Differently wired - 1

Sunlight peeping in
Lights up the darkest corners
Time to live again
Peering through tightly closed eyelids, I try to boost my morale and face another gruelling day ahead. I can think of countless reasons to get back to bed and in the safe cocoon of my dreams and not many to help me arise. The battle has begun. While the thoughts fight it out let me take a short nap. But hey, what about the dream? Ironically I have to wake up to fulfil the dream.
All the morning chores were done routinely and am now waiting for the bus to get me to my work station. Stopped driving a year back when I realised that dreaming and driving don’t mix.
The bus arrives with the same old faces to pick up another. I get in and amble to my regular seat which is between the driver and the window. I prefer this seat because I can see ahead and feel the scene rush past on the side. After a while this activity puts my mind into a hypnotic trance that is broken on the arrival of my destination. The music plays in my head, not from any external source.

Aged

It lay on its side
Like a discarded toothbrush
No longer bristling


For Magpie Tales

Screams of Power.

The abrupt tone is irritating and the screechy pitch does not help. Why does he think he has to be rude to show his power? Is it the failing of all people in power? They get so used to pampering that the slightest inconvenience gets intolerable. All hell breaks loose and screams hit the fan.

What women want

Eve wanted an apple. Adam gave it to her. The world has never been the same again. So it is best not to know what women want. Whatever it is they want, they are capable of getting it, just by arching an eyebrow. No man will ever know but will deliver whenever she needs it.

This post is in response to the question asked at Blogadda and the smart one who answers correctly gets a prize from Pringoo

Done with

Nothing is more beautiful than the innocent smile on a baby’s face. That was the expression on Sumitra’s face this morning. Since then am wondering, why? Does she know something that I don’t? Or is this another move by her to destabilise my thought process?
It was her innocence that I abhorred. I killed it.

Seen unseen

The solitary ray of sunlight shone on her face. There was a teardrop forming in her left eye, waiting to drip if she blinked. Raging thoughts kept her awake.
Zero tolerance the mantra.
His catlike movements had gone unnoticed, he thought.
The blind see in darkness.
He felt a tear drop as he gasped.

For fascinating friday flash 55ers visit g man

City politics

It rained continuously, flooding all the low lying areas. The usual blame game began. A rerun of last year’s monsoon theme and the year before that. The city fathers blamed the utility agencies for digging roads without prior permission . The citizens blamed the Municipal authorities who in turn said that the citizens are to be blamed for their lack of civic consciousness. The State Government blamed the electronic media for spreading panic and warned them of strict action. By the time they finish blaming each other and God for the disaster caused by the rainfall, the monsoons are over and then the ‘rebuilding’ and ‘repaving’ starts. And all are friends again, busy making life happen in Mumbai! When will this farce stop? When will the common man be able to face monsoons without any fear in Mumbai? Where will the buck stop and someone stand up and say ‘Enough is enough’! Letters are written, petitions filed, but apart from filling the coffers of the wheelers and dealers, status quo is the flavour of the day. ‘Chalta hai’. Non Government Organisations crop up a dime a dozen but get sucked into the vortex of corruption without a trace. It is an alternate profession now. if you cannot get into mainstream politics get into trade unionism or start an NGO to fight for the common man. The common man is so frustrated with the authorities that he will look upto any self styled leader who promises to make his life a wee bit easier without realising that he is but a pawn in the launch of yet another political figure.
And that is exactly why the city was held to ransom by Mr.Nitesh Rane who has founded an NGO to fight for the rights of the common man! It was basically a launch pad for him into the big bad world of city power politics. And who suffered? The common man who wished to get out there and earn his daily bread. His tools of the trade – cab and auto – were vandalised. How ironic!

