A inseparable connection like you can not get a bong out of a bengali is much like the Boroline out of a bengali. "Bongo jiboner ongo!" as Rituparno Ghosh said
Jun 16, 2013
Boroline and Bengoli's
Mar 24, 2013
A secret vow to be unsaid
The sky overcast, with detached clouds as they ran around the blue sky making a grand display. It drizzled and as the rains descend the torrents with the fury of the wind, the roar of the tidal wave was suddenly loud.
Each fiber of the body knew at once that this was it. As the soul was trolled with consciousnesses.
At this part of the island it was just the both of us, The moon hung beneath the dark clouds, the star blotted, all the lights of the earth just seemed to be simmered, We stand quite, drenched, holding hands gazing at the darkness in the midst of the roaring dense night, waiting for the first ray
Apr 7, 2012
Solemn silence
Farah was back home, a home she and Arshad had done up together, her mainstay, her marriage home now. After, a month long stay at her mom' with a fast growing toddler Imaan. The only reminder left of the marriage that once was.
As if, the stench was not enough, she caught clumps of female hair, of different texture and even color from the corner of her eye. Her eyes followed it along the entire length of the bed until it managed an escape out of her view. Their marriage bed. This wasn't a unusual sight to her.
Trapped in the timidity in her mind and the long sequenced cracks of her lips rested in midst of the fingers, her thoughts melted in the lethal colours of darkness. sweat tickling down her neck and between her breast eloped a distinct distance from her within. She could sense a rage of countless bodies that milled around her now.
The emptiness of the enormous house was haunting her as she stood untangling the knots of her long hair in front of the huge expensive handcrafted mirror table by the window.
The constant congestion of the traffic reviving and then fading into a subdue seemed like a chores in the background. Her heart continued to thud at the constant ticking of seconds of the clock by the hallway.
A flamboyant living with the most exotic and expensive artifacts seemed more like a curse as she stood stubbed by the window relent imaginary describing her years in courtship with him, a life that she had always dreamt of growing up as a child, but in reality her living within the four walls and a ruley roof was a nightmare, she yet counts the distance in bed between them measured every living night of their relationship.
The unfettered rays never made it through the concrete walls. the nights were almost always an opaque silence left with a sense of endless embarrassment. And she was determined to conceive this silences for all years ahead.
The sun was about to set, the sky vividly coloured with birds make their way home. The sense of betrayal was making her heart feel heavy.By now all the lurking suspicions were seeing images of reality but she was afraid with the uncomfortable questions that she would have to put up to him.
In a state of epileptic fit, she see's him walk through the lane towards her. She as so flustered at presence of him in the corner of her eyes that she could barely give him a smile of recognition, she greeted him but could not recognise her voice. He walked past her ignoring her presence as a routine gesture leaving back a trail of belongings for her to reappraise.
She looked down and shut her eyes trying to regain conscious. there was a sound of liquid being poured with he cracking of ice into the glass. a fresh bottle of whiskey is now open.
She follows the flickering flame of the lamp evading the darkness of her silence, there stood an extra ordinarily calm faced unruly middle aged man evolved from the smoke of cigarettes. Spectacles, half haired head streaked with lines of thoughts, anger twisted his lips and more often spoke harshly.
She could hear him recite his creation as he believed his poetic soul to be above all trivial distractions even so to her, his lawfully second wedded wife Farah.
The wick flickered so as the shadow around the room as she accompanied the lamp to move the curtains and open herself to the night breeze.
'He contemptuously abused her with his loud gestures making her feel like a worm as he gave her a scronful smile
Wrinkles formed on his forehead and all his poetic verses vansihed as she stood stern as a pillar in front and looked straight into his eyes. She mustered courage to question the existence of the relationship and elicited him as a prime faced witness to a trial. He was never confronted with the desperation within her. Fraha never had raised her voice within the courtyard. This was an awkward situation and he had little to say as his words were struck in his throat.
His breathing became perceptibly racious, A dormant fear and panic surged him into a monosyllable storm, he could see the rage in her eyes as he strumbled his way out of his arm chair and firmly held her acting familiar, as he managed to look into her eyes; he muttered, what should I say?'
