Dumb me, my Smart phone's gone!

My phone’s screen is broken.  It's not with me, it's at the repair shop being poked and prodded and repaired. Right now, I don’t have a smart phone with me, not even a spare smart phone. I feel very lonely and dumb.  

I can’t check my mails on my phone. I can’t search google for random crappy things that I prefer to do so I can avoid using my office laptop, and get some relief from work wihtou it being in the history of my machine that can be tracked by the organization's IT department if it so desires. I cannot order food! I cannot order a cab!

I can’t check WhatsApp and send random messages! Quirky observations need to be held in check. Distress calls must be postponed. I cannot ask my husband when he is going home from work so I can plan to stay longer in office, or go visit that quirky shop I have been meaning to visit on my way back home from work. I can’t shop in peace and discretion on Amazon or Flipkart or Club Factory or Jabbong or Myntra. I need to exercise caution that my manager is not around. I can’t play solitaire or reply to my mails when I am having lunch or going for a stroll or waiting for my computer to reboot.

My life is going in slow motion. It feels like that kind of a video where the central character is standing still and around that character, the crowd moves, day becomes night and yet that character stays still and unmoving ... dumbstruck. I feel like that character. Dumbstruck. Amputated.

I don’t have a land-line. Just my beloved mobile phone that I use for banking, shopping, searching, entertainment, information, games, pretending to be busy, avoiding conversations, engagement. Now, I must watch television, open my laptop, open chrome and search and shop online. I must have a conversation, or fidget with my hair, nails, fingers. Look away or look awkaward, hum a tune, seem interested in my surroundings. I must cook food if I am hungry or use my husband’s phone to order online. I can’t give in and satisfy my secret food cravings and let them remain (relatively) secret. I need to use my bike or go by bus or metro and not use my phone to book a cab. Heavens above! I need to go back 15 years into the past!

Now, even if I log in to my Gmail from an internet café, I will be paralyzed, because the OTP will be sent to my smart phone to verify my identity. Suddenly my password is not so important. It’s my mobile phone that is my identity! If I want to search for apartments or have an online interaction, my email is not important. My website log in details and password is not enough to verify that I am me and not anyone else. My smart phone will automatically get the information – one message – and voila! my identity is verified!

But I am not very disheartened. I still know the whereabouts of my phone. It is in the process of becoming whole. It is simply being repaired. I will be rejoined with my modern identity case and my life long partner in a few days. I thank God that my phone is not LOST! Imagine – what if it gets lost and falls into the wrong hands…?!!!?

Imagine, my phone gets hacked, that person figures out my passwords; mobile banking passwords and email passwords and gmail passwords; has a peek at my WhatsApp messages. He can duplicate my entire life and day to day activities. That person can ogle at my photgraphs - even those ones that I took to check if the seat of my pants does not have any stains or to check if there is pimple at the back of my neck. 

My online identity can be duplicated and soon my money and messages will not be in my control. That rectangular silicon block encloses my entire life and day to day activities. I had spent so much time and effort choosing my phone, my inanimate life partner who knows all my needs and caters to all my demands at the speed of light! It would now be in the uncouth hands of a stranger who is practically raping me without my knowledge!

Today’s apps, activities and conveniences are all designed with the smart phone in mind. The laptop era has long gone. From the computer and internet era, we have entered the smart phone era. Internet security is now passé. Phone security and mobile internet privacy is the NextGen worry. Even as the size of the gadget reduces, the scale of worry and possessiveness has only increased. 

I had lost my phone for a few hours. Some good soul found my phone and returned it. but during those couple of hours, my prayer to God was, “Please God, it’s alright if my phone is destroyed, but let it not fall into the wrong hands!”

the story of half baked ideas

My head is teeming with ideas. I want to write. But I am feeling so scatter brained! It is as if thoughts are running full tilt and then silent bursting out half way through execution, their essence scattering all over my skull… neither completely disintegrating nor completing forming. Being in that in between state as it is… lingering... lingering in my memory like a favourite song, now forgotten. Even as these ideas vaguely hum in my brain, I am trying to give them form and substance and all that happens is my hand lifts itself with enthusiasm, but not knowing what to do, simply falls back. My fingers that were curled tightly around a pen, now loosen and seem to lose focus. They are still curled, but the pen has fallen, and its ink seems to flow away like a water from a glass… staining the table uselessly instead of forming beautiful and intricate penmanship of my thoughts that had once been ready to hurl itself wondrously though my fingers.

Bang bang hammer hammer galore

The day looks gloomy. The sun is a weak light trying to shine through the heavy clouds. It's May in Bangalore. For a girl who is from Bombay, this kind of a weather is heavenly! 'Cause in Bombay, May = agninakshatra. Those who don't have an AC literally melt in the humid heat. Those who do, closet themselves in the rooms which have AC. Going out only for basic necessities like eating, using the loo and maybe go out for work.

It's that time of the year when all you want is to feel like ice cream in the freezer because once you get out, you sure are going to melt!

But in Bangalore, you do feel like an apple in the fridge. The weather is cool. If the weather gets too hot, it will rain. Either that same evening or in a couple of days.

The heat has also increased in the garden city since gardens are now few and far between. They are now mostly filled with jungles of concrete. There are more buildings than trees. More concrete lorries than lorries carrying vegetables, petrol and what have you. Lots of sand, cement, stones and bricks. Fewer shrubs. An empty plot is never empty for long. Buildings spring up like mushrooms and toadstools; poisoning the environment.

Some of those buildings are mired in litigation, yet you see that they have some occupancy. Forest lands can go to hell and burn. But buildings will find a way to creep up and shoot up to reach the sky.

The trees will grow. Nature has a way to find its way out. A small creeper will grow out of a crack near the subway or bridge and that will be hailed as the symbol of greenery. See! We do co-exist with nature.