Ongoing culture conflict - (concluded)

The meeting went off predictably except for the fact that Namdeo had to wait for nearly three hours for the arrival of Mr.Kamble who acted as if it was the done thing. There were lot of papers to be signed on and the cheque for the promised amount was handed over to Namdeo ceremoniously.
Namdeo returned to his village and back to his daily activities the same evening. It was nearly two years later that he got a telephone call from Yakub advising him of the release of his film.
Apparently there was a gala premiere for the release of the film attended by all the big names in politics, underworld and the filmworld but sadly Namdeo was not even informed about it.
Namdeo saw the film when it was released in the neighbouring town about a week later. He could barely recognise the plot as his. It was totally mutilated and felt relieved that his name appeared in small print in the credits.
Namdeo vowed that he would never again sell his soul for a film.

Ongoing culture conflict - 8

In the distance he could see his old time friend from Kamothe coming in his usual jaunty stride.
It was Yakub with whom Namdeo would spend the weekend in Mumbai. Yakub lived in a small ten by ten room with a tiny kitchen attached. There were three bathrooms and toilets common for all the tenants on the floor in the chawl.
Yakub’s ‘kholi’(room in Marathi), was popular among all visitors from Kamothe as he was a bachelor and loved hosting people from his village. He worked as a commission agent for a printer and was his own boss.
Namdeo was happy to see Yakub, a friend among strangers. As they walked back to Yakub’s house they exchanged gossip about old friends. It was like old times once again, laughter and backslapping, oblivious to the crowds that they had to weave through.
Namdeo had finished bathing and changing into fresh clothes and was transfixed by the continuous hum of activity out on the street as he stood watching out the window while Yakub fixed up a meal. Namdeo had to meet the film producer next morning and Yakub had already briefed him on directions to get there.
Time seemed of little consequence as they chatted through the night and filled up each other on their lives so far.

Ongoing culture conflict - 7

The mass of humanity had a life of its own. All individuals had fused into one mass that moved across from one point to another. Amidst all that, Namdeo noticed a father and son walk hand in hand. It seemed incongruous in the circumstances. The boy must have been just about six years old and was clad in school uniform. The school bag and a water bottle were slung over the father’s shoulder. They were in an intense conversation mode. The father was trying to convince the boy the importance of going to school and getting an education. The boy was absorbingly listening to the golden words from his apparent role model – his father.
This scene transported Namdeo to his own childhood when he had to fight for the opportunity to go to school and how his father had refused permission calling it a waste of valuable time which could be used to generate some additional income. But it was Namdeo’s persistence and the timely intervention of the local social worker that had led to the changing of his father’s thinking. He not only let Namdeo go to school but also supported all his academic ventures which required additional financial resources by working extra hours to ensure that Namdeo could study all he wanted and make not only the family but also the village proud. This, Namdeo felt, had its downside too, as his father had got so busy in making that additional money for his education that he hardly had any time to spend with him. He had started writing plays and articles while in school, for the local newspaper which paid him a pittance but gained him a standing in the local populace. In the bargain, he lost all meaningful communication with his father who would leave home before Namdeo woke up and returned when Namdeo was asleep. There were times when he would catch his father staring intently at him and it would make him uncomfortable and he would turn his back on him or get up and walk away. Never had he bothered to delve into his father’s feelings for him. Strangely, it had never occurred to Namdeo the famous playwright of social problems that his father missed spending quality time with him. And his father was too old fashioned to express his love for him in any other way than working hard to bring in that additional rupee for him. Before long, he had finished his school and then acquired a post graduate degree in Marathi literature.
Today was the day that people in the urban world celebrated as ‘Father’s day’. He saw posters announcing this on huge hoardings and exhorting children to do that extra something for their fathers. Namdeo’s eyes moistened at the thought and how he wished that such days existed in villages too where expression of love was so understated that one lived a life time without even thanking one’s parents apart from the routine ‘feet touching’.
Namdeo looked up and wished his ‘Pappa’ in heaven ‘Happy Father’s Day’. Better late than never. His father would understand as he always did. Namdeo swallowed his tears and felt a sense of happiness that had evaded him for a long time.

