HAPPY REPUBLIC DAY, DEAR FELLOW INDIANS!

Even as my family and I hurl the national flag atop our little house my eyes turn moist. My twelve year old son is amused.

“After all, it is just a flag. And we are showing respect to our country by hoisting it, that’s it” he thinks.

But, it happens to me every time I hold the national flag. Even patriotic songs do that, something stirs within – I feel great pride for being an Indian,  warmth for being part of a nation with the oldest democracy, joy for belonging to a country that houses people of so many different religions and faith and yet stay united,  pride for the nation that created Ayurveda,  Chess, Charkha,  ZERO (where would the world be without this number?), proud to be part of that spectacular country that gave to the world Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus,the list can just go on.

It is like an ocean of emotions that spring out just like that. Makes me want to believe that in some incarnation I was a freedom fighter fighting for my country. No! No! I am not elevating myself. It is a genuine feeling that sweeps over me. My mother saw to it that I learnt my history and civics well, that I read Amar Chitra Katha comics on all our freedom fighters. Maybe, that sowed the seed. Maybe I did indeed march forward with sword, gun and lathi to protect my land. Maybe…

But then, there is also desperation when I perceive people wringing the goodness out the nation and giving back nothing in return. There is hurt when people treat the nation like dirt, only wanting to use India for their selfish wants. There is anger when I see many, both among the very young and the older people being ruthless and mean when it comes to treating their fellow Indians with equality. India continues to give, to its citizens and to the world.

• When will WE learn to feel gratitude for this mighty nation?
• When will WE learn to convert this gratitude into action?
• When will WE take the first few steps towards transforming this beautiful nation into a land where every man, woman, child gets to eat, has shelter, is able to understand with the aid of basic education?
• When will WE do little things that can make a difference?

This day, this republic day I salute all the heroes, real life heroes, our soldiers – army, navy and air force who have been protecting our country from strong winds and storms of terrorism that try to spread the virus of hate, terror, selfishness, violence in our peace loving nation.

This day, this republic day, I salute all the unsung heroes, the ordinary people, the aam aadmi who continue to work unconditionally for the society, for the country without expecting anything in return.

 Wishing You A Very Happy Republic Day 2012.

Wishing You a Year That Makes You Make A Difference, for Yourself and for the Nation!

VANDE MATARAM!

NEW YEAR PERSPECTIVES….

365 days around the clock.....

2012. Another year. Another three hundred and sixty five days to plan, to spend, to live. Quite an ordeal it sounds doesn’t it when we put it this way?  And have you noticed, how every year-end we tend to feel that the year gone by could have been better. We may have got many of the things that we had desired but, that uncomfortable feeling still persists, doesn’t it?

Richard Bach says, “The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life.”

That makes us have much more to reflect upon considering the fact that we are the delicate links with our families as daughters, sisters, wives, mothers, career women, sons, brothers, husbands, fathers, professionals and what not. Don’t you think in such a scenario, we need to do be more careful about the choices we make in our lives?

Each year brings with it numerous opportunities. How wisely or carelessly we use them depends entirely upon us. We could become foolishly emotional in our responses to situations or cold bloodedly logical. What finally stand out are our PRIORITIES.

At the fag end of our lives it is not our booming careers or our social circle that will count if all we have in our minds and hearts is guilt and regret. Just think calmly. Ten years from now, will we be content with the choices we have made?  So, let’s just sort out the priorities in our lives. Like, what do we want first? Is it a career? Marriage? Both? What comes next? Are we willing to adjust to accommodate a growing family?

Priorities are of utmost importance in our lives because they make or mar the peace within us. Once we are clear about what we want and why we want then, life becomes easy to sail through. We owe it to ourselves to get onto the right track. This New Year, let us all do some re-thinking about our goals. Life is too short to fritter away in anger and remorse. Proper perspectives and priorities and, making the most of our lives, let’s just do that.   And of course have a wonderful new year!

