc., we thought it would be nice to have him home".
"What exactly do we know about him? Lets see...His name is Mark Edwards...so he must be a foreigner"
-"Not really...there might be Indian people with that name"
"We heard of him through Supi, so he must be connected with Wynad (Gurukul Botanical Sanctuary that is actively working to preserve and safe guard the fragile ecosystems there)"
-"Hmmm.."
"He is going to visit Centre for Learning ( a non formal school outside Bangalore) and so must be into Krishnamurthi kind of stuff"
-"Hmmm.."
"He is going to give a slide presentation...so he must be a photographer"
-"Seems like that..."
"He is going to talk about environment, climate change...so he must be a nice person"
-"Atleast he cares about important things"
"Thats just five things that we know about him..is that enough(to invite him)?"
-"Well...knowing three things about a human might be too less, knowing seven might subject it to additonal errors..so, to know five things might be just the right number"
"Do you know five things about me...?"
-"Well...lets see,you were born from me....."
Since then I have been wondering,do we usually care to really know five things about another human being, even amongst those close to us?? Isnt it high time we tried?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Chengara Land Struggle Story
Is this an unfortunate, grievous repetition - an aberration by the country's Left? or are the so called People's parties now setting up a new fad of prostituting ideologies, philosophies, changing sides from representing the injured, down trodden, to sucking up those injuring? selling rights of the weak majority for the favor from the privileged few? Again the CPI(M) govt. , in Kerela this time, is choosing a clash course with tribals in Chengera by reversing promises made for land.....however, I got this story at Mutiny which carries it in fuller detail here- and then following up other video documentaries links in Youtube.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
I Vote Non-Nuclear
India is on the verge of committing to a US alliance to meet its ever growing energy needs with nuclear power. I have been loosely following the very active and acrimonious public debate between the left and the center about both the value of nuclear energy in the Indian context, and also the US dependence that is necessary to push the deal forward.
I have wondered, at the same time, about my personal stance, if any, on the subject.
As has frequently happened to me in the past, yesterday, I encountered a real life situation, that
resolved my position on the much wider nuclear issue-at least in the Indian context. I was returning home after a long overdue visit to my farm. The day at the farm had been particularly satisfying-as usual, Muniamma's averseness to active labor had ensured that the farm was once again an Eden of weeds-butterflies danced, birds swung on tall grasses, tiny flowers played hide and seek-of course the mango, chikoo, jamun, gooseberry saplings were also choked with weeds which had to be cleared. The day was hot, bright, and very quiet-also very clean-no sight of plastics, garbage, filth, that are routine parts of our daily urban life.
I reached IISc. (Indian Institute of Science), a premier science institute of national importance, where I reside-happy again to be in its green environment and relative quietness, after a messy, long commute on public transport. There I once again encountered a sight that is a common part of our life here. A rag picker was going through the large garbage collection station, near the engineering departments, scavenging for things of value that could be sold outside. She was old, bent, and was going through the waste with her bare hands. Instead of moving on, as usual, I stopped this time-the garbage that she was going through were not the usual plastic wrappers, cartons, thermocols, but brown glass bottles of chemicals, glass specimen disks and, by and large,
lab wastage that had been disposed with regular garbage. Some of the glass containers were broken, liquid spilt in a mess that she was walking through-no footwear. I passed through, as did hoardes of faculty, staff, students...we have all learnt to turn a blind eye-to our own filth. I mentioned this incidence to my husband-he told me he knew the woman I was speaking of by sight-he had even stopped once and given her a pair of gloves.
What I encountered, is not about individual incidence, a solitary small act of kindness - but endemic to the society as a whole - we the people, refuse to acknowledge our waste, let alone deal with it. Maybe, the evil fingers of entrenched class and caste distinction percolate to our present day, developed, educated, psyche to silently accept barbaric practices of letting the 'non-people' handle our waste-human, plastic, toxic, hazardous.
