Celebrating her day!

Often have I been questioned, “Why this Independence Day?”

Often on my overzealous expressions, many have confronted me, “Just standing up for the tricolour today won’t make a difference.”

Often for my sharp criticism of youngistaan’s coolness, “Standing up for the Anthem today, won’t take her forward,” is all I receive.

And often have I thought an answer for this.

Never did I stop romancing my lover,

But Valentine’s my annual visit to the jeweler;

Love her I, throughout the year,

But the 14^th is the day I remember – I love her.

Ups and downs throughout the days,

And I kick start all again in fresh ways.

That’s not the only newness and the Hope’s ray;

But 31^st December, I celebrate new beginnings throughout everyday.

I’d as always given him a shoulder to cry, his love’s life did we pry.

We rode into the jungle, chewed a crab he sought to fry.

Vodka on the terrace, Whisky in the car do we remember the exams’ syllabi?

But the first Aug. Sunday, my friends, take an occasion to give merry yet again a try.

Oh! That cracker did you see? It lighted up the moonless night.

My pious aunt commands weeklong, “are the sweets and flowers set right?”

Ram, Ganesh and Lakshmi have their perpetual nivaas here, she sights;

Yet on Diwali, she commemorates the inexorable Gods, who otherwise too are bright.

Father Mathew and Ali bhai are no different I suppose;

For Ali’s mother religiously sits five times in that pose.

Then why does Fr. Mathew on 25^th, put the Rum cakes on the stove?

For Jesus and Allah bless us always; their hand forever on our brows.

I start with a yawny good morning, and the night she hugs me to sleep,

I obey and disobey her relentlessly, but she continues in my welfare to peep.

This June 4^th, I gave her a leather bag for all her kisses and love to keep.

I love my Ma as every child, but on her B’day I tell her I love her deep.

My parents, my brother, my friends and the lover;

Not forgetting the Lords above; there’s day to each, to show our love.

There’s a prayer or a gift or a toast rose,

Then why such ado about us, before the tricolour, to rise?

My singing the anthem won’t aggrandize Her.

By not singing even won’t bind her pace.

But toiling for her daily differs from singing on her B’day.

Remembering her daughters and sons, cheering her in the race!

mute ecstasy

It was the evening of August 6, a dusty, humid and an unwelcome evening. Unwelcome all the more as I had trudged one kilometre and half uphill for a class and found the door shut on my face. Grumbling and stumbling down I waited for the bad public conveyance at the bus stop. The filth troubled me. The squalid odour was making me dizzy. And the beaten legs had already fatigued me and my head together. Panting, I frowned as each bus passed by with men dangling out of it. “What the hell! There is not even ample number of buses or autos,” I barked. Inhaling heavily, trying to regain my breath I scanned the place for a vacant spot to settle and ease my lazy legs. “Can’t even breathe before running to the class? What a pathetic schedule,” was my everyday caterwaul as I raced from college to attend the class.

I was scanning that vacant spot for my poor lazy legs, my eyes caught the attention of a young man of early twenties, dark, healthy with a paunch struggling out in an off white, overused polo t-shirt. He was furiously gesturing something and a group of five girls, ages ranging from 15 to mid twenties, clad in some sort of a blue uniform, glared at him. Wincing! I suddenly realized something and wondered whether he was making fun of someone? No! Was that a group of friends making merry by playing some ‘who remains mute the longest’ game? I stared, unable to understand. My eyes swayed a little and there was a young boy, winding up his teens, giggling and… again? He too was gesturing. I scanned the whole place again and that little bus stand was overcrowded with these blue uniformed boys and girls, grouped in small numbers, all gesturing, furiously as I thought. My lazy brain woke up to remind me of a Deaf and Dumb School nearby.

Suddenly all my exhaustion and enraged frustration vanished away. I was zealously engrossed in them. There was that first group of five lasses and a lad. They now were smiling as if pleased by some satisfactory outcome of the power packed story the boy had been narrating. One of the elder girls was now in brisk conversation with him. There was another… behold! She’d been signalling somewhere else. And behold again! She got up and darted towards another group of boys. And again all I saw was brisk hand movements- curling and twisting, fingers numbering, touched the head now, patted the other hand and clicked at the chin then.

