Examination of Independence Day

On our 64th independence day, we need to examine what this day means to us. I was told by a person yesterday that they never failed to go to school on this day as they were treated with chocolates and snacks. My memory goes back to the parades and the speeches extolling the past and invoking the future. Everyone has childhood remembrances associated with 15th august but none who understands even an iota of its significance in 1947.

   What does this day mean to us? A holiday to laze and relax, to go out with friends or family? A flame of patriotism does get evoked but to what consequence? It's a day to remind us to play Lata Mangeshkar's vande mataram and A.R. Rehman's Maa tujhe salaam. We wear Indian flag pin-ups, wave flags, add photos proclaiming independence to our profiles on facebook. What are we trying to achieve through this in your face proclamation? Dry day and the national holidays have become synonymous. Long speeches extolling the freedom struggle adorn the day but do we understand exploitation faced then when we talk of independence? Do the leaders who claim a great tomorrow realize the tomorrow that is not coming due to their actions? Can the omnipresent disdain shown by the people towards present conditions be channeled into a wave of social upliftment?

   Nehru enunciated 'the achievement we celebrate today is but a step, an opening of opportunity, to greater triumphs and achievements that await us.' The opportunity is ever present, triumphs are ever waiting. Instead of broadcasting our patriotism a small act of helping the nation and its citizens would go a long way in building a better India. In the wake of the present J and K crisis and the CWG scandal much responsibility of improvement is on our shoulders. Are we in need of a second independence to rout out the evil that plagues the nation? Are we really patriotic in our actions towards the nation and its people?

   Although cynicism beckons me to voice all this but I too question what I have done to strengthen the nation. I reiterate Nehru's question. 'Are we brave and wise enough to grasp the opportunity and accept the challenge of the future?'

Rudderless Boat

Rudderless boat afloat on sea wide and far,

Bobbing up and down on waves placid.

Mighty waves pushing it night and day

Reaching nowhere, going nowhere.

Rudderless boat afloat on sea wide and far,

Although alone, helped along

Rising sun awakening a new day.

Setting sun revealing stars hidden.

Rudderless boat afloat on sea wide and far,

Polaris directing to the distant north,

Rising sun promising a new beginning in the east.

Setting sun calling along to the beautiful west,

Rudderless boat afloat on sea wide and far,

Set sail and steer, stars and wind will help,

Going is tough as strong waves push away,

But land is not far as it seems.

Value of a Daughter

wrote this story 4-5 years back

   Nothing was going right for Sukhiram. The factory he worked for had closed down three months ago. Employment was scarce. Only the younger ones got selected that too for wages next to nothing. Starvation and disease were wasting his wife. The children had also lost their work javascript:void(0)at the zari factory due to the municipal corporation. Child labour. Like all animals a poor child also has too feed itself on its own. Food was scarce in their home but they cannot ask the neighbours for food. They themselves did not have proper meal since ages.

    Sukhiram was sitting outside his 8 X 10 jhopdi smoking a bidi. His wife had gone to work as a maid in the flats of nearby buildings. The two younger children, Shiva and Sudha had gone to play. His eldest daughter, Rashmi now aged twelve had gone to fetch water from the community tap. Sukhiram sat brooding about his misery. He felt no one was in such wretchedness as him though the story was similar in all the lakhs and lakhs of jhopdis spread all over Mumbai.

    Mumbai- the city that never sleeps. Mumbai- the city of the rich and the beautiful. Mumbai- the city of dreams. Mumbai- the city with the greatest poverty and grief. More than half of the population of Mumbai lives in poverty. It’s the city where the first sin of a poor child would be that it took birth in a poor family. The parents are punished by having an extra mouth to feed for being poor. In some places money flows like river water and in some places a person is killed over Rs.100. It is a city where the rich can get richer but the poor become poorer.

    Thus Sukhiram sat there ruminating, cursing his misery, cursing the society, cursing God. Rashmi came carrying two handis filled with water. When she passed him, an idea struck him. At first he was horrified with the thought but as time passed he felt that was the only way out of this wretchedness.

    In the evening Sukhiram visited a man. Though that man lived in a chawl he was rumoured to have lakhs of rupees in the bank. Sukhiram talked with him. They negotiated and finally Sukhiram left, satisfied.

    Sukhiram returned home inebriated. He called to his eldest daughter, “beti, see what I have bought for you.” He gave her a red dress having laces. She was thrilled to get a gift from father. “We will go out tomorrow and you have to wear it. Go now, go to sleep.”

