Reflections

its all about a reflection
reflection that you leave
reflection that you perceive
your reflection with ripples plenty
and plenty are the seas
its all a reflection
may be all but a reflection

A giggle here and a smile there :)

O! What does it take

To stretch a smile?

Those teeth in a lovely file

For the deepest black

You’ve ever known

Peep inside,

O peep everywhere

It’s all about a giggle here

And a smile there

the bare feet

The smell tickles me again

The parched soil so wet,

A bank of memories pulled in

Of many smiles and cries.

Bare feet I remember;

Bare feet in memories.

It hasn’t stopped since last night

Redding the walls again

Trees smile with their eyes bright

The glistening green leaves;

Leaves draw in memories,

Memories all green and nothing.

It hasn’t stopped since last night

And I see my bare feet.

I stretch my hand out,

And they wet it well.

Pools and puddles beckon,

Slippery floors giggle.

It smells of something nice

Smells nostalgic at times

Shivers me the cool breeze,

Sigh and I also smile.

The wet wet ground

The faint touch of them all

It hasn’t stopped since last night,

The rain-

It asks my bare feet to walk.

Problems with Paradigms

On one of my train journeys, I arrested a cop’s attention by not bribing a TT. Okay, call him a constable, Prakash Yadav. Our conversation took a turn after I acknowledged I was unmarried. It isn’t his fault that he thinks men have a right to philander and women don’t. Further, our decibels rose and he argued why a woman cannot love more than one man.

“Two? In succession,” I asked.

“Oh! She would be labelled a whore”

“What if she loved one but that doesn’t materialize and later settled in a beautiful relationship with another?”

It's a bogus question to even ask, most people who read this here would think. Sadly we form a miniscule percent of an ocean of thoughts.

“A boy and girl can never be friends” he slapped a cliché.

“Oh why not? I am friends with many girls. Girls whom I know are in a relationship”

“Not possible. You haven’t felt anything for them? Plus they’re cheating on their boys.”

“No.” I frowned.

“A girl should not befriend boys anyway”
My forehead lines deepened as I wondered to which era he belonged.
”You’ll allow your sister to befriend boys?”
And he mocked at my prompt yes as he got down at Mathura.

I collected myself; perhaps I was the only one in the entire compartment who was comfortable with the notion of a girl in boys’ companies and women in multiple relationships. A little off the paradigm.

How is it when you get stared at instead of being soothed, stigmatized when you should be sympathized? Well that’s how a victim of sexual assault sustains. Where a woman chief minister says a rape victim has concocted a story, while the police divulge the name of another woman for her to face further harassment. The regular argument would be rhetoric. Yes blame the woman’s liberation for the man’s uncontrolled libido.

But that’s the problematic play of paradigm. The question is, do you feel embarrassed when you’re robbed off? Or when you’re diagnosed of cancer? Or even when one passes away? It’s all tragic. Then why humiliate a rape victim, embarrassing her for her tragic accident?

How would it be had we all accepted women as men, and realized their right to love?

How would it be had we all grown up condoling a rape victim, helping her forgo the trauma and point our stares and stigmas on the culprit? 

Have you ever wondered why we pray to the Gods?
The discussions and arguments would be incessant. Theists, atheists and to top them all, people like me, agnostics. Contemplate the idea of God without man. From where has He come? Religion – a set of righteous rules, gone horribly wrong, being the sole reason for much enmity and bloodshed across the planet? So follow any all or none. God or divine presence is the ultimate solace for many, someone or some belief that someone is forever there by their side, guiding them.

If the man means no harm and upholds morals, what good is religion to him if he’s happy like that? Ah! With such paradigmatic disgust we question him.

How would it be had we all acknowledged that not all follow our faith and have a right to think different, be different without being scorned at or forced?

How would it be had we all been comfortable with the ones in faith and with their beliefs, greeting their Gods if they wished at times, without a mock?

How would it be?

Our societies have been fixed in thought. And it takes more than many lifetimes to move the paradigm. Why should an introvert be pushed into talking more and socializing more, when he/she is equally or even more capable, efficient or good? Even as the ‘Satan in the child’ lore having been discarded centuries ago, mothers force their left handed kids into right handedness, a paradigm shift into accepting homosexuality is a far fetched reality. A trait observed in many species apart from humans, being perfectly natural for it occurs naturally in some as part of nature’s diversity would wait with its stuck up believes for some considerable time.

How would it be had we all been open to think the other way?
How would it be had we all never fallen into paradigm in the first place?

Sometimes

It’s sometimes the degree at which the sun shines

Or the angles at which it cast shadows through my window.

It is sometimes a particular noon silence

Or the warm air that moves drudging by

It’s sometimes just a whiff of a peculiar odour

Or is it just a figment of my imagination?

My remembrance?

It is sometimes that I am reminded of you,

It is sometimes that my memory pains me.