I don't mind the fact that a hundred or more trees have been cut to build the metro. It's the usurping of forest land and agriculture land and building monstrosities called apartments that has me griping. Yes, I live in one of those. Guilty.

I am one of those 'stupid immigrants' who has moved from the north. But, my parents hail from this city. I have seen this city grow from a two-lane city where I could jaywalk in the summers without ever getting hit by a car to a place with roads so crammed with vehicles that not even a child can cross the road. Still...

I wish that people would come together and start planting trees, plants, shrubs on empty plots of land. Before any builder thinks of usurping that plot of earth, why can't citizens claim it? Plant herbs, plants, trees and shrubs so that this city can become greener? They can share the produce and contribute to the upkeep. They will save up on their grocery bills. Make a patch of land more beautiful. Sustainable for the neighbourhood.

Why can't real estates think that they need to stop raping the earth and give something back to her? Not for thanks. It's too late for that. But, simply so we can survive and live in this city once more. To make this city livable once more.

I hope to find one small square feet of land that is empty and simply claim it so I can nurture a few plants... add something to the flora of this once beautiful city. Get some herbs and spice for free and save some cash from the amazons and indiamarts of this country! 

Coming full circle....Or at least on the way to it...

The world is coming full circle.
It’s not the micro picture that I am looking at. It’s the macro one. India and it’s policies are going to be slowly admired and emulated. We may not be the richest country wealth wise but in terms of understanding human nature, administration and philosophy we may certainly lead the way forward.
India as a people, as a culture, is special. Though we have allowed foreigners to take away and desecrate manifestations of our culture, we have never erased them from our lifestyle. An Indian who has moved miles away from his country even three hundred years ago has managed to keep key aspects of it alive in the place where he has moved to. Though an Indian is out of his country, his indian-ness prevails.
Besides our knowledge and philosophy is based on observation and science. The world is only now catching up with us!😁
Our way of life will covertly permeate into the consciousness of our world. This is so because the medievalist age is finally vanishing on the west and it is looking into science for answers. As it looks into science, it seems to be indirectly and independently attesting to the Indian way of life. So western scientists look towards Indian way of life in a different and diffident manner, awestruck at the deep rooted science behind it. This, even as majority of Indians are mocking at ourselves, lauding ourselves of our acceptance and tolerance even as we are intolerant to what we are innately.
Paradoxic, really!!

Nicolas - I miss you!

In an old city that’s new to me. I have grown up here but I have lived else where and am back here. Its home, yet its not. A very strange place. Stranger still because my heart is where my dog is. And my dog is not with me. I miss my Nico. I miss him so much that at odd moments, I tear up. My throat constricts and I simply want to see him. I just want to touch his soft warm body and feel his heartbeat thudding under my palm. I want to see him on his back with his paws in air, asking me for a belly rub… I want to hug him and bug him, cuddle him and run with him. I want to take him out on a walk and come home, wipe his paws and hear him drink water. I want to feed him. I want to peel the eggs, mix the rice and put the Pedigree and call out, “Nikki…Nikki…come here! Come and eat now!” I want to have him sniff my hands and lick it clean and then walk him to his bowl and watch him eat his meal, slurp some water and come to me and sniff my feet as I am working in the kitchen… looking at the shelf where his treats are kept. Demanding that I give him some after dinner snack. I miss the happiness on his face when he sees me give him those treats.

I miss the ability to just go up to him and rub his back and have him move this way and that so I can rub him where he wants. I miss rubbing his snout and scratching his ears… I miss looking at his eyes and seeing his smile. I miss his wagging tail and jumping on me as soon as I enter the house. I miss him sniff me all over to find out where I have been.

I miss irritating him on weekends. I miss holding his paws while he is on his belly and make him ‘make his moves’ while I listen to a song I like. I miss picking out ticks from his toes, I miss brushing his teeth, I miss playing with his teeth. I miss my dog. I miss my Nico. He is the dissolver of my tensions. He makes me feel I am a better person even if I am not. He makes me better than I am by just being him. He makes me go out when I feel low and he understands when I need ‘me’ time and allows me to sulk. He sits by my side when I am feeling low. He licks me when I am crying.

I hope he doesn’t miss me much but I know he misses me a lot and that makes me miss him a lot more. I just want to be with my Nikki.

Money - ShunIt!

Money disappears from the world. The world comes to a standstill. People don’t know how to survive anymore. How they earn? How do they value their services? How can GDP be measured? The basis of our existence and success is measured by the money we make. The entire concept of wealth and what we strive for is eradicated in one stroke. Money is a piece of paper that is extremely important and now that piece of paper is worth nothing.

One guy realised that instead of bartering services for money, services will be bartered in exchange. Each one helps the other person in whatever way they need. If a person is specialised in a particular craft, then they either trade skills or they help the other person with the job that needs to be done. The society as a whole slowly ceases to measure things obsessively and simply goes ahead do things that it needs to sustain itself. Be it art, crafts, music, film making or anything, everything is done and practiced, but the reason is not for money. It is for that person’s will and desire.

Food, water and nourishment becomes priority. We learn to co-exist and nourish nature and our surroundings. Agriculture, plants and trees become more important than technology. Our entire existence undergoes a paradigm shift and we learn to co-exist with nature and animals.

Man becomes more social, and anti-social elements of the society are not encouraged since the existence of man is now dependent on how interactive and social he is with his fellow men and surroundings. He would be isolated or he would have to grow his own food so as to survive. Of course, there would be other kinds of anti-social behaviours that would be encouraged. Man has a mind that can be twisted and can twist any kind of goodness into evil. For, where there is a God, a devil also co-exists and it depends on the ratio of how much God and how much Devil a person is innately made of. One can only hope that it will eventually get balanced.

