March 7, 2011

Again and again...

You knocked on my door

When I was asleep

In my dream

When I gave you space

You had left; not knowing.


In the dream

We dreamt; together.

The mystery, the conundrum

Of our sheer existence.

We made room for our thoughts

And set sail on a journey

That did not end…


I woke up.

The Unfinished dream.

The Unfinished journey.

No one to around me to say

That we dreamt together; in my dream.


I slip into slumber again

To catch a glimpse of you

In my dream

And see you from far


For I know

You are yet but a reverie

Again and again…

February 21, 2011

Half Full

I wonder how

when

You give me half

I feel full.

When you leave

I feel bold.

When you are far

I feel your touch

And when near

Silence becomes

Eloquent.

I leave. You too.

February 2, 2011

The Rugged Cross


There was an ‘old rugged cross’
On top of a hill
Just as the hymn said.
There the bell rang thrice.
I walked towards the lone mighty cross.
An old man was seated.
Head bent,
With his feeble hands
He kept on pulling the string.

The Priest came out.
“Welcome to the lonely church
The Vicar just died.
We are mourning his death.
But he lived a full life.”

We walked out and sat on a bench.
The Priest and me.
“I had a dream,” he said
“Of the Vicar.
Where he told me
About his Journey.
The valleys, the hills
The silent brooks
The mountains...
He has transcended Time
And travelled through Space"

He also said,
“You shall not fear death
Though its arms are cold
Its heart is warm.”

“Death has a life!?”
I exclaimed.

“I know not,
For, I am still living", the Priest said.
"The Vicar told me
What we fear more
Is less fearful, when lived
You will live to learn
And die to understand this.”

I left the lonely church
With its bell
Still ringing…
And after a while
Reverberating…

February 1, 2011

The Search

The equation

Is trying to solve; itself.

Too many variables

Fraction. Subtraction.

Yet can see no addition.


When the distance comes near

The near gets so far!

A real conundrum of Time

And Space

And reality.

The Real. The Surreal. The Virtual.


But they say,

The Sun will rise every day…

The Clock will tick

Time will flick

And guide

The Way to the Destined.

To know the Real from Surreal.


So I ask Time

The Real can be touched?

And Surreal felt?

One is existence?

Other apparition?


Time says,

“You will know the difference.”

So I wait.

Relentlessly.

Long hauls.


Oh! it never ends...

Windy, hilly, road.


Time says:

"It takes a life time

To know the Real

from Surreal

They mimic one another

That thou cant tell the difference

Sure you will

Learn the narrow strip

That runs through...

To know the real from surreal

For that

Wait you must, more."

January 26, 2011

Republic Day

Bee,

Today is India's Republic Day. A good 18 years back, I was uniquely fortunate to participate and parade in this immaculate event, in New Delhi.

In the thick of winter, a young college student that I was, did feel proud walking down Rajpath.

Well, that day did change my life too. And probably that was the 'less travelled road in the wood,' which made "all the difference."

And thus I started to believe that things happen for a reason; and that certain things are pre-destined; however much we like to deny it.

"Echuse Me"

The title is the distorted version of ‘excuse me’ – culled out from a once- popular malayalam comedy (film), which I had seen many years back. A non-speaking protagonist, tries to get the attention of the girl who he has been eyeing by saying ‘echuse me.’


The term still exists in the local vocabulary, and has even crossed the ocean and has settled among a few in the nearby island. It has travelled from a Malayalam film to the movie-going local community, and outside its boundaries through the galaxy of Mallus (malayalees) scattered all over, who use it to denote embarrassment, mistake or to hell with it… lighten a situation!


Call it globalization or universalization ( if that means something) . I have two feet. You will not deny that I know! But I like to be figurative here. One of my feet is in the land of Ravana, the Usurper (if only Valmiki knew how heavenly this land is) ; and the other in the land of the Usurped. India. Now, should I say, which India, as we have more than 20 Indias packed into one democratic package? So while I hop between the two, I get to see a few changing shades…


Needless to say, we have humour – in our movies, literature, our lives…


But my brethren, I have a few things reeling in my head.


I was at the Hyderabad airport a few weeks back. My first visit. Having heard about the state-of-the-art airport since its inauguration, I was looking forward to landing there. I was rewarded for my expectations. There was order – a break from chaos; passengers too looked quite content, and patient. No yelling by those in the uniform. No staring. No confusion. This is another India. I had just left from another India, Trivandrum. Each time, it takes me by surprise – can’t complain! But one thing runs common at all times – the fleecing.


My comrade, I am not against your –ism, but I sure have a problem with your fleecing policy.