One of my favorite quotes from Richard Bach's Illusions....

The Dormant Resident..

Title: Resident Dormitus

Author: Vikas Rathi

Publisher: Rupa and Co.

“Did anybody tell me that by taking such a decision, I would have to live my life in a phoney high society that I would learn to shun, that I would have to work for a multinational corporate entity which is such a facade that I don’t even know who is really operating, that I would be forced to withstand and avoid moral temptations on a daily basis. That in the whole process, I might cease to be me..”

The name of the book is inviting. Once you get into the dark confines of the vast expanse of the book, there is no stopping you. The book is definitely not a piece of literary excellence. I am sure that the author would not have intended it that way too. Unlike authors who narrate a story  and let it wrap you in the blanket of words, thoughts and emotions to convey the final message, Vikas Rathi uses a different method to rattle the senses of the readers at every step!

What sets this book apart is that it makes use of temptations, of values gone haywire, of the urge to explore and exploit facilities (or loopholes if you may call them!) that accompany the package of a new job for the youth in today’s world. What other books might avoid or choose to  ignore in order to give a more calm cover to the entire act of working, this book throws right into your face. ‘TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT’ – that is the idea and the intention.

Blatantly crude, the story is highly realistic. There are no shades of grey. The protagonist Achet is into everything he thinks he is capable of indulging in, from drugs, to throwing away money and of course women. But, with each experience comes a lesson (which is written at the end of every chapter) – an honest confession of thoughts and emotions to the self,  something, that we would tend to hide deep with our souls. The darker side that is…

“We were being stripped off our innocence. Slowly, our brains were becoming numbingly accustomed to what we had ridiculed before. The transmorgification was on its way to completion and the best part was that we weren’t even aware of it.

Resident Dormitus is a must read for all those youngsters getting into new jobs(more like the placements acquired while in college) which bring with it perks that tend to corrode the imagination. The sudden ‘high’ that they get even with mediocre jobs seem to challenge values and views. Of course, the book is not every one’s cup of tea. So, read it with caution. But it is a fact that the book is an honestly realistic view out there – farce, hypocrisy and immorality included.

Some of my best quotes from the book:

“When you are childish, people around pity you and thereby take care of you. If you are wise all the time, people are eventually going to become sick of you because they don’t like to be told what to do all the time.”

“The traveller , in his turn, and in this age, is so influenced by his fellow passengers that he himself is not sure of what he really wants. It all boils down to what makes one happy. And that is so ephemeral a concept that it will wither away if one so much as whispers it.”

This review is a part of the <a href=”http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews” target=”_blank”>Book Reviews Program</a> at  <a href=”http://www.blogadda.com“>BlogAdda.com</a>.

Bhopal Tragedy: An Unending Saga of Undeserved Sorrow

 

Here we are fuming over rise in prices. Here, we are talking about our irritating next door neighbour who has nothing better to do than gossip about all and sundry. What then, would we have to say about the Bhopal tragedy with over 25 years shoved under the carpet of a dangerous, invisible and silent killer whose repercussions still eerily plague the people of Bhopal? Breathlessness, infertility, cancer, TB, recurrent abortions, psychiatric problems are common occurrences today for the poor helpless people not to leave out damage already caused and still being caused to the lungs, kidneys, livers and brains of people who did not deserve this. What more would one need to complete a terrifying and frustrating tale? How long will this continue?

 

 Why does the Bhopal gas leak still loom large?

 

 What terrorists could not do, a faulty valve at the Union Carbide plant did in Bhopal. No trial here. A paltry compensation that too not all get and then, the culprits go scot free within hours. They are allowed to leave the country leaving behind untold misery. Even after so many years, toxic chemicals still remain in the soil and groundwater which people use. Bhopal is the only land in the entire country I think where mothers hesitate to feed their new borns because even their breast milk is contaminated, a carry-over for generations, and a never ever imagined horror reality for a mother.