There are far wider consequences to this common place incidence from yesterday-if a premier, scientific, community like IISc cannot, or will not, appropriately handle its chemical and possibly toxic waste-how can we as a nation of loose laws, and looser enforcements, rampant corruption,
expect to handle, safely, by products of nuclear energy. We have absolutely no credibility, historically, for ever dealing with issues of either safe guarding our environment, or our people,
from wastages of our speedy rush towards development. The regulations that safeguard the individual and national interests of the developed nations are missing- entirely - in India. In fact, we have proved, to be non-discriminatory towards our own self interest-we import hazardous wastes, by ship loads, from the same developed worlds that want to safe guard personal interests, and are now offering alliance for our energy needs, future progress.
So, as an individual citizen, who must hold a considered opinion, voice a viewpoint, maintain an individual claim to a side - I side with no-nuclear, for the energy future of India.
I have wondered, at the same time, about my personal stance, if any, on the subject.
As has frequently happened to me in the past, yesterday, I encountered a real life situation, that
resolved my position on the much wider nuclear issue-at least in the Indian context. I was returning home after a long overdue visit to my farm. The day at the farm had been particularly satisfying-as usual, Muniamma's averseness to active labor had ensured that the farm was once again an Eden of weeds-butterflies danced, birds swung on tall grasses, tiny flowers played hide and seek-of course the mango, chikoo, jamun, gooseberry saplings were also choked with weeds which had to be cleared. The day was hot, bright, and very quiet-also very clean-no sight of plastics, garbage, filth, that are routine parts of our daily urban life.
I reached IISc. (Indian Institute of Science), a premier science institute of national importance, where I reside-happy again to be in its green environment and relative quietness, after a messy, long commute on public transport. There I once again encountered a sight that is a common part of our life here. A rag picker was going through the large garbage collection station, near the engineering departments, scavenging for things of value that could be sold outside. She was old, bent, and was going through the waste with her bare hands. Instead of moving on, as usual, I stopped this time-the garbage that she was going through were not the usual plastic wrappers, cartons, thermocols, but brown glass bottles of chemicals, glass specimen disks and, by and large,
lab wastage that had been disposed with regular garbage. Some of the glass containers were broken, liquid spilt in a mess that she was walking through-no footwear. I passed through, as did hoardes of faculty, staff, students...we have all learnt to turn a blind eye-to our own filth. I mentioned this incidence to my husband-he told me he knew the woman I was speaking of by sight-he had even stopped once and given her a pair of gloves.
What I encountered, is not about individual incidence, a solitary small act of kindness - but endemic to the society as a whole - we the people, refuse to acknowledge our waste, let alone deal with it. Maybe, the evil fingers of entrenched class and caste distinction percolate to our present day, developed, educated, psyche to silently accept barbaric practices of letting the 'non-people' handle our waste-human, plastic, toxic, hazardous.
There are far wider consequences to this common place incidence from yesterday-if a premier, scientific, community like IISc cannot, or will not, appropriately handle its chemical and possibly toxic waste-how can we as a nation of loose laws, and looser enforcements, rampant corruption,
expect to handle, safely, by products of nuclear energy. We have absolutely no credibility, historically, for ever dealing with issues of either safe guarding our environment, or our people,
from wastages of our speedy rush towards development. The regulations that safeguard the individual and national interests of the developed nations are missing- entirely - in India. In fact, we have proved, to be non-discriminatory towards our own self interest-we import hazardous wastes, by ship loads, from the same developed worlds that want to safe guard personal interests, and are now offering alliance for our energy needs, future progress.
So, as an individual citizen, who must hold a considered opinion, voice a viewpoint, maintain an individual claim to a side - I side with no-nuclear, for the energy future of India.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Small is Beautiful
World is being divided along lines of class, race, gender, resources-and water is foremost amongst the disappearing resource over which next set of battles will be fought. In this climate, there are still lighthouses, beacons that shine in dark, hopes pinned on individual beams of light-here is an example of small individual action, with potential for enormous, wide scale tranformation-and a hope to avert wars.
Grass Roots Impotence
Yesterday, CONCERN- a student organisation of IISc. campus, screened two highly disturbing documentaries related to globalisation, and development focusing on the "other side" of the great progress in free India - the victims who pay the cost.