    The next day Sukhiram got up early. Lines of worry streaked his face. He went and had a bath at the community well. He asked Rashmi also to bathe and become clean. He went to the nearby country liquor shop and returned after consuming some alcohol. He asked Rashmi to get ready to leave. When she returned wearing the red dress Sukhiram commented, “you look so beautiful, dear. Your hair is so thick and smooth. Now we shall leave.” Saying thus he held her hand and prepared to leave.

   At that time his wife asked in an apprehensive tone, “where are you going? Where are you taking her?” She blocked his way.

   “What have you got to do with it? Get aside,” said Sukhiram irritated.

   “Where are you taking my daughter?”

   “Get aside, randi,” said Sukhiram shoving his wife away.

   “Don’t take her. Please don’t take her,” pleaded the wife grabbing Rashmi’s hand. She was crying and begging desperately.

   “Chod use,” commanded Sukhiram and slapped her several times across the face. He even kicked her twice in the stomach. Then he grabbed Rashmi and dragged her away leaving his bruised and pleading wife behind. The younger sister and brother stood there standing wordlessly. They had seen this scene more number of times than they cared to imagine.

   Soon Sukhiram and Rashmi reached a two story building. Shady activities were supposed to be conducted here. Rashmi at once became fearful but clung to her father’s hand silently. Her father, her guardian, upon whom she put her complete trust. They were stopped at the entrance by a guard. Sukhiram said to the guard, “tell saab I have brought my daughter.” The guard went inside without acknowledging. He returned back after few moments and indicated him to go inside.

    He entered the building with Rashmi clutching his hand. They entered a room. Two men were seated on a sofa. One of them was sniggering and the other had a malicious smile. “come Sukhiram, sit down,” said the latter indicating to a chair. Sukhiram sat and Rashmi remained standing.

   “Why are you standing there? Come sit here,” said the other man indicating Rashmi to sit between them.

“jaao, Rashmi, daro mat,” instructed Sukhiram never raising his eyes.

   She went slowly with apprehensive steps and sat down between the two men. The first man placed his hand on her shoulder. A shudder passed through her body. The other man threw an envelope at Sukhiram’s feet. “There should be fifteen thousand as we agreed.” Sukhiram opened the envelope never raising his eyes. There were thirty crisp Rs.500 notes in it. “There are fifteen thousand,” said Sukhiram putting the envelope into his pocket.

   "Theek hai,” said the man and then asked Rashmi patting her head, “what is your name?”

   “Ra…Ra…Rashmi.”

   “What a sweet name! Just as sweet as you. You know you are very beautiful,” he said caressing her face.

   “What are you waiting for?” demanded the first man to Sukhiram. “You got your money. Now leave.”

   Sukhiram got up to leave with tears in his eyes. Rashmi called out scared, “baba, don’t leave me here. Baba…”

    “Leave quickly,” ordered the man. Rashmi tried to get up and run towards her father but the two men held her tightly. She called out for her father fear and betrayal in her voice.

    Sukhiram left the building. He could hear Rashmi pleading and crying to let her go. He went some distance and streams of tears started flowing down. He heard Rashmi call out ‘BABA’ in one anguished wail for the last time. It was as though Sukhiram could not sense his daughter’s voice calling out for help. Sukhiram put his hand into his pocket and felt the crisp Rs.500 notes against his fingers and they numbed his ears and killed the father in him. He had fifteen thousand now. He was finally richer. Now they would live better. A wry smile came across his face. His feet were taking him towards the country bar. Whether he went there to drown his shame or to celebrate being richer is a question which will remain unanswered.

The Girl in Maroon Kurta

I was coming home today on 123 (AC Bus) in the evening. I was reading the book, 'Unbearable Lightness of Being' by Milan Kundera, an awesome writer. His writing always inspires me to look at various incidents from different perspectives and also critically examine the most mundane actions.

Thus kunderised, I looked around the bus as my destination neared. I saw a pretty fair girl in of 23-24ish age wearing a maroon kurta get up from her seat and walk in an awkward and delicate gait towards the door. Let me christen her Kalika, beautiful and delicate like a flower bud. Now Kalika's gait was too careful and ungraceful. She did not walk properly to maintain her balance but walked awkwardly because she had braced herself for the eventuality that she may lose her balance. She went near the door and realized that the destination was a minute or two away. So she decided to plant herself in an empty seat nearby. A man was sitting opposite her seat and had spread his legs cozily across the floorboard. Kalika requested him to move his legs so that she may sit. He obliged. Kalika tried very hard to not touch the mans leg with her foot. She tried to maneuver herself into the seat in a very ungainly manner while her behind was continuously brushing against the seat handle. Thus seated she looked out of the window anxiously waiting for the bus to reach her destination.