This post is dedicated to the Tribute to Dad contest at Blogadda sponsored by Pringoo

Ongoing culture conflict - 6

Almost the whole village was out at the Kamothe S.T.(State Transport) bus stop on Friday morning to bid Namdeo, their very own star, a fond farewell. He had tried to explain to them that nothing had been finalised as yet and there was still a long way to go but they would have none of it.

The bus journey took just about three hours, the best part of which Namdeo had spent hoping that Yakub would be there at Dadar to receive him and escort him to the ‘Laxmi Lodge’, where his room was booked for his momentous weekend in Mumbai. When he got off at Dadar, he felt lost in the crowd that was moving at a frantic pace. He just walked to the ‘chai’ stall nearby and waited to gather his thoughts and felt it would be a good place to wait for Yakub.

Ongoing culture conflict - 5

In Kamothe, romance was never discussed nor was there any need for a public display of affection. Hence, whenever Namdeo wrote about romantic escapades, the locals treated it like comedy. Surprisingly for him it was one of these romantic, mushy episodes that he had penned, which had got the attention of one of the biggies from Mumbai.

He was cycling to the village market when the postman waved him to a stop frantically waving a big brown envelope. The market almost came to a standstill while Namdeo got off his cycle leisurely and signed for the envelope. Registered mail was received by people in this village only when there was something really important, so there was an air of expectancy all around. Even Namdeo seemed worried while he gently tore open the envelope and extracted a fancy looking letter. It was from one of the famous Marathi language film producers in Mumbai. Namdeo knew the contents before reading it but was surprised as he had not been expecting it.

‘Yes. It is an invitation to Mumbai for a meeting with Mr. Kamble to discuss the adaptation of one of my romantic stories for a Marathi film. He wants me to reach Mumbai by next weekend for the meeting.’

There was a roar of approval from all those sitting in the ‘Bombay Hotel’ a tiny restaurant on the only paved road of Kamothe. Before he knew it he was lifted and carried on the shoulders by his friends. As far as they were concerned, he had arrived. But for Namdeo, it was the beginning.

Ongoing culture conflict - 4

The song created a peaceful ambiance.
Gulmohurs were in full bloom.
Love was in the air.
The sun was hidden behind layers of dark clouds.
Rain arrived in a drizzle.
The umbrellas were not opened.
Getting drenched was fun.
And then the ideating cyclone struck .
Namdeo wrote furiously.

He heard them laugh.

For more of friday flash55 visit g man

Ongoing culture conflict - 3

The sky had darkened and clouds hung heavy. A cool breeze blew in through the windows and seemed to lighten up the mood in the room. The temperature must have dropped just a degree but the tensions eased manifold. Namdeo was fascinated to see the instant changes in the weather and in the attitude of the people around. They seemed human now, breathing easy, different from the robotic and frantic motions a while earlier. Mumbai sure seemed a magical place!
Back in his village he had never ever seen the sky darken in an instant nor had seen it effect mercurial changes in the moods of the people. All changes were laidback in Kamothe. Preparations for the monsoons were made well in advance and it would be a time to look forward to. One could see the sky for miles around and note the possibility of rainfall well before it actually poured. The aroma of the fresh wet soil raised a lot of hope for good crops.

Ongoing Culture conflict - 2

This was Namdeo’s first foray into his city of dreams. It was here that he would fulfil his ambition of becoming a famous writer. He had read in the newspapers and other articles in magazines about the opportunities that sprouted at every corner for those who wanted to make it big. He was very popular in and around his village, for his writings which had been converted into plays and staged at various festivals over there. It was during one of these shows that he was approached by some important bigwig from the city and asked whether he would like his stories converted to movies. Namdeo had initially thought that he was being made fun of but agreed. And then he had totally forgotten about it as there was no mention about it for the next two years. Namdeo had continued his banal existence in the gently moving life of his village. His story factory continued churning out social dramas that would be the talk of the town every Tuesday as that was the day when all villagers would meet in the marketplace to barter or trade their wares with those from the neighbouring big towns and cities.