My friend who accompanied me was still busy on the look out for the bus. The road traffic decibel ebbed to zero for me. It was all quiet. No sound; absolutely. Oh! The girl I forget. So she and a handsome young boy were discussing over something, I guess, as she excused herself to grab a notebook from her bag. Flicked pages and they resumed their talk. They study? I thought in bewilderment. My lazy brain was turning foolish now. They studied indeed. I was compelled to ask them “what subject?” but couldn’t muster the courage. Yet another circle of girls gossiped, yes I’m sure for I couldn’t get their gestures but their expressions. Girls are girls.

Returning back to the notebook group, a couple of them giggled, I noticed. And a scene from my day at the college flashed as I observed another blue apparelled. He smirked as he rubbed his fist on the left side of the chest. And I had hummed a nineties love song teasing my friends earlier in the day. I smiled. And it was earnest. It was bliss! It was so silent; yet there was so much of conversation, so much was being said.

How I, vouched with all my needs, still suffer of my greed.

How I, with all the gifts, still suffer of meaningless fits.

They were a mute living. But they were truly living.

I’d been all chattering, but all was just cribbing.

All my heaviness of the day had evaporated. Their ecstasy and tranquillity was taking over me. My heart craved, and tempted to join their fun, join their normalcy, away from my agonies. Handicapped, and spoilt for life, they had no qualms and lived their fullest; Lived the normal-est. What troubles are mine? I ponder. What troubles are mine? I still am pondering.

To be is to do...

I succumb to sin for my soul’s sinister;

I care for them for my soul craves for Christ.

I do what I am.

I can fake and pass an illusion, but

I do forget I breathe disillusions.

I paint a canvass that’ll tear soon.

I compose euphony but that won’t croon.

I do what I am; for

To do is to be.

I sit and brood, head hung in dismay.

Behold!

I remember I can turn a page.

I desire a portrait awed by the world.

I strike a chord for the vibes to be heard.

I am what I do.

I mirror a soul; soul mirrors not my life, but

I mirror a soul that mirrors my style.

I am sinister, so I’ll succumb to sin;

I crave for Christ, so I care for them.

I am what I do; not

I do what I am.

To be is to do; not

To do is to be.

Lingua Slashing

Loquacious, garrulous, verbose, prolix and circumlocutory, keep on pouring out of their ilk incessantly. Status quo simmers with the whole planet bubbling in the English cauldron; such that the Queen coyly throne-ed at Windsor, doth shy away. For, many an alien tongues fain ape hers.

Portals of the courses in management and higher sciences (CAT and GRE) have erroneously lost ways as they apparently lead routes into transforming the adept technocrats and financers and of course a handful hailing from the mistook destination where they cart; into leagues of Words-worth. Words and their worth, I sigh. Times struggle, whipping the (I) cads until the crammers scale the Pinnacle, as the tutorials parade to Launch their careers. And we the crammers charge at the 26 alphabet with gung ho spirits.

Charged up; we have out of the blue, metamorphosed into obedient learners that we mug up, revise and cross check each other. I see in bewilderment, how we who dare not pick up our books, lovingly play this word game, hauling a word here, throwing a word there; jumping with zest and the lilting voices pronounce the meanings. And god forbids, if we fail to recollect the meaning be prepared for an act of prostration. “please, please, please….”, and the howling caterwauls and pleads increase in decibels as we yearn for the meaning threatening to look up the dictionary. It’s a sin to look up the word list once we’ve done a particular set of words. “No no, impudent is impertinent and pertinent is nowhere close to being its opposite.” So the addling English muddles us in the chaos of words and their meanings, synonyms and their antonyms; forget the later stages of sentence correction and grammar.

“Ok, temerarious?”

“Daring”, sounds a stammering voice. And there goes his points higher demanding much adulation as now it’s his turn to quiz others. “Achcha, tell me the meaning of narcissism.” And the game goes on inexorably. As if my roommates weren’t enough, the next day at college was a macrocosm of what I went through a night before, and thence it’s become mundane for us to bombard each other with ‘words’. (And then came the difference between its and it’s!)

