And your name is...?

Yet another state has admitted itself into the infamous club of states of the Indian Union that have renamed either streets, or entire cities, obliterating any evidence that these cities or these streets ever had borne the mark of foreign conquerors. Only this time, the target of the campaign is not a bunch of roads, or even a city for that matter. Hell no, this time, we go for the big one. The Government of Assam (uptil now) has decided to rename the entire STATE as Asom.
How wonderful! Now, we must round our vowels whenever we refer to the Assamese, oh sorry, the Asomese. Congratulations to those who are behind this campaign, for their long and ardous penance, one that has lasted nearly 26 years, has finally borne fruit in this epic rejection of the corruption that the conquistadors brought into their lives. I still wonder, why retain other names which bear this hated lineage? Let’s go on a renaming spree anew. Delhi can become Dilli, or even better Indraprastha. Kanpur can become Karnavati, the possibilities are endless. West Bengal can finally become Paschim Bangal. Pondicherry can officially change its name to Puduhcherri or whatever it feels like. The Andaman & Nicobar Islands have many islets with English names; surely they had some colloquial names before the hated Britishers came along! Goddammit, find the names and replace them pronto, it’s a matter of national prestige.

What, you speak of globalization? What about my own state, my own people, my local language? Surely you must agree that by renaming the places and the streets after local heroes, in a localized tongue, I am paying homage to my people? What, you enquire of the support that the State provides to littérateurs of the Indian languages? Who cares of that? Besides, the people do not bother about such bourgeois proposals; they like to see something that they can feel everyday, in every walk of their life. Supporting writers and poets only means supporting the rich and the well-to-do, those who can afford to buy these books and spend time understanding them. What, you say that by supporting local writers, I could make their work affordable to the masses? Who cares for literature, especially local literature? Why do you think I am writing in English? The people crave to see progress, and this progress is manifested in their knowing English. But then, they don’t want to be accused of leaving behind their ancient cultures, so this renaming business. You satisfied, then?  

Courage, thee be sorely lacking!

The recent Jessica Lall verdict somehow further vindicated the cynicism that the Indian people have displayed in the system, and yet, this cynicism is unwarranted, for when it came to people external to the system, courage was sadly lacking. That the system succumbed to the lure of Mammon isn’t as shocking as that those who saw and witnessed this dastardly act taking place retreating behind the curtains of personal fears and shame. Arey jao, what shame do you souls possess? You people don’t deserve even the respect one reserves for an animal, let alone for a human being!
The system stands accused of having yet again murdered Justice at the altars of Power, that too with such impunity. Did they for even a moment think that their inaction and omission of duty would go unnoticed? Could they have thought that the people of this nation are so absorbed in their own quaint lives that they will not notice injustice being meted out? And this inaction has hurt the public’s confidence in the State more than the faith of the Lalls in the outcome of the judicial process.
And yet, as I say this, I pray that when such a day should dawn on me, and that such a day never dawn will be my plea, my nerves should not desert me. That I should find the strength to pursue the truth, even if by doing so, I am to bring my friends to grief, even if by doing so, I am to deliver justice to someone whom I don’t even know. That when I look in the mirror, I see a soul who can and will stand by the truth, no matter how much sorrow this decision may bring.
The Hnble’ High Court’s decision to order a probe into the botch-up is a welcome move, something that should strike a note of fear, nay, an entire symphony of terror, in the hearts of those who are guilty of this reprehensible act. Maybe now, those who turned their backs on Jessica will find within themselves the moral potency to stand up against the high and mighty, and stand by what is right, by what is true, and deliver justice to Jessica, belated, yet delivered.

Circa 1998

I just happened to go through some old papers on my dad’s desk, when I came across a particularly old newspaper. And when I say old, I mean old as in nearly 7 years old. Maybe 7 years for you may seem a trifling, but for a chap of but 21 years, that figure accounts for nearly one-third of his life.
And as I gazed through this time machine, I was transported back to an age that was so unlike todays, and yet was so different from it.

1. As now, even then, and I am speaking of September 1998, Osama Bin Laden was the CIA’s most wanted man. The newspaper carried an exclusive, though I am sure, every other paper on the block would say the same, picture of the fugitive relaxing at his base in Afghanistan. Surely he must reminiscence, “Ah, those were the days of innocence!”


2. Of late, there is a heated debate as to whether the judiciary needs to be made accountable to some one. Well, even then, the recommendation of a former Chief Justice, J.S. Verma, sparked off the same debate, to the extent that it was proposed that the higher echelons of the judicial system be brought under the purview of a law akin to the Prevention of Corruption Act. Mercifully, the debate soon died out.


3. Recently the vote by India against the Islamic Republic of Iran caused a furore amongst the leftist intelligentsia who called this a most shamefaced submission of Indian interests. Of course the only interests visible to me at that juncture were the economic ones, as Iran and India per se have really never been very close buddies. Well, in 1998, our “close” friend was Afghanistan, and the same arguments of non-aligned solidarity, of maintaining a check on Pakistan, were stated, “sadly” to no avail.