Ongoing culture conflict - 1

The constant drone of traffic crawling past had inured the residents of the chawl, bordering the busy arterial road, to loud speech. One would also hear the jets screaming overhead at sporadic intervals. All this was interspersed by constant honking and babies wailing.
It was the perfect mixture to short circuit Namdeo’s brain circuitry. He was fresh off the train from a remote village in Maharashtra to the city of gold – Mumbai.

Caste(e) out

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It is a shame!
Even in the present decade, while the rest of the world is progressing rapidly, an average Indian’s life is shrouded by social restrictions & dictated by Caste & creed or Racist discriminations. Every Indian is recognised primarily by his position as per the social stratification in which social classes are defined by thousands of endogamous hereditary groups termed as jātis or castes. Acute emphasis on the ‘caste’ of an Indian citizen still weighs down heavily, slowing the individual’s and in turn the nation’s march for progress on all fronts – social, economic and political.
Life in India, designed as per the social bias leaves an Indian lagging far behind in the global rat race!



The government of modern India made the country a democratic, socialist and secular nation. According to the policy therein, discriminating against a person based on his caste or considering him as untouchable is legally forbidden. However along with this law the government allows positive discrimination of the depressed classes of India. For over half a century now, the reservation based on caste system has been in place. And yet there has been negligible improvement in the living conditions of those, for whom it was mooted.
Today, right from the time of registration of a birth until death, you have to declare your caste details. On the one hand you are exhorted to remember you are an Indian first but on the other you are also not allowed to forget which Indian caste you belong to! There can’t be a greater self defeating exercise if there ever was one. This constant reminder of your caste corrodes your individuality and fuels the stereotypes and different caste biases.

We have become such a quota based society that it has become of prime importance to revisit the issue before our society is condemned to fragmentation based on caste quotas at every level.
Once a quota is set for a particular section of the society it becomes inevitable to grant similar quotas for other sections too. We have thus arrived at a stage where a deserving student not belonging to any of the quota strata in India, finds it easier to gain admission abroad in better Universities for higher studies than continuing to pursue his ambitions in his own motherland.
We have reached a state where merit takes a backseat and your totem flies high.

Even routine events like the census do not escape the clutches of caste controversies.
Indians hoped that the census this year would not acknowledge and include caste differences that could then be used by the wily politicians for acquiring more quotas everywhere. It has been very evident for ages now that for these politicians a caste based census is very essential to maintain their hold over their quotas/vote banks. Indians are still waiting for the day when caste differences will not be utilised in perpetuating the quota fragmentation of our society. Unfortunately there is no political will to free our society from the strangulating grasp of the quota system. Politicians continue to succeed in achieving their ends at the cost of the very people they represent.
Using caste & creed divisions the self styled ‘leaders’ of the different castes and sub castes will make hay while the people, that is we Indians, fight against each other into oblivion.
The rise of the regional satraps is evidence of this. There is no true national party today that will work towards the betterment of the nation. The need of the hour is true national leadership and the only way to find one is by defeating all regional/racist aspirants and their ambitions.

The only path to this ideal is a quota free education system to ensure that during the formative years of the child he/she is not subjected to caste/regional biases and social equity becomes the norm not a victim.

Social equity cannot be arrived at by division of the society based on such lines.
Even in times of crisis where life was at stake, caste based discriminations were rampant. When Tsunami hit India on 26 December 2004, the suffering Dalits popularly recognised as the untouchables were most affected. Caste-based discrimination took a toll of lot many lives from their clan for provisions of relief supplies and other assistance didn’t reach them on time. In Maharashtra massive evictions from tribal lands were undertaken, depriving the tribal communities of their basic rights. The reason for their eviction was a detestable reason that their presence polluted the shrine atmosphere of the upper castes in the locality. Despite caste being a violation of international human rights standards and domestic law prohibiting caste-based discrimination it continues to exercise a debilitating influence on the lives of millions in India daily.