Mangoes, Children and Old People - All In One Story

The flies were buzzing in the summer heat. The village was reasonably quiet. It was mango season. Chintoo, Munni and Shyam hadn’t eaten for quite a while. They stopped and sat under the cool shade of the mango trees and soon the fruits’ fragrance overpowered them. They looked up and around at the trees and between the dark green leaves saw some ripe yellow mangoes hanging onto the trees. Some of the mangoes had the greenish yellow tinge that made you feel the salt and sweet tingle your tongue. Their big eyes looked wondrously at the fruit and the three of them licked their lips at the sumptuous feast that seemed to be spread in front of them. Instinctively, Munni looked around to see if there were any chaukidars, human or four legged ones. Her alert gaze did not see anything guarding the mangrove. She tugged Shyam’s sleeve and looked at him as she tipped her head towards the fence. The two now looked at the trees as if assessing which one was the easiest to climb and which had the most number of fruits. Their assessing gaze landed on one that was around a few yards from the big old comfortable looking house that seemed shabby yet somewhat inviting and totally dominated by the mango trees. They cocked their heads towards the house, trying to discern if anyone was inside. But the house seemed quiet.  They silently looked at each other and then, Shyam and Munni seemed to move forward. Like an unwritten code, Chintoo followed them and they easily snuck through the barbed wire fence. They made their way slowly, looking to the ground as they walked, wary of snakes and twigs that would give their presence away. The mosquitoes buzzed around them biting and singing as if serenading the trio who slapped and scratched quietly, almost reflexively, as they made their way quietly. They soon reached the tree they wanted to climb. Munni took off her dupatta and tied it to make it a small bag and Shyam slung it on his shoulder and climbed. Munni nudged Chintoo and he looked around. He was the watchman. He looked around and soon wandered towards the house. He looked back to see that his brother had climbed. His sister was alternately looking at him and Shyam. She also looked up and around to check if someone else was coming from the other side. She looked towards the tree. Shyam was busy. Munni’s dupatta was almost half full.

Meanwhile, Chintoo wandered off closer to the house. He seemed to be drawn to the huge house that had cobwebs hanging off the corners. There was a screen door that was closed but the main door was open. Chintoo looked back at his sister, a question in his eyes. She looked back at him sternly and nodded her head sideways, ‘No’ and put her finger to her lips. His eyes bade good bye to the grand but crumbling structure as he walked back to his sister.

Meanwhile, Shyam was climbing down the tree with his collection of loot. As he walked back in the quiet, he stepped on some dried leaves and yelped in fear. The three suddenly froze.

From inside, footsteps creaked and the screen door opened.

An old woman with a bright smile opened the door. She saw the three little thieves.

The three little thieves were too far apart from each other and were too frozen to move a muscle. They looked startled and then resigned.

The old woman’s smile turned to dismay. She ate up the scene with her eyes as she stepped out onto the veranda.

Hands on her hips, her lips a thin line of disapproval, she gestured for them to come over to her. By then, Shyam and Munni were standing next to each other. Guilt and fear was writ large on Chintoo’s small face. Chintoo responded to her as if hypnotised. Munni and Shyam looked at each other’s faces, shrugged their shoulders and walked towards her with straight shoulders. Their faces having a strange dignity, despite the fear. They stood on each side of Chintoo and all three faced her. The old lady brought her hand out as if ordering them to give back their loot to her. Shyam’s face looked longing towards the mangoes as he handed them over to the old lady. She shouldered it and walked into the house.

As she entered the house, she did a strange thing that endeared the orphans to her immediately. She looked back and smiled kindly at them and gestured that they come into the house. The three childish faces that had so much adult pain and despair in them, froze in shock as they looked at her. She smiled gaily at them, and walked in leaving the screen door wide open – an invitation louder than words.

The three looked at each other, but Chintoo made the decision when he slowly walked in and looked back. Shyam and Munni were afraid. They had seen more cruelty. But they, too, shrugged their shoulders and walked in. After all, they were hungry and the old lady was kind if not anything else. Once they entered the house, they saw an old man sleeping on his side. His face was towards them and they could see he was fast asleep and his chest rising and falling and his breath soughing through the air as he slept; unaware of the silent drama that was unfolding in front of his sleeping eyes. On the walls, the shelves were filled with old decorative items and there was a little dust hanging in there. Above enclosure on the wall, there was a photo of a young man hanging in there. He was laughing and looked a lot like the old woman and had a little bit of the old man on his face, too. There was a dried garland and a big red tikka on the glass that was over the forehead of the young man who looked about 30 – 35 years old. They stood bunched together awkwardly. They heard the old lady pottering around in the kitchen as the metallic pots pans and plates clashed around and she came through the door and asked them to come inside. As they entered, diagonally they saw a kitchen and to their right, was the dining table and it had 3 plates set on it. They were all heaped with food. The three saw nothing else. They just stood looking at the food. Then they all looked up at the old lady. She smiled at them and gestured them to eat. As they looked at her, she seemed to blur in their vision.

She came up to them and put her hand on the shoulders of the two elder children and led them over to the chair, and seated herself on one opposite them and simply waved her hand towards the food. Once the children sat down to eat, she gestured with her hand, asking them to wait as she went inside. The children looked at each other and continued to eat, relishing the pieces of mango that had been kept at the side and eating the wholesome rice, dal, sabzi and pickles that was a feast for their hungry bodies and souls.

Gravity

Floating by…

A stringless kite

Hoping against hope

Searching for gravity

Looking down from my high perch,

Wishing I was on terra firma

Bobbing up there,

Smiling…

Smiling uselessly,

Wishing for gravity,

Looking at upturned faces that see me

High up in the sky

Wishing to be in my place,

While I wonder
where my place

Really is,

As I float on by

in the wind's pace,

looking for a place

where I can find gravity

that will hold me steady,

Let me feel the ground,

Feel the grass between my toes,

The mud getting stuck in my toe nails,

Cooling me,

Making me feel

Firm and steady.