Condemnation, no more the lyrics

It was a stormy monsoon that wasted all. And the winter heat now, is as marring, all adjourned. Day 4 of the Parliament’s winter session saw some peace. Oh yes, there’s always some deafening silence after a slap. And that is precisely what let the Lok Sabha debate. The first ever civilized discussion of the season – How can a politician be slapped?

The media in its breathless run ran the footage of Agriculture Minister and NCP chief Sharad Pawar being assaulted by a common man. His rage evident, his anger well let out, his reason – price rise. Well that could be just one of the many. The attacker was arrested immediately, and the attack was condemned. Politicians of all clans came out criticizing the act. Anna Hazare fumbled with his doublespeak and take 2 well suited as a reaction byte. Well the first reactions are usually spontaneous, “just one?” although his team followed the socially accepted stand – condemn the act of slapping, its violence. The new age opinion thrusting, cop-judge-jury, news anchors, who slip away from reportage went on accentuating, “such acts of violence…”
”The larger question, are we as a society too intolerant?”

The netizens though speak their mind without inhibitions and the audacious Sikh is being lauded as a Hero. Why not? He stood up for himself and the rest. The rest form a society rather too tolerant; to now have been immune to all the politicians’ whims and follies. It doesn’t stop at; neither begins with the endless scam skeletons tumbling out of the closet. It is not only about inflation going through the roof, and the plummeting GDP. It’s neither because of the bungled up land reforms nor an unhealthy business environment alone. Neither the tribal issues and the Naxalism, nor the incessant terror strikes is the reason. The rotting food grains alone don’t form grounds for the slap. The waste of the public distribution system, the loot of the taxes and the failing policies too isn’t the sole explanation. It’s because of trust deficit. It’s simply about a series of deceits, broken promises and mismanagement.

Why doesn’t the House debate and unanimously condemn the lathicharge on the farmers, on the peacefully sleeping crowds of Ramlila? No! We are to be tolerant.

A slap often shakes one off his slumber. It’s sorry that Pawar became the cheek of his entire ilk, for Pawar is an honourable man. But all honourable men rather shed their drowsy illusions lest whipping is begun. Booing Steel Minister Beni Prasad in his constituency, the aam admi, wide awake and much roused, has been pushed through his tolerances. Instead of humming Kolaveri di, the House needs to set its tune. Condemnation is not the lyrics this time round.

A bag of storm and sunshine

I was flipping through one of my friends’ poems, and got absorbed in one.

"There are questions I cannot answer

And answers I cannot face

And whenever I corner ME

The heart pumps at a faster pace

There are feelings I cannot emote

And emotions I do not understand

The time plays tricks on me

And slips by the hourglass sand

There are things I cannot do

Because they do not seem right

But who is to judge the wrong

You or I, question one might

For people who judge me let them do

What matters is not their view

But what lies deep within me

Though I fear it, I will know it is true"

[source:  http://prateekshankardixit.blogspot.com/2011/09/struggling-thoughts.html ] 

One would scorn at me for this,

But I find some solace in this.

I’m not known to be a sadist

But I find some solace in this.

It just reassures that man is alike, with unanswered questions, overwhelming emotions, failing identities, and the right of wrongs and rights.

I find solace, because it suddenly shakes my egocentric sense and I realize I’m one of the all surviving men; yes the boat is the same in which we sail. So may as well we find some solace in sailing together.

Your turmoil is yours, my whirlpool mine. I would say I could weather yours and you would feel you could pass through mine; but His will is as per His strength in us to grind.

I’ll tell you how it happened, the bag of storm and sunshine.

It was dark, it wasn’t night though. You couldn’t have made out whether it was dawn or dusk; or even if it were a heavily cast day sky. I got off the carriage. Don’t quite remember whether it was pulled by a bull or a horse. I think I even saw some mules. A big bus halted close by. It was noisy – it appeared noisy, in the sense that one would expect it to be noisy where hundreds were assembling, coming in by various modes of transport. But for most part of it I heard no market clamour. It was more of numb with little whispering and rustling. I hauled up my baggage from the cart. It was quite a task, and I dropped it on the grassless ground to breathe in before heaving it on my shoulders. I looked around and saw the slope. Thousands kept pouring in. Buses, carts, cars, rickshaws, and yes on foot. One hardly spoke to anyone else but as if programmed lumbered onto the slope. It was a hill if I recollect. Or a mountain, I really didn’t pay minute attention to it. But it was brown, grassless as the starting point where all disembarked their Lorries. The trudge was more because of the backpacks. We had little idea what it contained; it was just thrust upon us to carry. Some murmured about some storm and some rain in the bag. I found it odd initially but it wasn’t late before most of us realized the bag’s contents. I breathed out a puff as I plonked it on my back. “Heavy storm child, heavy storm,” Consoled a passer-by. I hesitated and mumbled a yes. A few men guided the mass of people towards ascend. They told us about the gravity of the bags, adding that it had small oyster and by the time we had climbed up we should have had the pearl.