Caste system is a powerful tool for social segregation. It runs deep in the minds of Indians and has implications in everyday life. It weakens the human urge to excel and liberate since there is little chance of rising above one's status at birth. If caste and creed discrimination are not abolished on a war footing we will be taking two steps backward for every step forward...

Meet the team :

Ritu Lalit
Deepak Amembal
Bikram Mann
Vibhuti Bhandarkar
Karthik
Manna
Meghana Subramanian
Deepti Raman

The Image in This Post is a Teamwork by THE BLUE INK SOCIETY

Emotional Upheaval

The waves lapped gently at first and reclined with a sigh. Their rhythmic flow was peace inducing. As the horizon darkened the sighs turned into hisses and plops.
The beat was faster now as the waves garnered forces to speed up their hammering at the shoreline.
The emotional Tsunami struck and destroyed all bridges.

Mumbai monsoons

The monsoons seem to have finally arrived in Mumbai. After the torrid summer heat the intial reaction is relief as the mercury drops and there is a general feel good ambiance all around. But like everything else this too is transient and the moods start going in various directions.
The lovers love to snuggle up to each other under one umbrella, holding onto each other tightly and walk along the seaface with waves crashing on the parapet.
The children love to get wet in the rains despite the danger of falling ill and being reprimanded by their parents.
The taxi and auto drivers are happy too and look forward to some heavy rains which would disrupt all rail traffic so that they can make hay while the sun hides!
The motorists and motorcyclists are on guard to ensure they don’t skid on the now slick roads. The first rains always cause a few to crash and bang due to the fine skidding mixture formed by the dust and water on the roads. Once that is washed away by subsequent rains, the dust in the air also is reduced by the heavy moisture and driving and riding becomes fun again with the cool air blowing across ones face.
Manoeuvring in the crowds with an umbrella is an art one has to develop in Mumbai. The umbrella has many uses in Mumbai. It can be used in self defence from gropers and pickpockets and also as a shield to protect oneself from dirty water being splashed by passing vehicles apart from the heaven sent rain water.
Corn on the cob is found being roasted and sold like, well, hot roasted corn cobs at almost every corner. And then there is also the ubiquitous chaat wala where the hot ragda patties on a wet evening are a must.
The time is also right to sit at the window with your companion and watch the rain and listen to the mesmerising pitter patter endlessly while munching on hot kanda bhajjis (onion pakodas) and sipping hot chai.
All Mumbaikars are happy that the rains are here and fervently pray that it will rain enough to fill up the lakes that supply water to this wonderful meglapolis.
Once the rains have poured their hearts out for a fortnight the mood swings and how!
Will post about that when it happens!
Till then Happy Wet Days!!

Man vs Tiger

He sat staring at the wall. The painting on that wall was intriguing. It claimed to be of the last tiger alive. The more he stared at it the more it seemed as if it was wanting to speak to him. Eerie.
Jappo closed his eyes thinking the tiger’s eyes would not be able to connect. But then he actually saw the tiger smile at him.
‘Hi! What scares you now? You have eliminated our species and till ten days back i was the last one alive and thanks to your stupid ways i have gone too!’
‘Hi. First of all i can’t believe that am conversing with a dead tiger. And even if you are, why me? How am i responsible for the extinction of your species. Have never been interested in hunting. Matter of fact have always been scared of the wild jungles hence never even ventured anywhere near them.’
‘It is your indifference that has led to this situation. Maybe if you and many others like you had raised your hand in support of tiger conservation, i would have been roaming the jungles and not met such an ignominious end.’
‘But your survival was not important for me. I had so many other important things in life that deserved and demanded my attention. Why would i have bothered about your survival? And is it not the law of nature that the fittest would survive?’
The tiger replied with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, ‘Obviously you are so steeped in yourself that you cannot see beyond your nose. Do you realise that if you continue to behave the way you do, soon all other living creatures would die off and so would the jungles? Would that make you happy? Maybe it will not happen in your lifetime but is it a legacy that you leave behind for your children and generations to come, something you would be proud of?’
‘Oh come on. Once the jungles are cleared of all wild animals and those trees, at least my children would not have to struggle to find a house to live in! They would thank me for what i have done!’
The tiger just rolls his eyes in disgust and throws his hands up in the air in despair.
‘My dear friend, the day the jungle dies, you can consider it as the death knell for mankind. You would have destroyed the very element that is responsible for your survival. If you cannot take care of your environment, don’t expect to survive in a depleted or dead environment. Think about it. It is for your own survival. Forget me. I am dead and gone. Now if you want to survive please go out there and take care your fragile environment before all is lost.’
The tiger disappeared and he dreamt of a concrete jungle where man fought man for survival.
He woke with a start and the first thing he did was call up the World Wildlife Fund for membership.