As I bob up and down

Up in the sky,

Smiling…

Hoping against hope

Gravity

Floating by…

A stringless kite

Hoping against hope

Searching for gravity

Looking down from my high perch,

Wishing I was on terra firma

Bobbing up there,

Smiling…

Smiling uselessly,

Wishing for gravity,

Looking at upturned faces that see me

High up in the sky

Wishing to be in my place,

While I wonder where my place

Really is,

As I float on by

in the wind's pace,

looking for a place

where I can find gravity

that will hold me steady,

Let me feel the ground,

Feel the grass between my toes,

The mud getting stuck in my toe nails,

Cooling me,

Making me feel

Firm and steady.

As I bob up and down

Up in the sky,

Smiling…

Hoping against hope

The Saree

I love this garment. It is actually a large piece of cloth. Normally 6 yards long. It can be worn in any manner you want. Sexy or homey. Professional or party wear. Traditional or stylish. Just this one piece of cloth. It can be worn in many ways.

Women can have their region, language and culture identified. They don’t need to speak. Just drape the saree and voila! Your origins will show. You may speak any language, but the way a woman drapes her saree will give her away.

Amazing! How this ancient dress (for lack of better word) still is used in today’s modern world of cocktail dresses, jeans and skirts. It’s still professional wear for many in India. It’s still an elegant piece of artistry that is draped on your body. Somehow when a woman drapes a saree, she becomes more elegant. Even when she walks gawkily, there is a certain grown up air about it.

I remember my childhood when I used to try and drape the saree my mother discarded after she returned from college. It would be warm and cool at the same time. I used to stand in front of the mirror and try to wind the huge piece of cloth around my waist. It was ridiculous. I would wonder how she can wear it so quickly and neatly. Where do you start? One must indeed be an adult to be able to drape this huge thing around you and let it make sense. It covers a woman’s body – any woman’s body – fat or thin – in a way that looks so natural and beautiful.

Many in my generation feel that it’s a pain to drape a saree. They proudly say one of the things they don’t know is how to drape a saree. Its not requisite for an adult Indian woman to know how to drape a saree. Why should we? When we get those pin up ones and readymade types? O but the freedom of draping it the way you want! The pallu can be free or pleated; long or short. The pleats can be 6 or 8. It can be hugging your lower body or just loosely draping it…

They feel its old fashioned. But have you looked at the cloth of a saree? The Kanjeevarams, the Banarasis, the Mysore Silks, the georgette ones, the satiny ones, the elegant cotton ones… those designer sarees with embellishments. They are so beautiful! I know it makes you look like a walking jewellery shop or an art-book at times… but it has some style! And you can legitimately show your mid riff to the world and no one will say, ‘Chee! How indecent!’

I had one saree that I took to London when I was a student. I would wear it every time I missed home. Whenever I wanted to feel elegant and Indian, I would drape a saree and read a book in my room. I would look out the window and see all those women with a skirt and blouse or jeans – all bundled up and hurrying in the cold. They seemed to look so colourless. In contrast, I felt as if I was so full of colour and vibrant. Even if my saree was black, it felt so vibrant! It made me feel so... cool!!!

What with Rekha and Vidya Balan making it a style icon, it seems to have regenerated. But I feel it never was out of style. Look at the Indian Mamis – anywhere they go, they drape a sari and walk out. It can be New York, Durban or Mumbai.

The garment remains. An eternal symbol of womanhood. Flexible, graceful, eternal and multi-tasking.

India and Alienating Pakistan

Pakistan and India are the separated siblings. They are quite similar in culture, food, behaviour and language, to an extent. Other than the fact that they are a muslim nation and India is a (mostly) hindu nation. The people of both countries are equally kind and equally callous to each other. When abroad, they are mistaken to be one. There is no difference between an average Pakistani and an average Indian. Both can be quite overbearing and obnoxious and end up speaking the same language when drunk. They both also like the same kind of food (in general) and it’s tough to differentiate.

Back home, the average Indian can go to America, UK Africa but Pakistan is quite a difficult place to go. It’s the same for our neighbours. But when we do end up going to the other person’s country, we are treated well. The people are kind helpful and nice. Especially if they know you are an Indian in Pakistan or vice versa. Except of course that the police and army personnel covertly or overtly follow you around. It’s just for safety. Nothing personal.

But then no offense to Pakistanis, they have the army personnel for protection of every foreign national. It’s just that it is the hotbed of terror and home to terrorists in South Asia. As Indians, we definitely feel safer. We also somewhat sympathise with the average Pakistani who has to live in such uncertain climes. Though, I am sure they are not all that fettered and go about their business just as usual.

Then come the Uri attacks in September and we get all hurt and angry and completely hate the country. We want the bloody Pakistanis to pay for what they did to our army. Those terrorists are so sneaky… that ISI and the Pakistani army always collude and use India like a training ground! We need to take a tough stand. We need to fight back. Our PM and our army assure us that India is not going to sit quiet and they will strike at a place of their choice and time. All the Indians are happy. A few days later when we hear about the surgical strike, we feel even better. Jingoism at its peak. Mera Bharat Mahan! Definitely! Our Prime Minister goes onto the international forum and declares Pakistan should be declared a militant state and that they should be alienated.

We agree. Pakistan is a hotbed of terror and breeds terrorism. They are the worst kind of state and we require that it should be alienated. Yes! Definitely so!

So we should not do business with them. We should not have Pakistani artists working in India and in Bollywood. Uh?? Where did that come from? Alienate them sure – I mean politically and all that is just fine. Economically? Uh… like not do business with them? There are families who have relatives in Pakistan and vice versa. They do visit each other and still interact. During partition, one half stayed there and the other came this side and vice versa. How can we alienate one half of our families? It seems so strange… even partition has not been able to do that and now, just to prove we are patriotic, we need to ignore one part of our families and friends?