 

People in families inherit heirlooms, property, name and status. In Bhopal, people have inherited disease and despair, terror and living death. Visiting hospitals has become common place for these people very much like breathing. And not all can afford them. Even though a foreign company is responsible for the poisonous terror that unleashed the nation, the state of Bhopal to be precise, the Indian administration has all along been sadistically indifferent to all the suffering caused. Cases for compensation are still being fought for after a quarter century. Petitions are filed and dismissed. Nothing done to bring the culprits to book. Nothing done to get rid of the toxic waste that still continues to poison the human system.

 

Every year, another 365 days are added to the shameful saga of terror and indifference. A cocktail of meaningless promises and inefficient system are fed to the people of Bhopal intentionally unmindful to the pain that still looms in the air. In an age of reality shows, the people of Bhopal are living a cruel reality that is destroying their bodies, minds and even spirits. Just imagine being plagued by disease, pain and sorrow for generations. This mass suffering for over 25 long years is too difficult to comprehend. Who is to blame? The factory for causing the leak due its carelessness and lack of respect for human (Indian) life? The Indian administration year after year for not bringing to a halt a misery beyond normal human comprehension. The blame game is unending just like the unending misery that the affected people are going through.

 

Today, nobody remembers Bhopal for what it stood for before the tragedy. Very few appreciate this City of Lakes for its rich heritage. It now symbolizes despair, disease and death, all this for no fault of the state. Is there no solution? When will this curse wear off?

 

What do you have to say?

 

Thanking You on Thanksgiving Day…

It is an American festival all right. Just like so many other days celebrated the world over and then, acknowledged, adopted in our country of birth. As long as it is accepted and followed with a genuine intention and without any desire to keep up with the foreign nations and also, if it can make a happy difference in the life/lives of people, I don’t think why we should not  observe it. My way of observing this nice day is writing  a little literary piece on my blog…. And sharing it with YOU! 

By the way, Thanksgiving Day is primarily known as the ‘Festival of  Harvest,’ thanking the Almighty for providing a good harvest for the necessary survival of mankind.

Thanksgiving…Hmn…. When life in itself is a blessing who do we leave out, what do we not feel grateful for?

So, starting from the very beginning:
First,
The ALMIGHTY because of whom I am here alive and kicking, enjoying life, living life.

Second,
My PARENTS who are responsible for what I am today, under whose shade I have grown having been provided for, been educated and given the right values.

Third,
My TEACHERS who have moulded my nature, my character so to say, who have imparted to me the kind of education which every deserving child needs.

Fourth,
My FRIENDS during my school, college years and the ones in my life today without whose moral support I would be nowhere.

Fifth,
My HUSBAND and soul mate whose companionship, guidance, love and affection is still enabling my boat of life to sail with enthusiasm.

Sixth,
My SON, the love of my life who makes life worth living, gives a reason to live life in spite of all odds.

Seventh,
The PEOPLE I meet every other day who spice up my life, who give me different perspectives about life as a whole.

Eight,
My FRIENDS ONLINE who though invisible share their lives with me crossing all barriers of caste, color, status and the like.

Ninth,
MA NATURE who provides me without a murmur, who nurtures me unconditionally like she does to so many other creatures on earth.

And (don’t panic, it is indeed the last one!) tenth, 
The UNANSWERED QUERIES about existence, karma, destiny, birth and death that teach me even without answering.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL MY ONLINE AND OFFLINE FRIENDS. 