The North East imbroglio

The NE (North East) states of India are NE (Non Existent) states for the central government and the powerful national media.
The activists of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) have been blocking the highway (lifeline) leading into Manipur for almost two months now. This has led to a shortage of all essential supplies in Manipur. Strangely none of the big media houses have bothered to report this tragic state of affairs. Nor has the Central Government found it serious enough to resolve it.
The Naga students launched the economic blockade after the Manipur government objected to a planned visit by NSCN leader T. Muivah to his ancestral village in Manipur.
If a solution to the impasse is not found soon, the crisis will blow up into a North East versus India confrontation. It could lead to these states asking for separation from India as desired by China. But our politicians are busy guarding their chairs and cushioning their nests. It won’t be long before the Kashmir situation is replicated in the North East with China replacing Pakistan as the occupier. Wonder what would wake up our so called evangelist anchors of our prime time news channels to focus on this serious issue. Is this not the time to help these states feel a part of mainstream India?
This could be the last wake up call before we lose them forever.

Bhopal judgement

Today we had the pre-monsoon showers and what a relief it is. It has brought down the temperatures to a bearable level. Phew..

But the general attitudinal temperature in the country has risen after the damp squib of a judgement passed against the officials of Union Carbide – a meagre 2yrs and that too 25 years and 20,000 deaths after the grave tragedy of the gas leak in Bhopal. The then CEO of Union Carbide has been let off scot free and this while the people in Bhopal are still suffering the after effects of the gas leak. The soil and the ground water there is apparently still contaminated. And the apathy shown by all the Governments of our country since the tragedy has been pathetic.

As has been pointed out if this had occurred in a commercially/politically sensitive area which would affect the rich and famous, the outcome of the case would have been different.

Sad but true.

Happiness - Friday Flash55

The movie had ended on a happy note. And they said movies reflected life.
Vikram wondered.
His phone started ringing. A call that he was waiting for, to say ‘yes’ to Kamini.
He answered and was blown to bits. Well, figuratively.
Kamini had committed suicide and left a note asking him to join her.


For more of Friday Flash 55 visit g man

Distant Echoes

DISTANT ECHOES by James Bengel

Here is a book of poetry and images that is guaranteed to drive away all your blues.

It is a must buy for all black and white photography buffs and for all poetry enthusiasts.

His sensitivity and philosophy is truly admirable.

I must have read it innumerable times and yet everytime I pick it up I find it refreshing.

One of my favorite poem is 'I am not dreaming' The 1st verse is:

I don't remember dreams

But if I did

I would remember the one

Where I stand on the beach

Scanning the ocean

Just beyond the breakers

Where the riptides don't reach

Where the swells are steep

Where you are.

.........

The book is available at

http://mojo11.blogspot.com/p/books-buy-some.html

http://poetograph.wordpress.com/distant-echoes/

Amazon.com

For a taste of what lies in the book visit his blog at http://mojo11.blogspot.com/