Besides, artists are an international family. Why should we alienate artists from the other country? Politics has entered sports, but somehow, it has stayed away from art and films. Why should it start anew in this area of life? After all, music and art have bound these two countries traditionally. That is not the train of thought one likes to think of when thinking of alienation of our neighboring country which is a hotbed of terror. How can the handsome Fawad Khan or the melodious Atif Aslam have anything to do with terror? It's like alleging that blue-eyed handsome chaiwala is going to blow your head off while he serves tea. Ridiculous!! 

Alienation on a social and economic front is quite difficult for the Indians and Pakistanis because the fabric of our cultures and societies are quite interwoven in a subtle manner, irrespective of the political situations in our respective countries. We are empathic to each other and understand the others difficulties on a day to day basis since we share almost the same mentality and behaviour. We are not exactly foreign to the other but definitely forbidden. So we look at each other with curiosity, not fear or revulsion. Except during cricket matches and world cups. Only then the political and the social sentiments match and we definitely want those bloody Pakistanis to lose! It is only in the sports and political arena that the 'tu tu mein mein' of these bitter neighbours rears its ugly head. But after the match is done, the tempers cool and hopefully India wins the match, life returns to normal.

This same sentiment of economic alienation is quite easy to observe when it comes to Chinese goods. Though they are cheaper in price, they are cheap in quality as well. though there is variety, technology and all that razzmatazz, its easier to accept that we can avoid the Chinese goods and be Indian and buy Indian. The average Indian can just not relate to the average Chinese. We are linguistically and culturally far far away from ‘those Chinkies’ and alienating them is relatively easy.

The lunchbox

The lunchbox. Signifies food. With food is associated life and joy. All things positive. At the least, sustenance. This movie has so many symbolisms in it. It’s a beautiful movie that leaves you with a smile. Its poignance is amazing. Quite rare for the brash overly glamourous Bollywood cinema which is thriving more on on-your-face emotions.

There is subtlety and love and romance and betrayal and death and the past and even the future somewhat told altogether at the same time. Old reminiscences and how they rejuvenate our present lives, old betrayals and how they hurt us…yet its not time, but our own will power that makes us move on. Time does not heal things. It's us.

A simple mistake by the world famous dabbawallahs leads to a unique relationship between a crotchety old man and a lonely housewife who finds that her marriage is going to the pits as she has a cheating husband. The old man is a lonely widower who is a month away from retirement. The lonely housewife is on the verge of suicide. Both of them save each other like strangers often tend to do once you confide in them. He appreciates her food and she appreciates the care he showers on her. They have never met each other. She satisfies his need for good food. He satisfies her craving for attention and gives a few minutes of his time to her. They never meet. In the era of emails, WhatsApp and whatnot, they communicate through little pieces of paper which are wrapped in fragrant chappatis. Soon she awaits the return of her empty dabba and the reply he sends and he awaits for her delicious, spicy food and mundane recollections of her mind, her life and her thoughts. The empty dabba and pacifying words soothe her sad, comfortless life. She has an ailing father and a tired mother. A young daughter and a cheating husband. He has memories of his dead wife, noisy children of the neighbourhood and an empty house where he watches television and smokes.

These 2 very disparate characters blend their lives and come together through little pieces of paper that convey hope and despair; memories and advice; friendship and care. Mostly friendship and care. 2 people who end up getting to know each other. Through the lunchbox full of food, and little pieces of paper.

The way to the heart is indeed through the lunchbox.

Oscar WIlde's Picture of DOrian Gray - Review

After reading Oscar Wilde’s portrait of Dorian Gray, it is amazing how I want to simply empty my mind. I just want to be alone and be with the good things in my life. Nature, children, dogs…he has spoilt the value of a beautiful garden by polluting it with the association and importance gardens have in Dorian Gray’s cruel and wicked life.

It is after all, in a beautiful and sweet scented garden that Harry meets Dorian and begins his corrosive influence on that boy. It is amazing how evil is so fascinating to a boy with such angelic looks.

In the satire, where the Irish writer goads the English tendency to love the looks of things and how they seem, he has excelled himself by creating the sadistic character of Dorian who is angelic only to look at. The devil lurks underneath his beautiful looks that never fades away. It is his portrait that suffers from the sins that eventually catch up with him. A powerful book on how ones actions affect ones looks and life.

Reputation, society, looks, status – all are scorned by Oscaar Wilde’s infamous book – the picture of Dorian Gray. An Irish in the land of the English, how much ever he tried to emulate the mannerisms of the English, his Irishness was pre dominant. He never fit in because of that and ended up scorning the English society for the hypocrisy that it reeked of. Birth, status, money – in that order were more revered than the man for who he was. He proceeded to showcase the ultimate hypocrisy by creating a character in his book who had all – wealth, status and looks. He only lacked good morals. What he lacked, he scorned it on every one else. Morality and honour were heavy baggage to carry and soon in his youth, he is fantastically able to trade these for retaining his good looks and youth. The artist who creates and captures his fantastic youth and angelic good looks on canvas secretly worships him and has him for a muse till his cynical, world weary acquaintance captures the attention of the young man. He takes him under his tutelage and is amazed to find a willing student in Dorian Gray. The painter in the meanwhile despises his snatching away not only the attention but also the innocence of his muse. Dorian, in the meanwhile, wishes that he remain as chaste and youthful as his portrait. By some chance of fate, he manages to get his wish true and goes down the alley to seek hedonistic pleasures and have his senses over rule his morality.