She snaps out of her reverie! Perhaps, this imagined abused too would have been preferable than NOTHING?? She wasn't sure of anything at all, these days.
She let her head drop coyly and shut her eyes as that one drop betrayed her and rolled down her cheek as she took a deep breath astounded by her inner voice. She had neven known this fury before and was frightened by the feel of it.
Her fight was over and her battle was lost as she slowly retreated clasping her thoughts as she continued to move around the house. Little Imman in tow. Her one champion, her single fan. The fear, frustration and anxieties all put to melt with a scoop of ice cream
She was quietened down, now pacified. She had now begun to put the words that were rising to rest. A fact of convulsion and lost consciousness. It was time for him to come back home again. And, the question remained. Will he? This night? Once again?
Her inner scream, succumbed to the silence. To the dominance of a correct life, filled with frustration, failure, distress. An interplay of sexual desire and element of trust (lost?) is just about being ordinary.
A rural Urban feminist connecting through a vivid imagery of a relationship is between the predator and the victim. The dust of the journey continued with the well orchestrated characters, leaving back the sound of boisterous laughter behind.
Mar 31, 2012
Dreams we shall never ..never see again
A thousand desires such as these
A thousand moments to set this night on fire
Reach out and you can touch them
You can touch them with your silences
You can reach them with your lust
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a torrid hill’s cape
A thousand
A thousand desires such as these
I loved rain as a child
As a lost young man
Empty landscapes
Bleached by a tired sun
And then
And then suddenly it came
Like a dark unknown woman
Her eyes scorched my silences
Her body wrapped itself around me
Like a summer without end
Pause me hold me reach me
Where no man has gone
Crossing the seven seas
With the wings of fire
I fly towards nowhere
And you
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a scorched landscape of pain
OST Hazaaron Khwaishien Aisi
Mar 6, 2012
A dialogue with the Almighty
Poore ka poora aakash ghuma karke baazi dekhi meine
Kaale ghar mein suraj rakh ke tumne shayad socha tha mere saare mohre pit jayenge
Meine ek chirag jala ke apna rasta khol liya
Tumne ek samanadar haath mein lekar mujhpe dhel diya
Meine noah ki kashti uske upar rakh di
Kaal chala tumne aur meri janib dekha
Meine kaal ko tod ke lamha lamha jeena seekh liya
Meri khudi ko tumne chand chamaktkaro se maarna chaha
Mere ek pyaade ne tera chand ka mohra maar kiya
Maut ki sheh de kar tumne socha tha ab to maat hui
Meine jism ka khol utar ke sounp diya aur rooh bacha li
Poore ka poora akash ghuma kar ab tum dekho baazi…
-Gulzar's words in Naseeruddin voice
Feb 24, 2012
Lost in transalation
The old curtains have been fraying its edges for sometime and the quilt hasnt seen better days for a while now, the empty floor has dust basking over it with a gleam of light creating a mystic essence, but the faith in it, remain undiminished, even after the debacle in the rational, I am hurt but wiser now
The futility of pain and the crisis around is the cause itself? Or because they know something which I don't. Whatever it is, I am living on" and I would rather live where there is threat everywhere and be part of whatever is happening. I am not reactionary, the threat of pain cannot conquer me."
The boutique is in the crystal glass; the liquor has to look, taste and smell good. The seasoned taste buds now have aged to the level of perfection, reading its year of make in the back of silence.
I have stopped recognising my authentic selve and become a caricatures of who the world think I should be. The silence is helping create the much awaited space and time for the thoughts do its roller coaster frill. The essence of transformation is not only non-judgmentally witnessed, viewed and acceped by me, but also interacting with myself.
One of my unfinished works which is in search of its characteristic audience in black or white is reaching the brim of its journey. With every passing day, life has turned itself as a ordeal experimental journey. Broadening my horizon with every stroke of the brush. I'm painting my own colours in life now....
Nov 2, 2011
A journey into an unknown.
