Untitled :-)

Oh what would it be like to make love to you,
that flows with such feverish fervour.
What would I not give to lie under,
as every sensual wave hits me like a new awakening.

Every nerve, every atom of my very being comes alive,
just feeling your delicious softness over me, under me, through me.
Like an extension of my own pulling away,
or am I an extension of you?

No, wait! That’s just my mind playing tricks,
because you’re there, and yet, here I am.
I can’t help but be blown away by your force, passion, beauty, grace,
so soft that I can bend you at will — mine! So stolid that I can’t help but submit — yours!

The fire embers that fly and get lost in the wind — no, not fireflies that light up again, but the tiny flecks that escape the wooden fire —
are testimony to our symphonic overture.
The errant sparks give themselves to the universe after that orgasmic burst of a moment,
but the flame burns strong, bright.

That’s us.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
you to me and me to you.
But no one will ever know — our secret.

They will never understand your moan and my sigh,
your teasing playfulness and my longing gaze that consumes you into its very depths.
Pity. They’ll never know the fantastical spectacle that fire and water create.
They won’t because they’ll never care to see what lies under my downward shy eyes.

Sasi Restaurant, Kasol, Himachal Pradesh
18.45, 8.10.11

A different life

It’s a different life,
the one I dream of.
It’s like the rolling clouds over the verdant hills,
beautiful as they are, stark white across a clear blue sky,
still nothing but air to hold when I stretch out my hand.

It’s a different life,
the one I dream of.
It’s like the high from a joint, rolled up in a scroll.
The elusive bliss from the seamless nothingness beyond,
a neverending chase for the ethereal je ne sais quoi.

It’s a different life,
the one I dream of.
It’s the one born out of the reflection from my tears.
The thoughts unleashed like the walled river released from its bounds,
its gushing, rolling stream giving life to uncountable saplings on a desert plain.

It’s a different life,
the one I dream of.
It’s the walk on a wonderfully chilly winter morning.
Question is... is it the road that goes endlessly on, melting into the horizon
or is it the one that goes winding up to a doorstep... the doorstep I otherwise call home?

Sasi Restaurant, Kasol, Himachal Pradesh
14.30, 8.10.11

When is it enough?

I am not an activist. I am as lazy as they come. I like the finer things in life more than I like roughing it. I keep searching for a purpose in life and want to be part of something bigger, but as I said, I am too lazy. I have a lot of opinions...on things I know a little about and even on things I don’t know anything about. I will probably leave two people to fight things out between them, than interfere. I am not an activist. But I wore a black band for the first time in my life for two days—protesting the arrest/detainment of Anna Hazare. The black band was to protest the curbing of one’s right to protest, and not in support of Anna Hazare and the Jan Lokpal Bill.

On a recent Saturday, a combination of Anna Hazare recounting the freedom struggle on one of the reality music shows in the morning, followed by going for ‘Rise of the Apes’ in the afternoon left me pensive (and yes, I am aware of the unlikely combo). So…during a particularly unrealistic sequence when the apes were wreaking havoc on London while they fight for their freedom, my mind wandered back to Anna Hazare, his anecdotes from the freedom movement, the current state of governance, the rampant corruption, the general chaos in terms of the future, and I thought—when will it be enough?

Taking a stand
What will it take for me and all those like me—who are still living their regular lives with the India Against Corruption banter in the background—to get out of comfort of our daily routine and take a stand? And by taking a stand, I don’t mean shouting “Anna tum sangharsh karo, hum tumhare saath hain (Anna, continue your struggle. We’re with you)”. I mean taking an ACTIVE stand like those who are working and fasting with Anna Hazare. Now, to be honest, I am occasionally a sceptic and a cynic. Do I believe that everyone’s got an altruistic motive? No. Is everyone in the campaign clean? No. But I do think, like many others, that the sentiment that has been created by the protest is an immensely healthy change from our previous “chalta hai (everything goes)” attitude.

However, taking a stand doesn’t mean wearing Tricolour bandanas and wristbands and taking flags while you ride down the road at dangerous speeds, and blatantly flouting traffic rules. That’s just an insult to the concept of taking a stand.

