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.