The friends and families aren't quite sure how long it will take. they just know that there's nothing more they can do for him and now it's just a matter of days, if he is plain lucky, well who knows... we wake up and pray everyday. I've been wondering about this. what's it like to clutch your hands to the brim of the top window surface of your prison cell to get a glimpse of the setting sun and wondering how many more you will get to see? what's it like waking up before the sun takes on and walking through the memory lanes, the breeze cuddles you in your perpectual essence of living all of these and thinking, I won't be there tomorrow to experience this?
A day before the execution he goes through a harrowing experience of being weighed, body measurements, the size of the neck, measured for length of drop to assure breaking of the neck,, . followed by the evening where the gallows and manilla rope are well examined to ascertain if they have received any injuries by attaching to one end a sack of sand.
As the night approaches the darkness smuggles into a heavenly and magical sleep; it's the same with his life for eternity and none appreciate someone in this state of silence. So what have I left unsaid?
Did I give my best in everything I did? Did I love someone more than self and be loved back? Did I follow my heart?
These aren't deep, profound or complicated questions, each is simple in its own way, but the answers to these are the most difficult. as every time you hear that little voice inside your head while you self question - the complex of ethical and moral principles that controls or inhibits our actions and our thoughts - usually called a conscience,
Dream quotient an inconceivable, unthinkable thought becomes reality, quintessentially at this stage each character in life takes a new form and the space to re-visualise experience, they are all around you. The protectors, the confidantes and the executor, your tinsel-town timetable which always appeared to be booked to the brim. have fallen out of the clock and will be empty for the rest.
No one is guaranteed life, its just a matter of fate, chance, luck and destiny. Life changes in seconds of realisation. Looking at walls, staring at them as if trying to figure out what went wrong. hard to believe that once a successful man who was passionate in every thing he did and lived a enviable reputation amongst his people is now living the last slated day of his life.
Extending from dawn the day breaks into light as he is marched to the scaffold guarded by the head warder and six warders, two proceeding in front, two behind and one holding either arm on reaching the scaffold the warrant is read in vernacular to the convict and lead to the scaffold with the convict and he is placed under the direct beam to which rope is attached.
The executioner straps his legs tightly together, place the cap over his head and face and adjust the rope tightly around his neck. The noose is just about placed one and half inches to the right or left of the middle line and free from the flap of the cap. The light just fades off and the elocution of thoughts run through into the blindfolded darkness.
The warders holding the condemned man’s hand to withdraw at that time and with the signal from the Superintendent the executioner draw the bolt.
Its that final moment of his life but also his last words. Some proclaim their innocence until the end; some seek forgiveness from the families of their victims; others make no statement at all. with a thump of noise its all a tremble. While the witnesses look on, in the first few minutes a considerable shock waved through his body followed by a slow and agonised death by strangulation and asphyxia
He remains dangling from the end of the rope from 8 to 14 minutes before the medical examiner, who climbs up a small ladder and listens to his heartbeat with a stethoscope declares the life extinct. A prison guard stands at the feet of the hanged person and holds the body steady, because of the agonised death by strangulation and asphyxia. The body remained suspended for half an hour and shall not be taken down till the Superintendent returns the warrant with the endorsement to the effect that the sentence has been carried out.
The only answer which can be given for justifying this infliction of mental and physical pain and suffering is that the condemned prisoner having killed a human being does not merit any sympathy and must suffer this punishment because he 'deserves' it. No mercy can be shown to one who did not show any mercy to others. But, as I shall presently point out, this justificatory reason cannot commend itself to any civilized society because it is based on the theory of retribution or retaliation and at the bottom of it lies the desire of the society to avenge itself against the wrong-doer. That is not a permissible penological goal."
A couple of hours back a man was shimmering the last ray of his life through the rails of his prison cell, imagining the sunset outside, and knowing that this was the last. knowing that in a small way, the passage he will be travelling has just begun, A journey into an unknown.
