Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
This is a Kanyakumari that many wouldn't have seen, captured through my cam's lenses. For many, the idea of Cape Comorin, is the tip of peninsular India and the trinity of seas that they come to see and get to see and are happy and content-so let them be. This perspective on the other hand, is one amongst the many hidden treasures that only the natives know of. Hidden to ensure that the impact of tourism-plastic dumping, spitting, urinating, shitting and behaving like it is a no-man's land-is avoided. Let this be a place a few can call their home nevertheless it becomes everyone's brothel.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
So this blog has reached 200 posts! 200 days or more of writing-some thoughtful, some from thoughtless thoughts and everything in the course of a life that was moving parallel to what I write. There have been many times when what I wrote influenced the way I live and vice versa. From just a handful of readers for a very long time during the initial days, I was determined to welcome people into my blog-space and did manage to, if not by leaps and bounds atleast a bit... today it does feel good that my blog has been visited over 17, 000 jolly good times.
There are things I have wished for yet have never routed for as well... like any other blogger, I too wish that there would be more people who would leave a comment, even if not a decent one atleast a deliberate one, just to show that they were here and did read and do reflect. I have also wished that there would be more members who would join the blog, just to feel that courage of added strength. People around do pour more energy into what one writes and I thank those who provide me with that synergy and wish that there was more on its way.
There have been trials and tribulations that I too have like anyone else, and it is often this blog that comes to my rescue during trying times. This is more like a space where I can share, learn, change. Writing, I do believe is like the magicians cap, only when you put something in can you pull something out later; as a strong believer of that, visiting fellow bloggers who are quite eloquent, expressive and intelligently brilliant often has humbled me while going through the quality of their writing and the extent of their detailing, poly-dynamic views and abundance of readers and supporters which does push me to recheck my boundaries and write better. Language, communication, knowledge and the mode of expression if well chosen, can reach the sensitive part of the soul and knock to be heard, to let know of issues that are often hid in the rubbles of destruction of the voiceless, hopeless and less-looked-upon fellow human beings. The "utopia" is often considered a farce; something that only dreamers can dream of; the impossible. So should we rest all faith and settle with the mediocre?! The "ideal" is often a fantasy; a fantasy that follows us like a shadow in the reality we live in-the tall and short of it. The epicenter of the balance between reality and fantasy rests a lot on others around us who push, pull or stop us. Being able to write freely sans restraint and censorship is a blessing in today's world. Though some dogs do bark at what they are scared to face.
Intelligence, like before, is not a rare, restricted and a personal entity of the powerful alone either. Intelligence on the other hand has become a necessity for survival... and along came our need to be cunning, manipulative and twisted as well. Everyone's need his very own. So in the light of all these, my blog has reached 200. I am glad and I am happy. This is a jolly good time that I may very well use to say "Thank You All" for making this happen and your support did make it worthwhile to be in this spectrum. Thanks once again.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
These days, I see elders dying alone. Day by day, day after day, children seeded by them, nurtured by them, tolerated by them and for whom there is always a prayer in auto-mode in their lips, leave them/ditch them/let them die in pretext of their wives who hardly know the difference between a regular donut and a gourmet one, who device those devious plans to keep their slave of a husband as far as possible for reasons they creepingly whisper which seems to justify their actions, in an attempt to save themselves from guilt. The self obsessed, selfish, characterless world of their middle-aged male counterparts, is so damn busy that it has "no time" to think about neither the old nor the just borns. It is during trying times do we get to understand who people are or rather whether people are even remotely humane. “What is the point?!” I wonder. This is a land where we have faith in the karma. What goes up, comes down and what goes around, comes around. I marvel at these glorious, remotely female species that not only trigger yet also provide maximum support to these ill-actions of their partner so proactively; these creatures who can flash that fake smile, before, during and after the stabbing at the dying. From where do these creatures emerge?! I wonder. Why do these cockroaches still crawl?! I wonder.
One of my grand uncles, a doctor, recently died under pitiable circumstances, ironically denied medical care and incidentally has children, children-in laws and grand children who are doctors too. What a predicament! Every single person expected to take care of this man, those who were busy before his death and expected to be understood and excused from their duties of taking care of this old, sick man, found time to come together for a family get together over his dead body and discuss in leisure how the property he left behind was to be split between themselves. Hurray! I truly applaud a genius in the crowd, one of the dead man’s nephew, another doctor, whose finger waved in free air, pointing at people who erred and who got his tongue wagging, condemning and criticizing those he claimed had erred.