In the two weeks since that Saturday, and a week since this “movement” started, I have been truly moved to take a stand once—when Anna and his supporters were “detained”. I didn’t do much. I’m not moved to great shows of protest easily, so I did what I still think is an elegant (and admittedly convenient) way to show my protest. I wore a black band on my arm from the time the arrests happened till the time the confirmation came that Anna will be leaving Tihar Jail. Then, to satisfy my curiosity and check out the Ramlila Maidan energy that I’ve been hearing so much about, I headed out there on Monday—Day 7 of Anna Hazare’s fast. (Check out the slide show if you’re interested in the images and my reactions to what I saw there, or click here.)

Ground check
To be honest, I wasn’t moved by any feeling of nationalism because of being there. But the marked change in the way people responded to each other did move me indeed. Considering the huge crowd, all the jostling, there wasn’t a single cross word, or impatient sigh, unintentional elbowing was followed by instant apology from both parties, elders were treated with utmost respect, people going out for a sip of water would return with several water packets for everyone (without being asked to!). THAT was what I loved. (What I didn’t love was the absolute filth outside the Maidan.)

What matters?
This post isn’t about discussing the merits or demerits of the Lokpal or Jan Lokpal bills, but about what moves us to react and how we react. Honestly, I think the movement wouldn’t have picked up this much momentum so soon had the government (or Delhi Police, if you’re buying the official story) not arrested Anna Hazare and Co. That’s where it hit people the hardest—when their right to protest/expression/dissent was under duress. They threatened to take away our voice and THAT was unacceptable. Plus, the Anna Hazare camp has appealed to reason rather than sentiment, which would explain the mass participation by the middle class and above.

Over the past week, the media has made it impossible to move past Anna Hazare. Is that a good thing? Maybe not. There are other things that are happening too, but it isn’t necessarily a bad thing either. This is an important movement and should be given its due. And considering our propensity to let the media guide our attention, at least there is no way our focus can waver at the moment.

Anna Hazare is the face of the movement, and not the movement itself. People are not on streets because of Anna Hazare. They are there because the issue he has raised has tapped into a groundswell of discontent that already existed among Indians irrespective of caste, creed, economic background…political and bureaucratic background might have been an exception though. As long as people realize that and remember it even after this frenzy of a movement is over, all this would have been worthwhile. The “Anna team” has to realize that blackmailing the government on the back of Anna Hazare’s failing health and the impending violence that might happen if something happens to him is not the right way. There HAS to be compromise on both fronts.

When it matters to me
But what of those of us who haven’t taken up the cause actively yet? I will and can speak only for myself. I don’t know. I know had Anna Hazare not been released, I would have been moved to take a more active stand than just wearing a black band. That’s because the government’s action threatened to affect ME. So basically, that’s what it boils down to… When it affects me. That’s when it will be enough.

That's probably why Irom Sharmila's protest against the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act isn't as popular as this one. Or Medha Patkar's (and don't roll your eyes at this) Narmada Bachao Andolan hasn't garnered consistent fervour of this kind. They are just not enough for me (or us?) to not care about my job and walk down Rajpath with a candle, shout out slogans, bug every official I can till my voice is heard. I am yet to reach my breaking point, which, in my opinion, is not exactly a good thing. I admire those who have gone out of their way to work for a cause bigger than their personal circles. It’s something I aspire to do, but there is time yet, I suppose.

A chance meeting with an unknown Indian

(Photograph courtesy Souveek Bhattacharjee)

Would you have ever thought of comparing Kumbhakaran, Ravana’s brother, with the late Walter Hudson, the fourth heaviest person in world (according to Wikipedia)? I would never have of thought of it, even as impolitic as it would be. But then, this guy did just that!

We wanted to take the bus, but decided to polish off our ice creams first. I hadn’t taken the bus in while and we had an hour to get back, so I didn’t mind. Around five buses, two ice creams and 20 minutes later, we rued letting the first two buses go, because not a single #73 came thereafter.

It was 12.45 on a hot March afternoon and I simply HAD to get to work by 1, so the moment I spied an auto, I ran towards it with reckless abandon—hailing and shouting on the way—much to the amusement of my colleague and the others at the bus stop.