"Development Flows from the Barrel of a Gun" documented the demonic, vengeful operations by our police force to suppress any local resistance to large development projects ranging from big dams and mining, to world bank supported forestry projects in the tribal areas within the country. With organised and ruthless use of state sanctioned power, the police in each instance resorted to the use of force and firearms to silence protesters, imprisoning many and causing several fatalities.
On a more optimistic note "The Bitter Drink" documented the people's protest in Plachimada against the Coca Cola plant that caused drastic scarcity of potable water in the area, and the subsequent closing down of the unit.
In the active discussion that followed the screening, the foremost concern that stood out was, " I care, but what can I do....???" There was amongst the younger generation, empathy for the plight of the victims in these struggles, but also a great feeling of helplessness, impotence about an individual's role in our so called democracy where the political will, social drive, corruption, ineffective judicial system all conspired to silence the voices of those most adversely affected by India's rush towards development.
So what can one do? What can I do? Can a country really be called free, democratic, when its progress is geared towards blind consumerism, for the already consuming- more malls, more cars, more roads, more airports, more , more, more....when the elitist institutes like IISc. parrot the popular middle class mantra of 'more'- more fundings, more buildings, and aspire only for higher international standards, better international facilities, agressive international competitiveness...when we fail to include , locally, socially, ethically, individual, personal, environmental, and national needs-and are proud at our own 'exclusiveness' what message are we sending out to the younger generation? Is it a message of any value, to all of us? of equity and equality? when did we stop pondering about all of this? who else will think about this, can think about this? except the well fed , free thinkers of our sabotaged society? You!
"Development Flows from the Barrel of a Gun" documented the demonic, vengeful operations by our police force to suppress any local resistance to large development projects ranging from big dams and mining, to world bank supported forestry projects in the tribal areas within the country. With organised and ruthless use of state sanctioned power, the police in each instance resorted to the use of force and firearms to silence protesters, imprisoning many and causing several fatalities.
On a more optimistic note "The Bitter Drink" documented the people's protest in Plachimada against the Coca Cola plant that caused drastic scarcity of potable water in the area, and the subsequent closing down of the unit.
In the active discussion that followed the screening, the foremost concern that stood out was, " I care, but what can I do....???" There was amongst the younger generation, empathy for the plight of the victims in these struggles, but also a great feeling of helplessness, impotence about an individual's role in our so called democracy where the political will, social drive, corruption, ineffective judicial system all conspired to silence the voices of those most adversely affected by India's rush towards development.
So what can one do? What can I do? Can a country really be called free, democratic, when its progress is geared towards blind consumerism, for the already consuming- more malls, more cars, more roads, more airports, more , more, more....when the elitist institutes like IISc. parrot the popular middle class mantra of 'more'- more fundings, more buildings, and aspire only for higher international standards, better international facilities, agressive international competitiveness...when we fail to include , locally, socially, ethically, individual, personal, environmental, and national needs-and are proud at our own 'exclusiveness' what message are we sending out to the younger generation? Is it a message of any value, to all of us? of equity and equality? when did we stop pondering about all of this? who else will think about this, can think about this? except the well fed , free thinkers of our sabotaged society? You!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
I am not a Patriot-scribbles from Jan. 26
Today India celebrates its 59th year as a republic, with the usual show of pompous chauvinism, misplaced fervour, idiotic enthusiasm, and hypocritic patriotism-people sport the tri-colour of the national flag in their clothes, on their bodies; flags waving everywhere, radios blaring patriotic songs, TVs carrying movies on valour, bravery- in a fictitious world, where the "hero" always wins and dies-for the sake of his country. The biggest attraction on the idiot box is ofcourse the RD parade with a show by our jawans in glorious costumes, cantering horses of our cavalry, a grandiose display of our military might with rolling tanks and giant rockets-and our politicians-the villans of this nation, lined up in white with holy expressions, to pay homage to where we have arrived, as a nation.
A nation focussed in giving countless awards to prove its greatness- colouring its poverty with a display of plastic glitter and shine, covering the sorrow of its dying farmers with its nuclear might- a nation bent on proving its worthiness by the number of its malls, cars on its choked streets, filth in its gutters. A proclamation of its worthiness, when our richest compete with the others of their creed, globally.