Jun 19, 2011
Jaanu Na
jaanu na, main jaanu na
janam maran ka bhed hai kya, main jaanu na
jaanu na, main jaanu na
dharam adharam ka bhed hain kya, main jaanu na
jaanu na, jaanu na
main kaanth ka putla, kuchh bhi jaanu na
jaanu na, jaanu na
yeh khel hai kaisa rub ka, jaanu na
jaanu na, main jaanu na
janam maran ka bhed hai kya, main jaanu na
jaanu na, main jaanu na
dharam adharam ka bhed hain kya, main jaanu na
jaanu na, jaanu na
main kaanth ka putla, kuchh bhi jaanu na
jaanu na, jaanu na
yeh khel hai kaisa rub ka, jaanu na
jaanu na...
OST Eklavya
Diaphanous!
Airports are always an intresting place with an over cloud of expressions one could capture.
This is while I was at the airport to greet someone and something sneaked up on me unexpectedly.
This one occurred a mere two feet away from me. Straining to locate my friend among the passengers deplaning through the jet way, I noticed a man coming toward me carrying two light bags. He stopped right next to me to greet his family.
First he motioned to his youngest son (maybe six years old) as he laid down his bags. They gave each other a long, loving hug. As they separated enough to look in each other's face, I heard the father say, "It's so good to see you, son. I missed you so much!" His son smiled somewhat shyly, averted his eyes and replied softly, "Me, too, Dad!"
While this was happening, a baby girl (perhaps one or one-and-a-half) was squirming excitedly in her mother's arms, never once taking her little eyes off the wonderful sight of her returning father.
The man said, "Hi, baby girl!" as he gently took the child from her mother. He quickly kissed her face all over and then held her close to his chest while rocking her from side to side. The little girl instantly relaxed and simply laid her head on his shoulder, motionless in pure contentment.
After several moments, he handed his daughter to his son and declared, "I've saved the best for last," and proceeded to give his wife the longest, most passionate kiss I ever remember seeing. He gazed into her eyes for several seconds and then silently mouthed, "I love you so much!"
They stared at each other's eyes, beaming big smiles at one another, while holding both hands. For an instant they reminded me of newlyweds, but I knew by the age of their kids that they couldn't possibly be.
I puzzled about it for a moment then realized how totally engrossed I was in the wonderful display of unconditional expression of love right in front of me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if I was invading something sacred, but was amazed to hear my own voice nervously ask, "Wow! How long have you two been married?"
"Been together fourteen years total, married twelve of those," he replied, without breaking his gaze from his lovely wife's face.
"Well, then, how long have you been away?" I asked.
The man finally turned and looked at me, still beaming his joyous smile. "Two whole days!"
Two days? I was stunned. By the intensity of the greeting, I had assumed he'd been gone for at least several weeks, if not months. I know my expression betrayed me, I said almost offhandedly, hoping to end my intrusion with some semblance of grace (and to get back to searching for my friend), "I hope my marriage is still that passionate after twelve years!"
He stopped smiling and looked me straight in the eye, and with forcefulness that burned right into my soul, he told me something that left me a different person. He told me, "Don't keep hoping, friend ... decide!"
Then he flashed me his wonderful smile again, shook my hand and said, "God bless!" With that, he and his family turned and strode away together. I was still watching that exceptional man and his special family walk just out of sight when my friend came up to me and asked, "What'cha looking at?"
"My future," I replied, smiling.
Author/cafe
Jun 17, 2011
Jhede Kasho (regional lingo)
I am a not a religious person and I dont know much about my religion, neither do I say my prayers regularly. I have been brought up to believe in a higher power. And although I don't want to say I share a cosmic relation with God, Spiritual encompass a wider arc of diversity as the voyage of discovering self continues in an exploration of the next wave of influences and if your basics in place, the peripheral doesn't matter.
It is spirituality with the connection of Force. Do I have that connection? I don't know as yet. I certainly know that I am being constantly looked after by this superpower. Somebody up there likes me.
I have the focus in life, I see my goal clear and more important I know how to work hard. Miracles never happen in real life they are actually the culmination of persistent efforts. I hear people around say I live with an Attitude and call me an introvert and that I take time to find my comfort zone. I have never cared about what people say or think about me. I am way too relaxed to waste my time doing this.