The auto stopped. The driver said he would take us as long as we paid the exact change. I wasn’t going to argue. Hopping into the auto­­­­ I urged him to go as fast as he could. At the first roundabout, as we crossed Jantar Mantar Road the driver wondered aloud as to why someone would name a place Jantar Mantar…possibly something to do with black magic or voodoo? Asha ma’am, my colleague, and I exchanged a smile.

We tried explaining to the man that the name had actually come from Jantar or Yantra, the Hindi word for “machinery” and Mantar is usually another word for “formula”, but in this 18^th century monument by Sawai Jai Singh, the first maharaja of Rajasthan, it means “calculation”. So, in effect, the actual meaning of the term was polar opposite to his interpretation. When we told him that Jantar Mantar was actually a collection of different kinds of mammoth-sized sundials and an astronomical observatory of sorts, he rapidly nodded his head in understanding, saying he once had a teacher in Chhapra, Bihar, who had made two dhoop ghadis (sundials) from scratch. The teacher was apparently an award-winning geography teacher at a local school in Chhapra. The auto driver recalled how the class would spend hours telling the time and figuring out how the dhoop ghadi worked.

The conversation then led to local ways of telling time and other “calculations” in the absence of fancy machinery. He mentioned how his aunts and grandmother used to use the shadow of the hut’s roof to accurately determine the time of the day and I was reminded of the immensely hilarious scene in Satyajit Ray’s Goopi Gayne Bagha Bayne (1969), when Goopi wanted to sing a morning raga but was unsure of the time, so the village head held forth his walking stick saying that till its shadow doesn’t fall on the stone lying on the road, it was still morning. This got us talking about Indian mythology and how Vidur’s running commentary of the Kurukshetra War to Dhritrashtra is similar to the modern-day satellite system (yes, all those who sat through my hour-long presentation in college, stop rolling your eyes!); similarities between the characters in our epics and those who exist now. The gentleman mentioned reading about Walter Hudson in school, who was “the heaviest man” in the world at the time, and how that’s similar to the giant rakshasas in epics, like Ravana’s brother Kumbhakaran. “People who eat and drink several quintals of food are quite like those rakshasas, hai na?” he asked us. Hmmm… a fair assessment. The driver went on about his teacher and what all he learnt for a few more minutes.

Curious about how he knew and remembered all this, we asked him about his schooling. I half expected him to say he’d studied all the way through to college, but couldn’t find work. Turned out, he had just studied till class 10. After a little more prodding, he continued with his life story. He said that after giving his 10^th Board exams, his family wanted to him to get married. Unable to argue with the elders, he reluctantly gave in, on one condition, that his future wife be allowed to study. The family grudgingly agreed, he told us, adding, they hadn’t expected him to follow through with his decision.

With a wife to support, the driver started working in the field. All the while making sure she got ample money and time for her studies. When the income proved insufficient and his wife had finished school, they packed their bags and came to Delhi. He started work as a labourer; saved as much as he could, and added to his earlier savings, he was soon able to buy an autorikshaw. Meanwhile, staying true to his resolve to educate his wife, he made sure she finished her BA Pass degree, followed by a master’s in history and finally a B.Ed. She is now teaching history at a Kendriya Vidyalaya in north Delhi. He has a 20-something son who is doing his master’s in English from Delhi University and is working as a translator for various publications. He had done his bachelor’s from one of the top DU colleges {I forget which, I’m sorry :-(}. His daughter is currently in her second year of Chemisty (Hons.) at the Banaras Hindu University.

As he drove into Kasturba Gandhi Marg, our destination, he quoted, or at least what I remember he quoted, Gandhi: “As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world… as in being able to remake ourselves.” He couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate quote, adding: My kids and wife now tell me to rest at home and let them take over the finances, but I just tell them that as long as I am able, I want to work and fend for myself. I am not hurting anyone, I don’t cheat anyone by driving an auto. I will work till I can. What’s the use of sitting and doing nothing? That’s the root of all that’s wrong.