4. Titanic had just released and would continue to haunt me for exactly one and a half year more, thanks to a most persistent friend of mine, who simply adored Kate Winslet, not that I blame him, but please, must you always sing hosannas in her name, irrespective of where one is standing and what is the occasion?


5. Jim Carrey’s “The Truman Show” also had released the same season, and despite my finding it to be the most splendid performance of Jim in all his movies, inclusive of his latest ones, I was surprised when the Academy chose to ignore him for the Oscars. I guess they were too busy handing out James Cameron his statuettes.


6. Ah, now shifting to sports. In 1998, the Swiss-miss Martina Hingis was at no.1, and Lindsay Davenport was just emerging on the tennis arena as a powerful contender. Last time I checked the rankings, Ms. Hingis was nowhere to be found, whilst Ms. Davenport of course is the Regina Impetarix, though a shaky hold, what with all the Russian assaults. Again in 1998, stalwarts like Monica Seles and Steffi Graf were still a force to contend with. Sadly both have retired now.


7. In 1998, Mohammed Azharuddin was the captain of the Indian cricket team, while his “able” deputy was a young chap by the name of Saurav Ganguly. Of course, there were slight tiffs between the captain and the coach, but all had been settled in the interest of the game. As of 2005, Azharuddin has been dispatched to cricket Hades, while Ganguly, once a triumphant monarch, has been thrown off the throne, and seems likely to follow his leader.

Driver's euphoria!

Today was special for me in ways I can hardly describe. I drove my car for the first time. I jest, you say? You, a man of 21 years, have yet to clasp a steering wheel and guide a vehicle on ‘serene’ roads? Sadly, I profess to be guilty, and curse myself for having stayed away from such pleasures for so long. For when I sat down behind the steering wheel, and felt the first jerks of the car as I tried to bring her (yah, I am even starting to speak like most male drivers, referring to mon vehicle in the feminine) to start, to respond to my overtures, I felt a strange new exhilaration, a spurt of enthusiasm, a headiness rise through my spine.
Driving a car, methinks, is like marriage. (Lest you start searching for the address of the nearest mental asylum to admit me, I assure you, it’s only beginner’s joy speaking here. It will wear off after some days.) You need to understand the vehicle, the machinations of the device, synchronize yourself with her rhythm, and then embark on your journey.
I guess I don’t have any more words to expend. (My bro would say, that’s a first there for sure)I think this is the beginning of a beautiful romance, or maybe a wretched addiction. Whatever it may turn out to be, I sure am going to love the experience.

Partir c'est mourir un peu

Found this most beautiful poem while reading Ida Mae’s blog. Somewhere, the message seems universal. The French did have their way with words when they said, ‘Partir c’est mourir un peu’ (To leave is to die a little)

May I Help You Say Goodbye

Standing by the open grave of my heart,
wrapped in a circle of memories,
moving slowly, I touch each one, and
I savor the taste, sound, and feel of each sweet vision.

For each happy memory relived,
I will shed a single tear.
I will not shed it in sadness of the memory,
only sadness that no more memories will be made

For each sad memory relived,
I will let a small smile touch my lips and heart.
The smile is not for joy,
Only that no more sad times will be shared.

Say goodbye, my friend, when the time comes.
May you know peace in my passing
for I do not wish you grief everlasting.
Until then, I am still here with you, may we rejoice?

Musings on Valentine's Day

Today is Saint Valentine’s Day. Why and how this saintly soul came to be associated with the temporal emotion of love and affections, that too of a romantic nature, is something that always baffled me, but that is not so important.
What is important is that this day celebrates or at least claims to celebrate love of the highest order, the love that binds two souls to each other, that connects two hearts in a manner that is unmatched and unparalleled elsewhere. For those in love, this is the most sacred of days, the holiest of holies, and the most beautiful of moments, when they swear eternal fidelity to each other, the definition of eternal changing from time to time. But what of those who are in love and yet without it?
Dost thou doubt my sanity? For how is it for a soul to be both in love and be bereft of it? Sadly, it is so very possible. For them, this day is nothing if not a painful reminder of their loneliness, of their inescapable solitude, made even more poignant by the sight of their beloved in the arms of another soul. And yet, to these troubled souls, I offer this advice: Revel in this grief, for it’s better to bewail the absence of a soul mate than to grieve in the inattention of the beloved.
I loved, and maybe I loved too much, because it took me nearly two weeks to stabilize after being very politely told to save my affections for someone else, but this day isn’t an aching wound seeking to remind me of that episode. Rather, it gives me hope that there is love in this world, for every soul, for every being. What matters is whether you have the patience and the vision to wait for that right person to come at that right moment. Till then, revel in the joy of seeing the person you loved rejoicing in the beauty of his/her own happiness. Enjoy her smile, grudge her not her joys, and stand beside her whenever she should ask for your assistance, if not as a lover, but as a friend, a true friend.
Somewhere down the line, Valentine’s Day has come to symbolize to me not just the beauty of romance, but also that of love in each and every relationship that we are given to abide by in our lifetimes. This day for me is not just about red roses, and ‘Be My Valentine’ cards, but about being together, with family, with friends, and just spreading love all around oneself. Maybe the Saint would approve!