It is important to differentiate spirituality from religion though they are related and intertwined, While honouring science and the mind, our cultural tendency urges us to devalue belief and mystery. For modern, academically oriented professionals like us part of our addiction to the busyness of life is an attempt to prevent ourselves from thinking about our mortality, the inevitable fact of our own death. But when we keep ourselves too busy to consider the purpose of our existence, our lives cease to have meaning.
The most difficult questions are the spiritual ones. What is the purpose of life? Where does real meaning come from? What is of real value in our lives? If there truly is a God who loves us, how could there be so much suffering and unfairness in the world?
If this is a difficult situation. 'This too shall pass' as they say, tough times don't last, tough people do.
And I am aware of the fact that I am at peace with myself and live only with one regret. And that's what ultimately matters.
Feb 25, 2011
An empty page
An empty page, coarse paper sheet, I pick up a block of graphite. I have no
idea, what am I doing here at this time and space. This zone. I have no
idea, if this would be a creation or chaos. I am getting sucked up into a
whirlpool. Feelings of being stifled are crowding my being. A sense of
emptiness, which for a while, felt like being filled up finally! And yet
Is it me? Is it true that am beginning to be a emotional freak too much of
asking of your own heart and mind!
Feel like getting off everything, which needs an effort of emotions. It
just feels like am floating around, and its a maze am lost in, not
confusion, just too much clarity of and on things! Too much light, takes
the focus away exactly the way, too much of content takes away the purpose
of living.
Feel like off orbit and the gravity which I thought could finally keep me
anchored, itself is full of self doubts! Ah, the laws of nature! Can I
complain? Guess not!
Where is the non-existent best friend? Where is my sounding board? The type
which every one needs. The one which helps you throw the garbage out! Where
are you?
The morning light through the orange curtains and the blinds, paints a
zebra-striping on the creams of the wall. I haven't really slept a calm
wink and yet I need these few minutes willing them into an hour at least
uninterrupted to be with myself! I pocket these moments greedily.
Contemplation, perception, a hungry conversation with self a hunger for
creation, is things I subsist on. The house is humming with early morning
snugness and sleepy sighs.
I love the laughter, the bright colors a perfectly normal average
guy-next-door! And, why then, I keep getting into these crazy loops,
unintended. Falling off routine and everything else like on a slider… I
always hated those sliders even as a kid no control!
I let myself create the wildness on the paper, the incongruent images and
lines, a few scattered sentences
Is the desire to have sessile sustenance strike a balance with wildness of
the spirit, really abnormal?
--
End
An empty page
An empty page, coarse paper sheet, I pick up a block of graphite. I have no
idea, what am I doing here at this time and space. This zone. I have no
idea, if this would be a creation or chaos. I am getting sucked up into a
whirlpool. Feelings of being stifled are crowding my being. A sense of
emptiness, which for a while, felt like being filled up finally! And yet
Is it me? Is it true that am beginning to be a emotional freak… too much of
asking of your own heart and mind!
Feel like getting off everything, which needs an effort of emotions. It
just feels like am floating around, and its a maze am lost in, not
confusion, just too much clarity of and on things! Too much light, takes
the focus away exactly the way, too much of content takes away the purpose
of living.
Feel like off orbit and the gravity which I thought could finally keep me
anchored, itself is full of self doubts! Ah, the laws of nature! Can I
complain? Guess not!
Where is the non-existent best friend? Where is my sounding board? The type
which every one needs. The one which helps you throw the garbage out! Where
are you?
The morning light through the orange curtains and the blinds, paints a
zebra-striping on the creams of the wall. I haven't really slept a calm
wink and yet I need these few minutes willing them into an hour at least
uninterrupted to be with myself! I pocket these moments greedily.
Contemplation, perception, a hungry conversation with self a hunger for
creation, is things I subsist on. The house is humming with early morning
snugness and sleepy sighs.
I love the laughter, the bright colors a perfectly normal average
guy-next-door! And, why then, I keep getting into these crazy loops,
unintended. Falling off routine and everything else like on a slider… I
always hated those sliders even as a kid no control!