Are we rich when the basic human right to 'life,liberty and pursuit of happiness' is not even an allowed dream for most? When our police run rampant like wild savages to curb democratic right to speech, protest? when development is a word reserved for the privileged upper crust and valued higher than the basic human needs of most?Do we not struggle with our impotent shame when women are still killed for dowry, female foeticide is still rampant, where one's sex, wealth or caste is the basis for even entering the national conscience stream?
Who are we? and what are we proud of? what is really a patriot? The more we need to prove ourselves at a global level, the less we focus on who and what we have become- at home. On this day we again realise that we have willingly sold ourselves to white masters who dictate our lives, dreams, ideals, so our freedom-so difficultily won, is once again sold away to imitate those who define our right and wrong, good and bad, and our definition of happiness itself.We now do this selling daily, continuously, trampling on our brothers, sisters, children, maiming our people, culture, so our termitic colonies can look like theirs.
No! I cannot
salute a flag
show my glee
that we are free
free to wantonly
dessimate and destroy
trampling along the way
rights of all!
that we may
one day
look like Them
with bleached bodies
coloured hair
fake bosoms
designer wear.
A nation focussed in giving countless awards to prove its greatness- colouring its poverty with a display of plastic glitter and shine, covering the sorrow of its dying farmers with its nuclear might- a nation bent on proving its worthiness by the number of its malls, cars on its choked streets, filth in its gutters. A proclamation of its worthiness, when our richest compete with the others of their creed, globally.
Are we rich when the basic human right to 'life,liberty and pursuit of happiness' is not even an allowed dream for most? When our police run rampant like wild savages to curb democratic right to speech, protest? when development is a word reserved for the privileged upper crust and valued higher than the basic human needs of most?Do we not struggle with our impotent shame when women are still killed for dowry, female foeticide is still rampant, where one's sex, wealth or caste is the basis for even entering the national conscience stream?
Who are we? and what are we proud of? what is really a patriot? The more we need to prove ourselves at a global level, the less we focus on who and what we have become- at home. On this day we again realise that we have willingly sold ourselves to white masters who dictate our lives, dreams, ideals, so our freedom-so difficultily won, is once again sold away to imitate those who define our right and wrong, good and bad, and our definition of happiness itself.We now do this selling daily, continuously, trampling on our brothers, sisters, children, maiming our people, culture, so our termitic colonies can look like theirs.
No! I cannot
salute a flag
show my glee
that we are free
free to wantonly
dessimate and destroy
trampling along the way
rights of all!
that we may
one day
look like Them
with bleached bodies
coloured hair
fake bosoms
designer wear.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Kolkata Connection
What tenuous ties link us, inexplicably, inescapably, to the place of our birth?Is the tree connected to where it was concieved in a seed? a bird to where it hatched?escaping fragrance to the flower that created it? a wave retreating to where it was born? What webs connect us to where we origined-in a dream?What brings me back to Kolkata?Incomprehensible pulls that have no words- to this city of layered grime, a broad placid old river, music born in destitution,unstable, tottering, almost on the verge of collapse, always, and still eternal, evolving.It is 26 years since I last spent a winter in Kolkata. Its a season of black, sooty, chill, that settles physically on your skin, skylines are smoky shadows in the settled, unmoving air that pervades in my days-nights without clarity, walking past huddled shapes crouched around plastic fire-urban refuse is still needed in this city of want, penury.
What is let through this dense, dusty air, are clear notes of music, crisp rythms on tabla, complex, intricate, bouncing off myriad atoms of polluted air, and yet reaching out-outwards in pristine clarity to hold this city together, in intersecting webs of music- all escaping and there by retaining- this city of my birth as a whole.
What is let through this dense, dusty air, are clear notes of music, crisp rythms on tabla, complex, intricate, bouncing off myriad atoms of polluted air, and yet reaching out-outwards in pristine clarity to hold this city together, in intersecting webs of music- all escaping and there by retaining- this city of my birth as a whole.
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