Your –ism speaks of a classless society. My utopian thoughts just get on wings with this, as I also hope for such a society. But you behave in a way that distances you from the public, from the people, from us. Your attitude creates a new class – the fleeced. This includes tourists, people returning homes, those who help run the economy through remittances, those who leave their loved ones and go far away, not necessarily by choice, but by compulsion, not because they love to, because they have to…. When they touch your land, and come under your skies, you put a prize to them. You don’t even ask, you demand; you fleece. Politeness is not your forte at those moments. You decide the fleecing fee by the size of the baggage. The larger the baggage, greater the fleece! Isn’t this an organized form of crime, done in a nicer manner? And dear comrade, I am not talking only about the airports… you are at your worst at the railway station where the passenger does not even get a chance to get down with the luggage – you snatch and put a price for snatching and, thereafter, for a self-imposed luggage carrying!


More than a decade of regular landing and taking off from Trivandrum airport, have only seen me witness this phenomenon increase and that too blatantly. As I land now, by default, I take extra-precaution not to get into the fleecing lobby. Please don’t get me wrong. I am willing to pay; but hesitant to be fleeced.


With a brain attuned to this lobby, my fleece-resistance program was re-booted on landing at the Hyderabad airport. ‘Keep a watch.’ A helper, took out my luggage and my fleece-resistant heart started to pound. Now, what next? How much? Will my luggage be kind of forcibly lugged out for a price? The next moment was one that made me so small and him so tall! After carefully keeping my luggage on the trolley, he smiled. “Have a safe stay madam, you may go ahead now.”


Having felt being slapped on both cheeks simultaneously, I walked out like one who was just publicly embarrassed.


This kept me thinking, my comrade.


I respect the lofty ideals of your doctrine. Its philosophy. Its philanthropy. But are you not practicing something different?


Is the cost of living to be blamed for your fleecing? Are we not equally affected by it so? I too wish to have a society with equal rights, dignity and respectability. Don’t you think, for this, one of the primary attributes is to accord dignity to a vocation? Shouldn’t we forget the collars and their colours? Shouldn’t we think your job is as important as mine? Why would you think mine is better than yours then, which gives you the right, the freedom to fleece mine and others? Why can’t we respect each other and why should we always fall into a class? Can we standardize the rates for your labour, just as my employer gives me a wage limit? Why won’t you let someone from ‘another India’ drive into my garden and unload the stuff I have trucked from miles away?


If you and I are on the voters list, if you and I get to live close by, if you and I get to travel in the same bus seated together, why should we be antagonists in a changing, moving society? Echuse me, comrade….


January 20, 2011

The Bee Hum

The fall has come
Leaves have turned colour
They are shedding…
A potpourri
Of colours
Scattered…

Somewhere
Sometime
A thought came
Of the bee in my garden
Of all seasons
And colours
Of fantasy
And reality…

The Bee
Has taught to wait
For the season to change
For spring to come…

The Bee hums to the tune
Of changing shades
Of fleeting colours…


The buzz of the Bee
Wakes me to the morning hue
And to the greasy drops of dew…
To tell me the truth
That shades change
The longings give way to day and night
Desires turn to dreams
That touch, flicker…and fade

Wait, one should
The Bee hums
To continue the disjointed
And to join the discontinued…
Cold shoulders…
Abrupt ends...

The unreasonableness of childhood
Grows over me, at times…
And I wait for the Bee
To bring me the next song
In my cold mornings of greasy dew.

It is a new song of life
That the Bee sings
Each time, in my garden.

January 18, 2011

It is autumn. Leaves have changed colour and slowly started to fall off. Is spring close by?

January 7, 2011

Hyderabad...

Bee,

On my first visit to Hyderabad. Had not been able to travel around as involved in work. But the little that I saw, I have liked very much. Cleaner roads (albeit heavy traffic), vibrant colours, polite people...

The state of the art airport is superb! The system seems to work smoothly and mind you, no havoc, no screams, no confusion! Quite different from the rest of (south) India!

The weather is cold - 10 degrees. Nice.

The Telangana issue is raising head, as the SriKrishna Committee Report on Telangana issue was made public yesterday. As a protest, there is bandh - today and tomorrow.

Independence. New Territory. Identity. Continuing to witness (freedom) struggles and movements for these; in many forms and ethnicity...

January 3, 2011

Bee,

ALL of a sudden, it is 2011. Yet another year had flown on the wings of time. Man! 12 months x 365 days had gone, like a super fast bus plying on Indian roads, with such a nonchalant attitude!

December had been a month of real starvation for my blog with just one post. Had been on the move, and could not dedicate time to write. Excuses, excuses, eh?

Turning back or looking ahead? We cannot erase history, yet we need to look forward. The balancing act to remind oneself at the end of each year and the beginning of a new one.

No new year resolutions. Let the year unfold itself...

Will feed the blog soon...

December 3, 2010

Children of a Lesser God?

Bee,

I am digging out my old notes, diaries, etc and trying to and post what can be shared.
Below is a personal experience I had, which moved me so intensely and deeply for a long, long time...