YOU MAKE LIFE WORTH ARGUING AND APPRECIATING ABOUT!
Happiness to All!
Shail

Poetry By Indian Women…

Book: NINE INDIAN WOMEN POETS

Poets: Tara Patel, Eunice de Souza, Imtiaz Dharker, Kamala Das, Mamta Kalia, Melanie Silgardo, Charmayne D’Souza, Sujatha Bhatt, Sunita Agarwal

Reading a book of poems can be taxing for most of us especially when we just want to delve into a story, an emotion and then pack up. The common stereotype image of poetry is that the poet tends to use frivolous language with soaring similes and illusionary imagery to compose a poem. But, this particular collection of poems written by nine women poets puts this widely misunderstood notion to rest. I particularly chose this book to review for three reasons. Firstly, the poems are composed by nine ‘Indian women’ – a designation that at least I share (being a poet myself).  Secondly, the emotions and issues dealt with in the poems in this collection come very close to what ordinary women go through. And thirdly, the language used to convey the thoughts, feelings and reflections is fairly simple, something that a person not very used or interested in reading poetry can understand and identify with.

Take for example Tara Patel’s poem ‘Woman,’ where the first few lines express the kind of situation that most women go through. She says:

A woman’s life is a reaction

to the crack of a whip.

She learns to dodge it as it whistles

around her

but sometimes, it lands on the thick,

distorted welt of her memory….

 She also talks about loneliness that many women experience due to an overrated or underrated life which is depicted simply and realistically in her poem, ‘Request.’

Sometimes for old times sake

you should look me up.

Have lunch with me, I’ll pay the bill…

 All at once you feel like laughing at the thought expressed and also realize the irony hidden between the lines.

The poem, ‘The Road’ by Eunice De Souza reminds me of my mother when the lines speak:

In school

I clutched Sister Flora’s skirt

and cried for my mother

who taught across the road.

Sister Flora is dead.

The school is still standing

I am still learning

to cross the road…

 Ordinary issues like how to spend a Sunday comes up in one of these poems. Sundays can be boring if you are too bothered about how you are going to spend the holiday. Mamta Kalia describes Sunday emotions so well that you almost feel like soaking in the thoughts expressed.

I wonder at the emptiness

Of this Sunday and of all Sundays.

It was never like this

When you were here.

We’d rise late,

sip each other’s tea,

bathe together,

quarrel,

all in a few hours.

We’d go places, visit friends, eat bhelpuri.

We’d come back, make love again, call it a day…

Imtiaz Dharker talks about living the life of a minority. It needs guts, hope and more than anything else, a sense of self-respect to do this in a society that searches for an opportunity to put you down. The thoughts expressed in the poem are beautiful and painful. In ‘Minority’ Imtiaz says:

I don’t fit 

like a clumsily translated poem,

like food cooked in milk of coconut

where you expected ghee or cream

the unexpected aftertaste

of cardamom or neem…

And so I scratch, scratch

through the night, at this

growing scab of black on white.

Everyone has the right

to infiltrate a piece of paper.

A page doesn’t fight back….

Finally, who can ignore Kamla Das? I remember reading her autobiography, ‘My Story’ and feeling so utterly depressed with humanity. All at once, her piece of writing aggravated me and also impressed me.

In ‘An Introduction’ she says:

…..Don’t write in English, they said,

English is not your mother tongue. 

Why not leave Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,

Every one of you? Why not let me speak in

Any language I like? The language I speak

Becomes mine, its distortions, its queerness

All mine, mine alone. It is half English, half

Indian, funny perhaps, but it is honest…

Even today, when I am distressed and find it difficult to express myself verbally or in prose, poetry comes to my rescue. I am sure if you read this collection of poems, you will end up wondering,

“How did the poet know this is how I felt?”

Fighting Battles All The Time…

Fighting Battles

Ever pondered upon the battles we fight all the time ?

• Battles of fear
• Battles of hate
• Battles of hurt
• Battles of  fate

• Battles of pity
• Battles of sorrow
• Battles of love
• Battles yet to hit the morrow!

Inner battles plague us all the time. What are the choices we can make? What battle to fight for? What to leave out?

The options are out there in the open:

• Fight or let go.
• Hold on to a cause  or let time flow.

What are Your battles? Which battle would You fight for?

for The One-Minute Writer

for the word: BATTLES!