In defence of the 'intolerant'!

I read Swaminathan S. Anklesaria Aiyar’s article on the Muhammad cartoons in the Sunday Times of India (February 12), and was moved to write my opinion on the same. So long, I have resisted writing on the topic, because frankly, the same points were being bandied about in the same predictable fashion by the same parties. And yet, having read Mr. Aiyar’s article, I was spurred to write, because if there is one journalist whose articles I swear by, it is Mr. Aiyar.
That aside, when Mr. Aiyar congratulated the Danish Government for having stood behind its Fourth Estate and having safeguarded the basic freedom of the media, I was somehow disturbed. When he defends the cartoonists, I am furthermore distressed, and so emerges this blog.

• The freedom of expression granted to the Fourth Estate has often been abused by it, sometimes to the benefit of society, sometimes to its detriment. The media must be cognizant of the fact that it possesses a power far beyond the imagination of common mortals, that of being able to influence the minds of their fellow beings. And such power is best used with caution and responsibility. How the publication of these cartoons aims to enlighten or even invigorate the readers to do something positive is beyond me. Maybe, all this discussion about freedom and tolerance is a side-effect of the publication, but surely when the good cartoonists were sketching out the objectionable pictures, that was nowhere in their spectrum of thought. True, the right of the cartoonist to express his/her ideas about a situation is sacred, but like all sacred things, there is a limit to our belief and our faith in its infallibility. Why is it that even when a significant portion of the world’s population chooses to voice its hurt at such insensitive depictions of one of its iconic figures, the worthy representatives of the Fourth Estate continue to harp about the right to expression? Is this right greater than the people who provide it to you? Are we so depraved that we violate the sanctity of faith by our words and then hide behind the curtain of ‘Freedom’? Have we cared to enquire whether Freedom is willing to accept your mistakes?

I do not support those who have resorted to violence in protest. But, I do not support those who deny to the world the right to protest, saying that the Danish cartoonists are entitled to their opinions. My dear, I respect your opinion, but when it is published in a newspaper, in a journal, in a magazine, or on a website, it no longer is your opinion; it becomes the opinion of a people.

• Whether or not these cartoons demonize Islam is for the practitioners of the Islamic faith to decide. But, one must comprehend that whilst Indian cartoonists often depict the latest political drama using stories from Hindu mythology, the intention is never so much as to inflict hurt on the Hindu deity itself; rather the barb is aimed at the political personage. Comparisons between these cartoons and the Muhammad cartoons are irrelevant and preposterous.

Moreover, when a religion, in its religious texts and edicts, forswears from depiction of its icons in any manner whatsoever, the basic statute of tolerance, for those not believing in the religion, is to respect such an edict, and refrain from making fun of the said religion’s icons, especially in contravention of its edicts. And this isn’t limited only to edicts on the depiction of icons, but also on the consumption of taboo items, etc.
A reluctance to abide by such a statute is not a sign of bravado; it is a sign of barbarism, a mark of an uncultured society.  

• You want to make fun of a religion, do so in the privacy of your homes. Why must you seek the audience of the world? And if then the adherents of the specific religion deem it fit to punish you for your lack of respect, are you entitled to the cover of the freedom of expression?

I have seen the cartoons, and although I am not a adherent of the Muslim faith, I empathize with their angst, because I expect, in good faith, that if some day, some worthy personage should deem it fit to express his/her opinions on my faith, that too in a manner disrespectful of it, I too shall behave like they have today, maybe with some variations here and there, but nevertheless in the same emotional state.

Why the easy way out?

I read in yesterday’s newspapers of the suicide of a television actress, whom I remember having seen but once or twice on screen, but whose personality did echo a semblance of a tragedy of Aeschylus, a sad yet powerful character. And that such a life should be snuffed out, that too in the prime of youth is heartbreaking, if not saddening.
But I never quite got the concept behind the method of death this particular actress and many like her chose to adopt, that being suicide. I imagine that the desire to kill oneself must arise from a complete inability to deal with life’s challenges, if not a real weakness, but a perceived one. Maybe in this extreme moment of weakness, one feels so desolate that death and death alone seems the most dear and most beloved of companions. And yet, taking one’s life requires courage, courage not of an ordinary nature, but that rivaling the type possessed by the Heroes of Valhalla. And I do not jest.
Consider this. Can you, in your senses, ever bring yourself to cut yourself intentionally? Could you ever conceive the thought from the terrace of a high-rise building that the ground seems so very welcoming and jumped forthright into Mother Gaea’s arms? No, you cannot. And no, it’s not because you are in control of your senses. Hell no! It’s because you don’t have the courage it takes to do all this.
So, when someone comments that the person had given up on his/her life and committed suicide, I wonder why. After all, the courage that they possessed, the strength that they had, which they summoned to cause their death, could surely have been called for to assist them in fighting their horrors. Why is it that they found themselves so alone, so bereft of any emotion that the only way out to them was death? Why did they, in the most tragic of moments, abandon the desire to live and embrace death?
Maybe you, my readers, have answers to my questions. Maybe you have sensed the nuances of human nature better than me. I know not. I pray, answer me.