I let myself create the wildness on the paper, the incongruent images and
lines, a few scattered sentences…
Is the desire to have sessile sustenance strike a balance with wildness of
the spirit, really abnormal?
--
End
missed this
Written :- Neers
Shotby :- Amit Ghosal
Feb 19, 2011
A Quantum Leap
I choose to be me! And every day I am re-discovering who that is, without the conditioned set of rules. I am trying to move away from a lot of the traditional expectations of who I am supposed to be, but the question is, how much of my behaviour is conditioned by the norm? I am trying to step away from any preconceived ideas of What I am by starting to live in the moment, and by listening to the speach of my heartway.
I feared changes as a child... and held myself tightroped, and then just to know that I was changing every single moment. I was not the same person as I was yesterday... since then I have had numerous inter-reactions, learned things that I did not know, and had experiences that I never had before. So I am born every single moment of my life. A new I !
Lately I have no set definition of who I am. I am whoever or whatever I choose to be at that moment. I Let go of any definitions of who I am... lazy, stupid, impatient. Those are simply changes of clothing I put on.
Now I feel enthusiastic, and yesterday I felt otherwise...'
The stage is just set and I am an actor. I have to play my role and move on for someone else to take the centerstage.
No choice is right or wrong... they are all simply experiences.
Take your pick... Who do you want to be today? Or simply at this moment? Go for it! Be who you really want to be! .. and who you really are...?? You are infinite, you are all-knowing, you are omniscient, omnipotent... Yes! That's who you are. Go within and discover the truth!
Jan 26, 2011
sensual communion with God
Since ages we have been witness to an incessant face-off between faith and logic. Many enlightenments exposed flaws in blind faith and ushered in an era of rationality, and logic became the dominant paradigm.
Metaphysics walks a tightrope between rationality and faith and it is here that the dissension between the two is sometimes at its peak.
But at a certain point they have to forsake logic due to its inherent limitations and enter a realm where tools of logic are no longer applicable and things have to be taken on faith.
What we sense could be known and expressed; but not what we do not. Every individual has to himself experience this extra-sensual Absolute premise that we call God.
Jan 17, 2011
Infinite
Quantum physics acknowledge the existence of a electromagnetic field generated by the body's biological processes. Human body generates electricity because living tissue generates energy.
Any action, whether it is good or bad, is a form of our impressions in the mind
There is no difficulty that enough love will not conquer, no disease that will not heal, no door that will not open, no wall that will not throw down, no sin that will not redeem... It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble, how hopeless the outlook, how muddled the tangle, how great the mistake. A sufficient realisation of love will dissolve it all. If only you could love enough, you could be the happiest and most powerful being in the world...
I am the Infinite, which has become the bodys manifestation of Spirit,
This will mean an immortal state because while birth leads eventually to death, the unborn does not die.
Nov 5, 2010
Kali... the Dark Mother
Long ago the demons, Shambhu and Nishambhu, disturbed the peace of Indra, the king of gods, and his empire (heaven). After extensive and endless battles, the gods lost all hope and the demons became super power.
The gods took refuge in the Himalayas, the holy mountains, the home of Lord Shiva and Parvati. The shaken gods sought protection from Mahamaya Durga, the goddess of Shakti.
Kali, born from Durga's forehead was created to save heaven and earth from the growing cruelty of the demons. There was chaos all around. After slaughtering the demons, Kali made a garland of their heads and wore it around her neck. In the bloodbath, she lost control and started killing anyone who came her way. The gods started running for their lives. The only source of protection seemed Lord Shiva, Durga's consort.
Seeing the endless slaughter, Shiva devised a plan to save the world. He lay down in the path of the rampaging Kali. When the goddess unknowingly stepped on him, she regained her senses. The well-known picture of Ma Kali, with her tongue hanging out, actually depicts the moment when she steps on the Lord and repents.
Performed on the night of Kartik Amavasya, which falls in end of the fall season, rituals of intense invocation to the fearsome goddess seeking help of in destroying the evil - both in the outside world and within us.
Oct 22, 2010
A Thousand, a thousand desires.....