15 May 2007

I experienced one of the defining moments in my life today, when I felt enriched by a bunch of differently abled people, including children .There were thirty five of them bubbling with life in a hall down Kithulwatte Road, Colombo.

I was on a fact-finding mission to understand the workings of the Sunera Foundation, a charity organization aimed to assist the differently abled through the medium of performing arts.

My mind went back to the times when they were referred to as ‘disabled.’ What wrong usage! A better understanding of the situation has given them a more honourable name – ‘differently abled.’ May be our thinking has changed – and that we are beginning to see them as no ‘lesser?’

I spent more time that I had planned, and returned home enriched, humbled and pensive with a tinge of pain deep down, when some of those faces flashed through my mind - I saw untold amount of feelings written in many an eye.

“My younger brother is married, my younger sister is married. I am thirty and have no one..!” said Madhuri, a veteran participant of the Sunera Foundation with her eyes welling up with tears. But the pain was transient. “I have traveled to Norway, Italy, France etc to perform, in fact many times…” Her eyes cheered up. So did mine. There was confidence in her voice, pride in her achievements, and above all, hope in her voice – largely due to the opportunities she had got through Sunera.

Should we be sympathetic? No. They are not instruments of to deserve sympathy or mere generosity of any kind. They have to be treated with equal respect, which we would accord any other normal human being. But they certainly needed special attention and care. They need opportunities and a place in the Sun, which can only be assured by us – the ‘abled us’ with a conscious change in our attitude – I told myself.

The workshop conducted twice a week by Sunera Foundation attracts many people who are differently abled. Boys and girls, men and women – there was no discrimination at all. Many were accompanied by their mothers who stay the whole day until the workshop is over.

The workshop

The progamme was to start at 9.30 and bang it did right on time! Impressive. The participants were taken through a series of games and activities, which also required team spirit, creative thinking and a lot of initiative.

‘Passing the Parcel’ was interesting. Music was played and a parcel was passed on from one person to another. Whoever in custody of the parcel when the music stopped had to perform something as he /she wished. Most of them danced. Some of them performed the ‘break dance’, gracefully and rhythmically, gyrating the lower part of the body with a natural ease! Unmistakable influence of the Bollywood; flawlessly imitated!

The most outstanding performance was displayed by a participant when he ordered the music to be stopped and got on stage; energetic. He stretched his right hand as high as he could and yelled out: “I would like to say, I will reduce the price of dhal, and will repair all broken roads. Just vote for me…” Our political culture is infectious… I laughed my gut out.

Music was an essential part of the workshop. Everything centered on it. Dancing to the tune was fun. Plus it also ensured physical exercise and flexibility to the participants, who would hardly find a way to do it otherwise. Every single participant not just enjoyed, but lived every moment of it.

I strongly resisted my temptation to get on to the floor with them!

What is a stick for?

Ramani Damayanthi, the trainer, who displayed exceptional skills in conducting the workshop showed them a long stick and asked them to come out with their own impressions of it and what they would use it for. Some innovative expressions came out – ‘pot breaking’ game of the Avurudhu, golf, billiards, rowing of the boat, shooting with the gun etc, among many others.

The exceptional aspect to note was that NONE of them used the stick to display the action of beating! I stayed until the game was over, just to learn whether any one would imitate the action of beating! No. They did not! I would think the first thing any normal child would do is to show how he/she can use the stick to beat up, to punish! It was interesting to learn how pleasant their thoughts are in their state of inability- and how we label them as ‘dis-abled’!

I left the workshop when they broke for lunch. It was a rewarding experience to learn that there is immense potential in those we think are inferior. What they lack is an opportunity to be accepted in a society that is yet too ignorant of the needs of a differently abled person.

I witnessed the bountiful expressions of happiness, confidence, acceptance, equality and contentment mirrored on their faces when they broke up for lunch. I was still seated, enthralled, when one participant came up to me and took my empty tea cup mumbling ‘Miss, I will take this to wash…’

While driving back home, my memory went back by 20 years and I remembered Narayanan – a differently abled boy- who went to the 'School for the Deaf and the Dumb', which was just 200 meters away from my school. Our school pick-up vans used to halt at common points and we used to get down from our vehicles and have a chat. He and I shared a common habit - of collecting pictures of Gods. Too many of them of the same size as cards. The numerous squabbles we used to have, and the number of times we used to spill water on each other, and funny faces we made in anger... just flashed across my mind with photographic precision. I just wondered how he was…

Life simply brushes through many of us – or may be we simply brush through life. Cocooned in our own shares of woes and penalties, we tend to pass by…not being able to appreciate and be thankful for the wonderful life force that ticks within us. My experience just reconfirmed this to me; today; and also that they are not children of a lesser god... truly not...