Gamble…Take a Risk…

Now, here was a prompt on the word GAMBLE and while I had just written a piece on Draupadi (so well known for the famous incident of gambling) and some time back on the literal issue of gambling,I thought I might as well give the prompt a shot  in maybe, a different perspective altogether! Not the literal word meaning Gambling Away with money or women!!!! Just some hazy reflection… Please do join me…

Gamble your choices.  We all need to do it at sometime or the other in our lives. Those who don’t always want the safe way out which might eventually turn out to be boring, mundane and entirely not the right choice.

Gamble your right to do right. Risk it all if only to remember it years later with joy or even a little regret. But, at least with the feeling that you did not sit tight on your bottoms without trying.

Gamble your desire to do what you want. Take the step to follow your conscience even if it goes against the norms of society. You think it is right? It doesn’t harm anyone? Then just do it.

Feel free to add your own list here on the word GAMBLE!

Just gamble away…….

For the Prompt GAMBLE 

THE STORYTELLER OF MARRAKESH

Title: THE STORYTELLER OF MARRAKESH

Author : Joydeep Roy- Bhattacharya

“What is life, after all, but a passing fancy?

The moon, the cat, the poet, this circle of listeners – we all stand on the same page. Between the lip and the talisman, the throat and the voice, the heart and the hope, something is always trembling, something is always living and dying. Is it hope? Is it madness? Is it the sea?

It is love.”

Now, this is one book that you just cannot rush through. Like some exotic meal, you need to savor it word by word and then, after you have tasted and relished it, you need to chew the story – grain and shaft.

The wind and sand form the mysterious backdrop for a tale interwoven with the emotions and imagination of a storyteller, Hassan and his listeners. The story teller could be Joydeep himself as Hassan fuels the imagination of his varied listeners in the same way as we do while reading the novel. When you look back after reading the whole book, you realize that there is no great sinister plot to entrap you and yet, you get to wander far and wide, delving deep into the languid pools of life, almost drowning one moment and then, calmly swimming again.

Joydeep tells you in the voice of the protagonist Hassan what a story actually means…

“A story is like a dance. It takes two people to make it come to life, the one who does the telling and the one who does the listening. Sometimes the roles are reversed and the giver becomes the taker…. From a small number of perfectly ordinary words a tapestry takes shape, suggestive of a dream, but close enough to a reality which, more often than not, remains elusive. ..”

The characters themselves around whom the story revolves are aliens to the culture and tradition of the place, Marrakesh. It is their foreign origin, their uncommon charm and their provocative appeal that pushes the story forward slowly and steadily.

The Storyteller of Marrakesh is truly a work of art – a painting in words, an attractive piece of embroidery with every thread revealing a forgotten thought, a lost emotion.  Most situations are extremely descriptive and mystifying transporting you to an universe of fantasy where the beauty and the beast reside together waging inner self denying battles of lust, lost reason, of life at the Jemma square, springing forth into action just when you thought all was getting too mundane. It walks equal paces with ruthless, attractive nature which “…overcomes us. Its sand comes pouring through our doors. From deep inside us, desire rises like a storm. Faced with its might, all else – logic, virtue, circumspection – is useless.”

The story in itself is, “the dream that is like a bird in my head. I cannot get it out, and I would like to get it out. I would like that very much indeed because, until I do, it is getting in the way of my music.”

Within the story, the author also manages to seep in the clash between the fanatical clerics and the local population that wants to cast away certain vengeful and barbaric attitudes for a more humane way of living in a Muslim world.

But, like any work of art, The Storyteller of Marrakesh is a piece of literature that has to be appreciated in the true sense of the word. For those looking for a quick read, this book is a definite No! But for those willing to drink the wine of mystery, language and nature in its deepest and truest form, this book is a masterpiece. More so because truth is, “….the moment of the rediscovery of the wisdom that life is governed by everything that is unknown and that cannot be known. “

For the others, “ Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow will bring another round of stories….Tomorrow, once again, for the space of a few hours, we will be companions in this journey that is life…

This review is a part of the <a href=”http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews” target=”_blank”>Book Reviews Program</a> at  <a href=”http://www.blogadda.com“>BlogAdda.com</a>. Participate now to get free books!