A thousand desires such as these
A thousand moments to set this night on fire
Reach out and you can touch them
You can touch them with your silences
You can reach them with your lust
Rivers, mountains, rain
Rain against a torrid hill’s cape
A thousand
A thousand desires such as these
I loved rain as a child
As a lost young man
Empty landscapes
Bleached by a tired sun
And then
And then suddenly it came
Like a dark unknown woman
Her eyes scorched my silences
Her body wrapped itself around me
Like a summer without end
Pause me, hold me, reach me,
Where no man has gone
Crossing the seven seas
With the wings of fire
I fly towards nowhere
And you
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a scorched landscape of pain
A thousand desires such as these
A thousand moments to set this night on fire
Reach out and you can touch them
You can touch them with your silences
You can reach them with your lust
Rivers mountains rain
Rain against a torrid hill’s cape
A thousand
A thousand desires such as these
OST Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi
Engleash
I like to think of my interaction with language or with books in the way I think of human relationships. Awareness, respect, love, are all part of a relationship. Flexibility is important. But even relationships have rules which we evolve through an understanding of each other's personalities. If we don't know our limitations, and don't want to know about them, if we go even further and celebrate our limitations then the relationship may turn out to be a barren exercise.
Where English is concerned, colonialism becomes the excuse for all kinds of irrational arguments, for sloppiness in the name of 'fighting back'. The Empire Fights Back? It's a nonsensical phrase. Who or what are we fighting? It was Indians who wanted English to be taught in the first place. No one forced it down our throats. After half a century of ambivalence and confusion we now say we need it because it is a global language. Fine. Let's get down to learning it properly. Let's stop making fools of ourselves and get back to work.
Oct 6, 2010
Abate!
After the storm abated he would return home to the mainstream locality that he stubbornly refused to leave for safety.
Coming within a whisker of death, seeing the heap of pictures burn down to ashes, he wonder if his life's work was finished, being escorted under armed guard to safety and, finally, contemplating a permanent shift to a locality with more Muslims, Indianness was being crushed.
Except, his heart aches; it hasn't stopped aching since then. The question, "Who gave, who took," has become a cruel taunt.
The silence in the room was so deafening. With slender frame shaking like a leaf in a storm and scorching brine finally escaping his eyes, he asked a group that had turned to stone, "Who gave them the right to take away my life — the dignity with which I walked the streets, my mother whose lap I passed my childhood of innocence, will I be able to call her mother again?"
I was dead and I was a victim on the move. Every moment of life is weighed down by the Jinx. It is not easy to explain - because it's like one fine day this queasy feeling in your stomach which tells you that there is something wrong and a recurring feeling that you are unable to break the creation of jinx with many of the ideas that you have.
It is not due to the lack of valid reasons but more so because of a complete detachment with the reality which conficts your fear. Impeccable logic to trap the countless fears... ain`t it?
Relief alone is not enough, there has to be a transformation in lives as well. this is when I live again
Aug 6, 2010
Question ?
We live in an age of marvels. We hear devotees flocking to forests in search of divine, Celebrities win fame and fortune after changing the spellings of their names in accordance with the tenets of numerology. The men running the country are sitting in the courtyard flipping currencies in their personal greed and when charged of corruption they plead guilty and innocent. We daily swallow pills with our morning cup not even knowing if they really work.
Every one knows that Muslim's breed faster, women are good home makers, its he, who is smart when it is with numbers, environmental degradation is just a myth breded by the ecological terrorists. Climate changes are scientific discussions, disruption and conflict will be endemic features of life and once again warfare would define human life.
Living in an age of cruidality of a willing suspension of disbelief, we also live in an age of great cynicism. unquestioning cynicism and unquestioning credulity are two sides of the coin.
is it really so? if so, why is it so? could it possibly, just be otherwise than it seems?
How ridiculous. Who's going to ask all these footling questions in the course of a busy working day, crammed with so many things to do? Waste of time particularly when you are assured with no answers left.
But that's just the point. Do questions necessarily need answers? or it could just lead to more questions? being a sceptic - unlike being credulous or being a cynic - is tough. Its like walking up a steep slope that never seems to end.
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