“Words, done”, heaves a sigh of relief, as exasperated, my roommate finishes all the word lists in the prescribed book. Somebody tell him what it means to finish mugging up all the words; all! Shakespeare and Wilde would have turned in their graves, had they heard him. Even Tagore would have smashed him hard had he uttered ere his soul left for the heavens. But our CAT/GRE aspirant paces ahead, to complete the English syllabus, moving on to punctuations and language. “Yaar, this is nonsense! Wren n Martin taught that a coma can never be followed by an immediate and, and here they’ve changed it all”, cried another buddy head hung in dismay. (Buddy?? Yea yea it’s informal. All’s colloquial!)

The desperate cries and hullabaloos intensify by the day now.

“Oye, it’s Math and not maths.”

“Crap! Leave alone English, this means my strong fundamentals of mathematics too are now doubtful!” ([Sic] overheard in the dreary corridors of the college.) And somebody, please, explain him the difference between a teacher and mental levels when he says he will complain about the faculties. Where it is a faculty of the college and faculties by the Oxford is mental or physical power or talent. Is he going to complain to the God above?

While we carp and cavil about this congenial cant, I assume this makes no convivial mode of communication for it may be out of comprehension for many. Language is conversation that is cordial for all and sundry, binding everyone and understood by all, serving its purpose of existence. Serving the meaning of the word ‘Language’.

Cast away!

We, the batch of ’88 avidly look ahead to tread the first step towards the change, to cast the first vote towards the change! Excitement, vigour, determination and a sense of pride flushes through, as we sight this as accomplishing our most fundamental right - responsibility - duty. Alas! I feel resentment. And many would share my plight of not being able to exercise the right, the first step into adulthood. As they chant and we realize, elections form the soul of the democracy, conferring on us the right to exist, sustain and live the ‘our-way’ of it and voting is how we exercise this!

Unfortunately, the Republic of India falls short at providing this to its citizens. A 3^rd year engineering student racking my head in the final exams that I take now, I miss the two IPLs. Yes the Indian Political League forms the second. And many would be stuck up with their jobs at places where they don’t exist in accord to the Democracy’s lists, the voters’ list. The media and rigorous campaigning has stirred up young India dramatically. So much so that it has prodded the often politically aloof youngsters around me to start talking on the issues and hauling them to the ballot. But ballot they don’t reach! My name proudly stands in the lists for the constituency of Agra, and I humbly sit in an examination hall in Nagpur. But there are my many friends to console me as they drudgingly sail in the same waters, sailing far away from the elections at their shores.

62 years on and the country hasn’t reached its citizens the basic right, and they keep talking of bijli and paani (sadly, that too futile). 62 years on and we still exhaust ourselves in the simplest of all castings. 62 years on and we pass miserably at this eligibility test as a democracy. Booming India, and in booming percentages has the youth wandered far from their towns and cities, to study, work and boom India. Swelling number of people has cast away its right to cast.

We deem to be a pillar in the international political and economic axes, a pillar to be reckoned by all, but can’t redeem and revise our system? Pace for progress should be this slow? Its time the Commission pace up its plans and execute them. Modify and progress with the times and needs. I see a solution to my resentment and others’ right to their right-duty. Revising completely the roll list of voters and its formation procedures, making it thorough would be one. Next would be to get the whole system online. It could be formed on the basis of railway ticketing and booking. Each voter could be given its unique ID number that could exercise and have access only once with validity lasting the voting hours for the particular constituency it’s meant to be, from anywhere and any online polling booth across the country. The secret ballot and the indelible ink remain crucial, playing their part. Once the vote is cast, the name and ID number would be ticked and counted in the electoral list generated in the main database. The ID would then be invalid for use everywhere. Of course we need to keep a vigil on its vulnerability. The US follows some online system, as so do many developed nations.

This new system I assume wouldn’t be that tough for the commission to follow provided its ready to dedicate itself to its work, working meticulously and thoroughly. Oh! No. I don’t blame its credibility. Having wrong and erroneous voter ID cards with switched over sexes, ludicrously wrong birth years, even distributing ones with birth years as ’94 (my friend’s elder brother!), is a small bearable fault. Leave alone the failure in delivery of the cards to many.