He can see the depth of his corruption, as his soul seems to be captured in the portrait. He sees the degradation he has wrought on himself as often he sees his portrait. But, on his face, nothing shows. His looks are as angelic as his actions are filled with devilry. It is because of his good looks, his wealth and status that Dorian manages to still exist in society. No one openly cuts him except men who are morally far above him or women who have been dishonoured by him. These women, have no status and are ostracised. Young men try to emulate him and other men are simply jealous of his ‘achievements’. No one tries to cut him and tell him off, except the painter. He is afraid to believe the tales society whispers about his ex-muse. The old man, Basil, is shocked at the atrocities his ex-muse has allegedly committed and goes on to confront him about this. When he does, the evil in the young man overpowers him and he blames the old man for all his misdeeds and kills him. His portrait duly has a spot of blood in his hand but his hands are really blemish-less to look at. This in turn frustrates and enamours the young looking man as, by now, Dorian is almost 40. Though he looks just as he did when he was 19. He starts looking at his youth as a curse and tries his best now to remove the stains he has created on his soul. But does not realise that it is a long and tedious process. After doing a single good deed, which actually is simply a whim, he checks on his portrait. when he sees, the hideous portrait remains unchanged. in his anger, he wants to destroy the mirror of his soul. That kills him instead.

In death, his body shows the degeneration that has been wrought on it because of the evil mind that possesses it. The picture becomes as beautiful as it originally was. Death reaches out and takes his ignoble soul away. But no one recognises the degenerate body that it has left behind and he is left unrecognized in death – the worst that could have happened to him in life.

Positivity

It is something we take for granted. It’s the most intangible asset an employee can have. It is the most ignored aspect in the world. It’s not just in the professional world, but in life as well.

Its absence is felt much greater than its presence is appreciated. In fact, absence of positivity is dangerous. It can erode teams, individual and the morale of people who work in the team. Lack of a positive outlook in our professional life helps to make us tie over difficult patches. It also helps us look at a problem in a better way looking to solve the problem and not to blame someone else for a problem. People become instruments to solve problems, not the reason for problems. The way we look for solutions change.

This does not mean that only positivity should be there. That would be naiveté. It would be calamitous. A healthy dose of realism and caution is required. Friction, after all, is quite important; else we would all be slipping and breaking our skulls.

Negativity at the work place makes you think less. It’s like a weighty burden on your shoulders. You drag your feet to work. You start talking about ‘other things’ when sitting with your colleagues for a coffee break. A break from work means you talk shopping, friends and which places have vacancies. Thinking about your work and improving in it is a thought that is galaxies away.

Such an employee is simply being there in the ‘now’ as he does not see himself in the future of that company. It even spreads. It’s a virus. Especially when someone in a lead position carries a negative attitude about him/her, then it’s detrimental to the entire team. The team is now different units. They do not function as a team. They are individuals who make up a team and do their different duties. They come to office and think of leaving. Finishing assigned tasks and leaving for the day so they can pursue their other life.

Companies should see to it that they address issues of leaders with negative attitudes.  Companies must introspect if these negativities are founded on fact or if the individual is negative by nature and always looks at a glass half empty. It may be possible, in that case, that there is a reason for all the negativity floating around. If it is because such influencers in the team are by nature negative, then the team may scatter and  the doers of the team will soon find alternate paths or may not perform to their best capabilities. The loss, ultimately, will be felt overall and may create a ripple effect.

Pathankot, Pakistan and the common man

The Pathankot tragedy seems to be quite significant. Pakistani terrorists have started attacking our defense forces. How do they have such an insight into where our defenses are located? Okay fine. Google maps. Common knowledge. Fine. All that is good general knowledge on their behalf. But how come our folks were caught so unaware?

Such laxity on part of the ever vigilant brave Army folks is a little scary to say the least. Especially when these things are about national defense and warfare.

Why are Pakistani folks so intent on travelling to India with such destructive intents? Why such stealth? Why such evil intentions toward their once joined by the hip twin? Is it an inferiority complex? Is it an attempt to deny common history and remove India from the map?

Whatever the reason is, their attempts are hurtful. Their attempts speak of a nation that is so poor that its youth are forced to kill themselves over a couple of lakhs of money for their family. Going to India, destroying some part of the country is like earning the ultimate bonus. Plus you are told you will attain heaven if you become ‘shaheed’ for the cause of your nation and Islamic brothers. If not, you can serve your community in other ways. All of them, definitely, more violent, more destructive.

Such impressionable youth – their lives wasted away in hatred and death. Is a life of peace in our neighbouring country such a rarity? Is it such a foreign concept that parents don’t mind if one son’s life is sacrificed like this? A couple of lakhs at least will come their way and they can sustain the others in the family for a while longer. Is that attitude of the families?

Instead of letting terrorism flourish, why can’t our dear neighbours’  increase economic growth and activities around that region? I am sure more intelligent people than me must have thought about such things. I wonder what is stopping them from taking such steps. Okay, maybe because that means women also must be educated so that would not be palatable for such a male dominated country. But if that is the case, then the men would be more interested in getting educated and earning money through more peaceable ways. Even their parents would encourage such things. They would have money plus their children.

Or is war and infighting in this region more profitable to the powers that be?

People die in the process. So what? Its one of the most populous regions in the world. A couple of poor people die, So what?

Are we so callous in our outlook?

Why is peace and economic growth of places  in the LOC region taking a back seat? Always war. Always fighting. Don’t they really get bored of that? Can no one ever think that enough of all this fighting. Lets try and improve the place where we live. Lets love the place we are born in and improve it for the sake of our children? Doesn’t such positive thoughts not take shape in such regions? Or are they truly god forsaken?

Our dear Prime Minister Modi even gave a surprise visit to his counterpart in Pakistan to ensure peace. This incident is like a mockery to that polite act. Is Nawaz Shariff truly in control of the nation or are the terrorists and ISI and Military of Pakistan running a regime of hate that is stronger and has deeper roots which will always hold sway in that nation’s governance and relationship with India?

I wonder if Pakistan’s people realize how self-destructive this method of governance is. They are being held hostage by violence, terrorists and extremists in their own country. Quite a sad fact to live with about your own country.

Men Women...society??