Well, as sweet stories of all Judas Iscariots go, this genius from the crowd has a father too, a doctor too, and right now, he is in his death bed too. Where is this little boy who looks after the sheep? He is in
London to serve
the queen. He chose to ignore his folks, beckoned to his woman’s call, found
that his son’s life was better off in the “cultured” white man’s land that he
boasts of and shoo he flew. He will be back to bury the dead too and will
definitely carry an excuse too.
It is usually said that only in a death house must people leave without saying bye-byes lest it sounds “We shall be back for more.” It is also said that when a child is born, the “human beings” in the house do not leave the house for 11 days. This is usually to keep people intact to take care of the crucial, initial days of a new born with more hands to help the recovering mother and child. It is also expected that children do not leave parents-especially those old, sickly and vulnerable ones-alone. I wondered where I was a few days ago when my just born was brought to a brick-mortar-sand structure called home where events of some unmentionable nature took place along with unsaid goodbyes. An unforgivable and forgettable episode and people. To cut the long story short, at times when families come together, some decide to separate.
At the end of the day, I remember telling one of my grandaunts who felt that she was too big to relate to the world that if she would remember that it takes “atleast” 4 people to carry her out when her D-day comes, lest she rots, she would try to be nice to atleast 4. In normal course of life, I would have preferred to spit at the sight of these filthy, stinky, walking human excreta yet recently the Good Book taught me not to curse people who hurt you… rather pray for they that do evil to turn good, that they realize how bad they have been and what bad they have done and have a chance to change for good. I pray.
For the past few months, I have been trying to gear down and have a grip over life; nevertheless, eventually, life seems to have its grip over me. Seemingly said words of encouragement mean nothing at times of despair. Everyone bothered within their own circle have no ears to listen to others who wail at the outside; ‘self obsession’ seems to be the nomenclature. Though not to be blamed. Everyone’s need his own; seldom does another know nor does bother to the pains of another. Everyone’s burden his own to carry.
A friend of mine tries to find a job to feed his family yet won’t let go his need to impress others and deliberates himself into hopeless, compulsive spending in the name of rituals-just to show the world that he too shares a part in this endless drama. How long?! I wonder.
Another friend, a mother of two, who lost her husband recently, likes to be buried in troubles that came along with the death and finds herself oft in loathsome misery trying to fight living ghosts in courtrooms over properties that are said to be rightfully hers. Till when?! I wonder.
Then there is this girl my cousin cheated succumbing to parental pressure, hoping to be their “laadla” forever and ever, after giving her high hopes of a nuptial knot. Hobson’s choice, you see, is one strange thing and the more idiotic you are, the easier the choice. And as most stories of these nuptial knots go, this too seems to be a Gordian knot that seems to have spun a hangman’s noose around this girl’s neck as the blunt impact of the episode seems only too visible with her every move ever since. On the other hand, the boy seems to be working longer hours to hide from this guilt (good for the company he works for) as his folks and his ever-loving sister (the actual spoil sport in this whole episode) once again try to engage themselves in a fake bridal hunt for one more victim. “Hey girls and parents of girls, who have advertised your kick-outs in matrimonial, watch out! The big bad wolves are here and your little red riding hoods may be taken for a ride too.” How many more like this?! I wonder.
Then comes my own story… clueless and waiting for a confirmation that seems to be the end of the road to an interview process that started on the 25th of May’ 2012. Turn after turn of interviews and reference checks to see if this stranger is trust worthy and round after round of excruciating waiting till this point of time. Finally was called in to join on the 31st of last month (August’ 2012) only to be informed that the waiting needs to be extended. By this time foolish me, wound up all work at hand, shifted family and even started moving things from home to the promising wonderland to report to work when beckoned. We even had our second child in the meantime. Nothing was enjoyable as everything seems to be resting on this new found hope of a job. Now, 6 eyes stare blank at me with hope, probably trust, most probably faith as I squat like a useless, good-for-nothing, dying dog unable to face those stares and find myself staring as well into the open heavens with blind faith-my very own. The only possible mistake I have done is follow the lead and make myself available like a loyal woof. Every bit of delay and every day of waiting seems like a life time to me. It is almost like tying a noose around my neck to a newly planted tree, watering it and waiting for it to grow. Do those in the organization even know what I am going through? Most probably “No.” For them I am on the outside circle and they probably have issues their very own.
With problems my very own, how do I even find the energy, sensitivity and empathy required to feel the suffering of others in a circle outside my own? My burden by itself is too heavy for me to carry and my burden is my own to carry… now how can one expect me to carry their burdens too? Not at this moment atleast.
Sometimes I wonder too if people can be as insensitive and ruthless with the lives of others involved and everything and anything they do in the name of survival be accepted as justified?! May be so. After all every man knows best, the lessons he has learnt to do what he does, no matter how much it bothers the ones watching silently in astound surprise from the outside circle. C’est la vie and so are its people.