Providing its citizens with a right to avail all rights would be the basic essence of any democracy. Boasting of the largest democracy, we need to be quick in mastering this feat, for this would be the first stone for proper governance, better policies and the Janta’s choice and adept representation that would work in accordance to the will of the citizens of India.

The Big Hindustani Tamasha!

 

The world’s largest democracy witnesses its testimony of being, evidence of very existence, as we move ahead zealously towards the secret ballot. After all sailing through a sea of instability all around isn’t an easy task. Hats off to the Indian Democracy!

 

Truly democratic, of, for and by the people, the country has many a varied names to flaunt of. It exhibits a panorama of Gandhi topis and white dhotis, a complete kaleidoscope of the policies, politics and politicians. And there democratically, have sprung up numerous parties. Branched out and evolved countless off springs adding spice to the pot. India now showcases an array of ideologies, policies and thereby thy politicians to choose from. The aam aadmi has a tailor made party to vote for, in accord to his line of thought. And that goes to the overflowing strength of the nation.

           

But as we sail into this, it dawns upon me our piteous state. The very meaning of the word democracy appears false. These months, the run up to the elections bear our warts and all. Democratically raised, the countless parties stirring up their regional tamashas, and a few messing up with the religion-al bakhedaas, have lost in their frenzy the connotation of the word issue. Though their issues now turn their guns against their procreators. But this remains ephemeral. As time ripens for a change, amnesia takes on the better of them. Bhai there are no foes or friends in this business. “Aapsi sahyog se hi to desh chalega!” and how well are twisted and turned the denotation of words like sahyog, to suit their needs.

 

Such is our belief in the system, in us that we prepare campaign and read out manifestos not for the elections but for the coalition post elections. That’s smart work. That’s the only ‘big thing’ for the government. The loss is no more a letdown anymore (I doubt if it has ever been). They are confident on their incapability’s; they have trust in their loosing ideologies, believe that their work and policies are inadequate and acknowledge that the janta disapproves of them. And so does it reflect our, the common man’s fading believes and missing in the woods, our thinking routes. Our basic essence now is bedlam that governs our walk ahead; our approach towards everything causes this coalition as an output.  And we call us a developing nation, with such a mess to get ourselves governed?

 

So there we go with all the mudslinging and draping democracy dirty. UPA, NDA and the precarious Third Front, all catapults such a puppetry and manifest the big fat Indian Politics, a complete entertainment package? So much is the coalition in the mainstream, so much does it form the axis that everything else forms a backdrop to this picturesque drama. So much is this into everyone, so much does it form the core of the netas that one can’t think beyond the mili-juli sarkar. And there creeps in the vices of democracy. The gatbandhan! They are in power, but with sahyog and they persistently smile to their sahyogis. Just to remain in power, just to be the policymaker, they appease their supporters in the House, forgetting the very policies. The tenure passes by just in an attempt to remain in for the whole tenure. National issues take a backseat and stability of the chair takes the top priority. Backing off the support and the fall of the coalition is of prime concern. Forget all the five year plans, the bills that pile up through the years, the laws that still remain from being implemented. Just for instance, the nuclear empowerment took off during the BJP regime, and was opposed by them when was being taken ahead by the UPA. The government faced the no confidence motion and there was yet another instance of corruption coming to light, scandals like the vote for cash scam. Just to please all the tiny supporting parties, the national interests keep on lingering. As aptly carped by adept/inept Sushmaji, (option open for consideration to the janta), “the United Progressive Alliance has been reduced to an Unlimited Prime-Ministers Alliance”. Revolving around it, is NDA far away from Negotiating Democracy Always? And at this terror struck slowdown, our thousand proficient leaders scuttle their way to the premier chair; nothing but coalition a step ahead.   

 

Had there been a single party government, things would have smoothened dramatically, thereby the government, legislation, judiciary, citizens and the country doing what has to be done, democratically still. They take the chair to rule us, rather than assuming office to serve us. And we need to get them to serve us now. We need to make them realize that the sahyogis are meant to actually sahyog the sarkar. Rather than supporting their selfish beings. The change takes in me. The change radiates from me and the change changes the air around me. My sincere vote would be the change!

 

Change in the politics of the country.

Change in the policies of this democracy.

Change in the way they work.

Change in the way we get them to work.

Change in India.

Change in Me.

Change is my wise vote!