 

Why are we disrobing Draupadi even today?

Disrobing Draupadi comes easy to us Indians. She was pledged, remember, in a simple game of  dice. She was not a material object, , not wealth or riches, yet, she was gambled away because there was nothing else left to stake. What logic! Once you indulge in gambling, you stake your whole life to a couple of infamous die. The die could personify anything today – emotional and physical abuse, adultery, lust, jealousy or just plain selfishness.

Draupadi had to share her life with five men, meaning polyandry. Although not approved of then, men could have many wives! So, Draupadi’s case was rather controversial at that time. Many detested her, calling her a whore while there were many who even envied her! Today, the situation is no different. If  a woman is successful both, personally and professionally she is accused of having slept her way up.

Draupadi was molested in full view of the dignitaries seated in court. Her husbands sat dumb as she was being disrobed and the blind king Dhritrashtra decided to stay blind to what was happening. We have many people like him nowadays who prefer to just blank out any kind of injustice from their minds especially when it happens to women. Even when women from their own family are being insulted, these men would rather stay out of all the ‘tamasha.’ Women are molested and humiliated yet they sit unaffected, indifferent to the savagery of it all. There are people like the valiant celibate Bheeshma who pledge their loyalty to the side of the law watching helplessly even as the corrupt, cruel law keepers set the country on fire. A promise stands until it serves the right purpose. Once the very aim of the service is defeated, a promise is broken. Isnt it then time to pause, ponder and take action??

Today, women are being raped and molested at the drop of a pin. In the villages, in towns and in cities, children, little girls and women are being disrobed for lust, for jealousy, for enmity, for god knows what other unjustifiable reason. Mothers watch their children being raped by their fathers. Excuse me for sounding violent but shouldn’t the mother be doing a Bobbitt if not murder? The kind of trauma that children undergo when they are physically violated is just indescribable. Gandhari, the mother of the Kauravas allowed her sons to get away with molestation and cheating. All because she was a mother. Wasn’t she a woman first? But no, she too like her blind husband wanted to close her eyes to any injustice that her children did. God gave her an intellect and eyes to discern and judge right from wrong but she chose to put herself in the illusionary tower of spoilt maternal emotion. No wonder we have spoilt brats even today, who do not even hesitate to lay their villainous hands on just any woman and run their cars over sleeping people on the pavement.

When women can cause such harm, whom do you blame next? Children, (boys or girls) are never born evil. It is their upbringing, the values that turn them into angels or Satans and women form an important part of this all.

Draupadi of Mahabharata represents all that is happening to women today. The Mahabharata would be incomplete without her presence. She was beautiful, valiant and graceful. She was a woman of her times, one who had her very own identity. In spite of being married to one, she shared her life with many. Was that why she had to undergo it all? Or was she just a pawn in the wheel of events? At least then, a woman’s humiliation could eventually provoke a man to take revenge and bring back some sanity in life. Today, insanity is the order of the day. Even while women are being successful, doing the kind of things their ancestors would not have dreamt to do, they are paying a price for being independent. They are in many ways like Draupadi trying to lead a life of their own but are being pushed back and down with chains of restrictions and prejudices being bound around their feet.

People forget that that all human beings are born free. It is society and its stereotype selfish rules that hold them in bondage. Draupadi waged a war to regain her lost respect. She lost a lot in the process but she gained realization about the futility of relationships, about the vulnerability of weakening emotions and about the illusion of life itself. As each part of her sari slipped off her body, she watched the valiant and the righteous fail and fall. It was her heart-felt devotion to God that finally saved her from being stripped, paraded and raped in public. At least, Krishna came to her rescue then (God incarnate or not.). What about the disadvantaged disrobed desh ki mahila today?

Let’s think about it today and every other day. Only then, will the value of a woman be truly realized.