In every society woman is construed to be a temptress. One who is a lascivious creature designed to arouse men away from their duty. They are the ultimate distraction. Without a woman, many religions believe, that man would be complete. O well, he needs a woman to procreate with and satiate his base urges – i.e to have babies to increase his lineage and to have sex with. (Mostly in that order)

I am, sure many orthodox religions would agree to the basic concept of difference between men and women put as such.

Naturally when an argument is put in such a way, I would definitely beg to differ. The truth is such derivations have been made by a patriarchal society. Like some say, the history of winners is the one that is widely known. Its like the other side of the moon, so to speak. But we as people cannot discount the fact that women mostly form 50% of any population. Technically speaking, men and women form the human population. Therefore, how can 50% of the human race be evil? That, too, 50% of the same gender? Somewhat illogical, really.

The truth is as far as I know Hindu scriptures (and that’s not much really), it says that you must treat women with respect, for; they are your mother and later, your companions. They keep you companionship and women have also known to be active participants or even involved in the history of mankind. (Though seeing Sonia Gandhi, Mamata Banerjee and J. Jayalalithaa, one would wish women would keep to home and hearth and not enter politics!)

Men have certain duties and so do women. Both have rights and duties. It is more like a division of labour. Depends on who is translating that you understand how much importance to give to whom. But really, both of them deserve equal importance. A woman has as much voice as a man. Also, a man must be humble to attain heaven as much as a woman needs to be humble. Humility, intelligence, an allegiance to righteousness, equality, duty and responsibility is all there in our scriptures. These are all there for both men and women.

Some people always say that men and women are not equal. Women have always been superior. This can be taken both ways. But I suppose we should take away the gender bias and say that both men and women form part of the human race. Each of us as people have a duty towards the other. So instead of doing one upmanship, we must learn to understand that both are equal. Both are people. Respect the other. Both men and women crave a respectful existence. Once respect is removed from the equation, there is inequality. That is the source of all our men vs women debates.

Though I think I have oversimplified the problem, I have simply worked out the problem from my angle.

Toru Dutt & incidently the review of 'Le Journal de mademoiselle D'Arvers'

Toru Dutt is a prodigy who has been long forgotten. But she is the first Indian novelist who has ever written in English AND in French. She was born in the literary family of Dutts in Bengal. The last of 3 children of Govin Chunder Dutt. She had a brother and a sister – Abju & Aru, respectively. A curious, vivacious young girl who was adept at learning and whose curiosity to learn read and write consumed her till the end of her short life. She was adept in Sanskrit, English, French, German and of course Bengali. She was a proficient translator and translated many works of French to English. Though born a Hindu, she, converted to Christianity when she was 6 years old. Her writings reflect her Christian belief. She has also translated many works from Sanskrit.

Very little is known of her writings and she is most popularly known only as a poet for her famous poem ‘Our Casuarina Tree’ which is her most popular work. But this prodigy whose literary and cultural sensibilities were awakened at a very tender age of 13 wrote 2 novels – ‘Bianca’ and ‘Le Journal de Mademoiselle D’Arvers’ apart from the many translations. Her sister Aru was also as good a linguist and writer. Both sisters have translated a few French poems in an anthology known as ‘A Sheaf Gleaned From French Fields’. This was a joint venture by both the sisters. Unfortunately, the elder one was not alive to see it in print and Toru completed it after her death. The sisters loved each other a lot. They grew up in Nice, France and England and therefore could appreciate the literature and culture of the continent better than any Indian as they grew up immersed in it. Toru went to the continent when she was 13, ie: in 1869, when English literature was at its peak with poets like Shelley and Wordsworth, and of course my favourite – Emily Bronte; being her contemporaries. In fact in her French novel, ‘Le Journal de Mademoiselle D’Arvers’ , I do detect some traces of Emily Bronte’s work, ‘Wuthering Heights’ The love of Louis reflects the gentle and tender love Edgar Linton has for Catherine Earnshaw nee Linton. Unlike Emily’s heroine, though, Marguerite is a gentle woman and her love is deep and tender.  

Art and literature were very much appreciated and encouraged during that period of time. Toru and her sister blossomed in this environment. With the literary genes inherent in them, this was a fertile soil where it blossomed and gave beautiful fruit. Language was at their behest and they expressed themselves poignantly.

It is unfortunate that what brought them to Europe was primarily the death of their brother Abju. He died of consumption. Whenever you read this young author’s work, death is forever present, like a shadow. Toru was surrounded by death from a very early age. This is reflected in her works as they are somewhat biographical in nature. Her sister, Aru, too, died when Toru was just 19. She herself died when she was 21. Alas! Literature lost a beautiful contributor!

Her works are poignant and when you know about the author, it is all the more brilliant that this writing has originated from the pen of one who was so young. There is a certain maturity in the emotions of her characters. Though it shows that this was written at a time when women were not so aware of things. Like when I read the English translations of the French novel, I found that the author was very naïve about facts of childbirth and in some instances of nursing a baby. Her characters definitely touch a chord emotionally and are mature. But death seems to shadow them at every turn. In fact the major theme can be said to be death. Though she never had the chance to fall in love (or maybe who knew! She had an unrequited love! For the way she describes the female protagonist when in love, she is somewhat apt in some of her descriptions of a girl in love). A girl who loves, loses and learns to love again. A deep and wholesome love. Though the superstitions of the character are somewhat Indian, and that betrays the fact that it was written by an indian authoress. But such superstitions were prevalent in the west too. :)

The male characters are also very well fleshed out. The father figure here is very supportive of his daughter and it reflects the relationship she shared with her own father. It also reflects how fathers in that era were very dominant figures in a girls life. This book opens our eyes to the fact that women were protected creatures in the 19^th century. They were under the protection of their fathers when young and soon, but very soon, they moved to the protection offered by their husbands.  The woman plays the role of care taker and is kind and gentle. The character of Madame Gosserelle is an interesting one and shows that though Toru was young, she had seen enough of the different characters in her short but informative life. This book throws to light her very un-Indian upbringing. In the nineteenth century not only was she multi lingual and an expert in all the languages she knew, but she was also well versed in her understanding of human nature. She is a rare gem in the literary world. I appreciate her more because she was not only very young but that she was a woman. Yes you can call me feminist. But this young Indian had a very great understanding of human nature and she had the ability to be articulate and poignant enough to pen her thoughts. It is strange to know that despite having a supportive father who appreciated her literary genius and in fact fed the fire of her curiosity, she never revealed her novels to him. It was after she died that her father discovered his daughter’s works.