“Actually you won’t reach atop unless you get the pearl,” calmed me an old granny. Guess she sensed my anxieties.

“I still have the oyster, it’s been 73 years.”

“But where are we plodding?”

I was whispering; it was a sight straight out of a Zombie flick. Men, women, children all flocked on the gradual rise. Mostly heads slung down.

“He’s a grand old man sitting there. We have to deposit our pearls with him. But they say he’s a loving greybeard.”  

She confused me. How could he be doting if he makes me toil so much and then take away my pearl if I ever find it? Moreover what about these monstrous bags?

It’s been a while now. I know all men carry their storm and their calm, their rain and little sunshine and carry it all. As I walked laden with mine in a crowded path with each man encumbered, I smiled at one, and said a hello to another. I once cried about my weights to one, and then once light-heartedly poked another of his baggage; a few around me exhaled a little giggle. Behold! My bag turned lighter for a moment. Oh! I just gained sunshine. We continued trudging. I heard the old granny whom I met, found her pearl. They said she’d crossed beyond. People simply guess what the pearls look like.

Here one patted me and said, "hey, aren't we all walking up there and beyond with this burden of seasons?" And suddenly I see myself walking up there and beyond with my backpack with a few men of my like. The one beside me conked my head, babbled something. We coined a word of his gibber – friend. So the next night as I walked, I cried of my storm again to this chap beside me, yes friend. He heard me and gibbered again that I couldn’t make out; I felt nice though. We started talking, crying of our rains, at times giggled and added little sunshine to our bags and are still walking up there and beyond. These gibberish people can be fun at times. As for the pearls, we’ll find them someday and see the loving graybeard. Oh! it's heavy. Yes yes, am walking. It's dark. Yes the same that you can't decide - dawn or dusk. It's silent. It's so numb.

“Isn’t it better to keep laughing while trekking up there and beyond?”

“Oh you keep crying of your bag. Here, take some sunshine.” The gibber slapped my head, tickled me and we broke into peels of laughter again.

Yet pardon me, friend

I find some solace in this

Am not a sadist nor I offend

But found we all have our bags

And gibber of this.

Our boats are same

And sense the same weather

So some solace for the tough sail

At least we all sail together.

Hazardous Hazare

As it is said, in India everything gathers some melodrama the running anti corruption tamasha for some would call it indeed is an intriguing drama.

Hazardous Hazare, as the UPA must have been racking nerves, is surely a man of substance, not for his metabolic might to fast unto death but for egging on a country of people who generally after having spilt their curry remain complacent with a ‘koi baat nai.’ Oh! And after having a basket of eggs on its face the GoI could have been a little watchful with the case.

The sonorous sordid stories of corruption should be given no time for an explanation or description. Nor should any time be wasted in settling scores of the colourful politicians debating, ‘your corruption being larger than mine’, on as many news channels. Then leave aside the petulant remarks of the spokesperson digging out corruption cases against the Anti corruption team. As it is long decades have gone by without making any apparent movement on the Lokpal Bill. The debate over the draft might be a different issue all together. Whether the government’s version is an umbrella with a hole or Anna’s draft a heavy institution for our already humungous establishment needs a debate not a drama.

With the amicable yoga baba’s stint on fast, matters worsened. Trivialization of satyagrah and ann-shan and a sad comparison of equating the revolution with that of the freedom struggle. We probably forget the intense years of the mid 20^th century, or were seeing this just after the million march of Egypt. Further the events took an ugly turn - UPA bungling up with the situation with a lathi charge, and our baba - a man of honour in a garb of a woman?

However heavy or overwhelming the Jan Lokpal draft bill might be, for our system with such despair, it might be a shot for the better. If nothing else a nation in slumber has been woken up. It has started talking of being anti corrupt, change hopefully would take its time and it would practice restraint and start being anti corrupt soon. After a chapter of embarrassments for the Congress government this was the magic wand, our reticent Prime Minister spoke of whenever he spoke, sparingly though. Sadly again, it came down on Anna and his team that now comprised a visible chunk of the nation counting in many thousands and turning them up in its much-loved Tihar.
 

God bless this courageous frail old man. He indeed is a matter of substance. And for the melodrama of this tamasha, we have always had it. And this time it’s ‘I am Anna’!!  

I've just added a year

It's my threshold

I've crossed my teens

I'm turning mature
I ought to preen

Suddenly,
they've thrown much on my shoulder
yet they hush me up
when my tongue goes bolder

Conflicts inside me
i find much to resolve

am happy they are

after all at this age they revolve

I've grown strong
Am big and i realize it
its my time to stand

its my day i simply rejoice it

- I, India!

[on Her 65th birthday]

Ennui

Boredom to lousy housewives

Is a day’s task

For aged men and their wives,

Just their compulsion’s mask

Listless is but a word for the lads

Lounged displeasured on a cask

The true pleasure of boredom, ask him

For whom yet a world of errands does bask