I had to get down at the same stop as Kalika. On road she was sure footed as a leopard. She wore white cotton socks on her feet most likely to protect her feet from the dirt and dust. They were not the normal cotton socks we buy for wearing with shoes but ones specific to be worn with sandals. In a city like Mumbai, we learn to ignore fellow pedestrians and are only concerned about where we are going unless somebody blocks us. Now Kalika has not learnt this. She observed the direction in which every individual in her vicinity walked so as not to collide into them. She allowed people to cross her or go ahead, always maintaining no contact rule. What amazed me about Kalika was her total aversion to any kind of contact with a stranger.

Passion

“If there is no passion in your life, then have you really lived? Find your passion, whatever it may be. Become it, and let it become you and you will find great things happen FOR you, TO you and BECAUSE of you.”- T. Alan Armstrong

The above quote though lengthy encompasses the power of passion most succinctly and explicitly. The great leaders loved, adulated and idolized by the masses have attained their iconic status primarily due to their innate passion that drove and charged them towards attaining their goals. It so appears that the entire universe conspires to make them succeed. Unknown faces immortalize them by passing their sagas onto the next generation. The power of passion is so pervading that many a thousand men have laid down their lives proudly at the command of a passionate voice.

When I travel in a crowded bus or train (which is rare), I find that it is crowded with faceless men. You replace one face by another and the result you get is almost similar. The morning faces are listless. The after work faces are listless and tired. Mind you, tired of not labour but tired of dispassionate labour. Few passionate men at the helm of the companies oil these replaceable cogs of the of their dream machines with ‘salaries’. They endure eternal humiliation every day, these slaves of invisible bondage, stuffing themselves into packed public transport, chickens transported to be slaughtered, rubbing their bodies with other faceless to such an extent that their essence is indistinguishable among the multitudes others that have rubbed onto them. They work everyday doing the same thing as months earlier and expecting to do the same months later. Organic machines!

In contrast to these faceless men are the passionate people. Everyday is a new challenge. Everyday brings them closer to their goals. Everyday they possess the power to shape the lives of others. They enjoy what they do. They rise up everyday to face a new challenge and come back home with a satisfied fatigue of a job well done. Passionate people exude confidence, an aura surrounds them. They may have been involved in the same field for years but a casual talk about that field will elicit excitement.

The commonality among all successful and respected people is passion. Take any field and remember the first person's name that pops in your head. Cricket- Sachin Tendulkar, Music- A.R. Rehman, Leadership- Mahatma Gandhi, Entrepreneurship- Narayan Murty or Dhirubhai Ambani, Business- Ratan Tata, Astronaut- Kalpana Chawla or Sunita Williams, Painting- M.F. Hussain, the list is endless. All are renowned for great passion.

Most people have some skill or talent that is innate and emanates great passion for it. Each person should understand this skill and try to find ways in which it can be best used for self development. The driving force would be passion and result can be money and more importantly satisfaction. I believe, if everyone could find this one innate skill and work using this skill, this world can be a much happier place.

A quote: Leaders are created not by position but by passion.

Atonement

I was listening to Fade to Black by Metallica and for some reason felt morbid. That inspired me to pen this poem.

Life has been difficult for you,

You have been beaten a lot,

Darkness is all around you,

You feel you're nothing but a blot.

You hate any word of kindness,

Abuses give you false peace,

Drowned in misery and self hate,

You wish your life may cease.

Cut the wrist with a blade.

Sleeping pills will give you ultimate salvation.

Jump from a building high to the ground below.

Hanging will save you further damnation.

Your last and 'dying' wish granted,

You're saved from all the shame.

Deserved this you feel for your deeds,

Cleansed you feel is your muddied name.

You are saved from your sadness

But what about your own left behind?

Emptiness is filling their hearts,

Seeing your body, crying their eyes blind.

A Boring Lecture

Was inspired to write this poem while sitting in a physics class!

Half an hour to go,

The sadistic watch mocks,

Thirty minutes of painless torture,

Nine hundred more tick tocks.

Time comes to a halt

When the professor starts to teach.

His drone fills the room,

His monotonous sleepy speech.

His voice a brilliant lullaby

Induces sleep in one and all,

The pen stops and the eyelids droop

When the lecture proceeds in a crawl.

A select few listen to him

For the rest he's a buzzing mosquito.

What shall we not do or give

For him to stop and go.

Enduring this never-ending torture,

We enhance our skill of tolerance

For we have no say in this matter

But hope for his sweet disappearance.

We sit like mindless zombies,

His speech going into one ear,

Left unprocessed by the brain,

And quickly leaving through the other.

And when the lecture comes to an end

We are finally happy and free then

But our joy is short-lived

As the next day the class starts again.