Perhaps her novels would have given her father a feeling of how stifled she felt in her father’s love for her. How stifling it was for her to sit in side 4 walls when her heart and mind were out there in the wild fields of France and England. Perhaps her mind was too agile to keep up with her weakening body because even as she wrote her novels, she herself was consumed by the disease that had eaten up her siblings. The dreaded consumption. What a devastation to the old parents who had to watch each one of his talented children die one by one and still be alive to bury them and live amidst the ruins of their young lives!

But as you read the works of Toru Dutt, you see a maturity, a vast understanding and a certain peace in death. As though she welcomes it like sleep after a tired day. It is as though in death, she is going to live far better than she did in life. Free from the pains and anxieties of life – knowing and being with her friends whom she missed in life. It is as though by dying, she is going to a happier and freer place – a place where she can roam around freely and happily. Where her heart, body, mind and soul are in sync and as agile as she wants them to be and with people whom she loves.

Mind Magic

Like a river our minds flow,

like liquid metal it feels.

Fluid, yet somewhat weighty.

It’s all matter rolled into one

but that really does not matter.

It flows fast,

Though it does have

the ways of a glacier.

Its ways are numerous,

infinite are its workings.

but sometimes,

it feels like a snowball

gathering and building itself

with time.

yet some minds,

disintegrate and regenerate

with intensity, frequeny & intense frequency

at different frequencies.

amazing are the tendencies

of different minds at different levels.

Discover yours

Delve into others'

discover it all,

Simultaneously!

A wriggling tiny irritating worm called hope...

What should I do?

A constant question I keep asking

Year after year.

Every year, I feel I have found the answer.

Yet the next year,

I am at it all over again!

I am never quite sure if this is what I want the next year!

I dither and dawdle

I try to be brave and energetic

About all my new projects and attempts.

But somehow this time,

Its hard to get up.

This time, the wound cut a little deeper.

This time,

I am a little more lost.

Its a little more darker.

But somewhere,

I see there is still a small, tiny light shining

It seems to be beckoning to me.

At least that’s what I think so.

That is the only thing that keeps me going

Somewhat...

I think its called hope.

I think it means that

Somehow something will work out.

...and it will always be for the best...

Nico - the true guy!

I have lost track of time. Feb 8th is the last time I was really lazy, woke up at 10:00 in the morning and did next to nothing. Ever since then, the days have jumbled one into another and I have lost count. I wake up at 7.30 in the morning, brush my teeth and then check the house to find where Nick has pooped. clean that and then go down to make his breakfast and my coffee. As he gobbles his breakfast, I have my divine nectar and then am off for a walk with my 4-legged f(r)iend. We gambol around the layout and I try my best to exhaust him. He happily checks out and tries his best to jump on all the pretty girls and the sari clad women he meets. When he was younger and smaller, pretty girls would come by his way and coo, 'He's sooo cute!!!!!!!!!! Can I pet him...?? OOOO my cutie pie....what's your name?' And me, his spokesperson obligingly supplies it - Nico. 'OOOO Nico Noci cute doggy cute doggy....so cute!' He, meanwhile wallows in the attention and gives a big goofy doggie grin and as they let him go, tries again to jump at them and I the cruel mistress, pulls his leash and says 'Enough Nico, lets go!'. This was the pattern almost every day and when my parents came, I said, 'You know this dog of mine loves women. Anyone who has XX chromosome, he's off being cute for them!' My dad did not believe me. He smiled at me indulgently thinking his girl is simply proud of her pup. After all how can males of all species run behind women? But my little pup proved him wrong! He was stunned when he came walking with me and Nico. Just outside our apartment as one of the girls clambered out to go to work, Nico ran off to meet and greet her. She obligingly cuddled him and petted him and asked, 'Does he bite?' I replied, not really, and she continued petting her. My dad was holding him (those days he was small enough to be held) and was too shocked to know that I was right!
My little pup is a celebrity amongst the women of this layout and there are many of those since there are 2 girls PG accommodations right next to my apartment. So once when Dad and Mom took him out for a walk, they passed the dosa camp. This place is full of people of ages and strata. kids, dads, moms, girls and boys of all ages drop by here after 4 o'clock in the evening. This place has people spilling over to the sidewalk and across the road till around 10:00 in the night when he closes. So Ma and Da were taking Nico around this place for a walk. A group of pretty 20+ girls were talking and spotted this little pup. They swooped down on him and started petting him. He was so happy that he obliged them and let them hold him. They rewarded him by taking pics and cuddling him. He gave them such a wide grin and his puppy yelps of happiness. It was a win-win situation. He loves being the star among women.
He is also quiet when he looks out and admires his women. We had almost finished our walk. My husband and I were almost home and we were opposite the girls PG when one of the girls was coming towards us. Nico sat down on the road. We knew what to expect, so we simply waited. I was holding the leash and my husband watched him as his eyes followed the girl. She was good looking in a neat and clean way, well dressed and smart. As she passed him, Nico's head swiveled and his eyes followed her till she disappeared down the road. Then my regal flirt got up and walked back. Who said he only jumps at women? He can simply watch them and admire their grace and beauty as he sits on the road.