As we stared (and gaped) admiringly at the auto zoom ahead, it struck us both: “We should have at least asked his name”.

The little red box

The warm, sunny porch

The little jute mora

The butter-smattered roti and dal-mut

And a line-up of chhoras

The school gong would ring

The wrought-iron gates would open

The second door with the jaali manoeuvre

The CFL “laser gun” bulb above, like a modern-day totem

The recliner with the extended table

Newspapers everywhere

The garden outside

Each plant brought up with tender, love and care

The jewellery box on the shelf

The bejewelled comb, slipping through silken hair

The tinkling earrings, the clinking bangles

All come to life, even out of thin air

The starched cotton sari, so unbelievably soft to touch

The voice full of warmth, love and laughter bubbling over

Head on your lap—home so close to home

Especially with the stern, disapproving looks when a line was crossed over

Schoolbag in one corner, Pishi on the diwan

Moshai reading the paper, seated on a cane chair

Go straight, turn right, into the bedroom and on the table

Lies my little red cardboard box—always kept there

The photos in it? I have my own version now

The eyes close often, a drop of tear with a small smile appears

Because in my special little red box, my heart

You know you’ll always be there.

Reba Vidyarthi (2 February 1928-10 February 2011)

The Indian BRO Code!

So, you really thought that the Bro Code was the brainchild of the evil genius that is Barney Stinson?

Hah!

If you haven’t been zipping (read slowly and carefully driving) across those narrow, but awesomely laid out Indian border roads, then not only have you been missing out on some breathtaking scenery, but you’ve also haven’t had the extreme pleasure of being privy to the uber-funny, completely authentic, Indian BRO Code!

BRO, my dear sisters and their cousins (why cousins? you ask. Well that’s because the Bro Code says: If a girl falls into the following criteria, she is off limits forever until the end of time: A. Was an ex-girlfriend; B. Your friend specifically told you he wanted her; C. Is your buddy’s sister (However, if it’s your buddy’s cousin, well she’s up for grabs, and you’re welcome to rub it in his face for years to come) and I choose option C! Hee hee), in the Indian context, is short for Border Roads Organization. These are the people who, along with other organizations such as Himank in Ladakh and Setuk in the North East, build roads where mere mortals otherwise fear to tread.

And altitude obviously does a lot of good for the funny bone, because other than the usual tragi-comedy that our bureaucracy makes us live through every day, the Indian BROs rely on their, and our, sense of humour to save lives (oh yes, the whole “Speed thrills but kills” type of one-liners are soooo blah!) So, if you’re driving through the towering Himalayas, the chilling breeze blowing through your hair, nature’s finest offering laid out all around you, it’s very easy to miss out on those boring, good-for-you signages that tell you to temper your speed or keep your eyes on the road. But when that sexy, curvy, sensuous road tells you to be gentle... you sit up and notice! After all, which man can be impervious to a plea that says: I AM CURVACEOUS, PLEASE BE GENTLE. Or the sensuous whisper of that yellow slab of stone from across the road softly and sans serif-ly saying: BE SOFT ON MY CURVES. And if that didn’t have enough oomph, maybe you’d comply to this request: Be gentle on my curves. You prefer some soft music to set the mood? Big BRO knows—CURVES ARE BLIND AND SHARP, DRIVE YOUR VEHICLE LIKE PLAYING THE HARP. Doesn’t that get your...ummm....mind(?)...singing? :-P And for a long-lasting performance, it’s always good to: On my curves, check your nerves.

Heck, sometimes it takes a while to get on the same bed...oops... page as them, after all, if someone tells you: DARLING, I LIKE YOU, BUT NOT SO FAST, you’re hardly ever likely to believe ‘em! But then, Peep peep, don’t sleep, is pretty sound advice no matter where you are or who you’re with, correct? But it’s not all about the men. Female drivers might appreciate signs such as: Clean and tall, liked by all and Himank—Mighty One, Eighty One.

And not to worry, if you think this code from the Land of the Kamasutra is only about raunchiness, you couldn’t be more wrong. These BROs have a spiritual angle to things as well—Love thy neighbour, but not while driving—is a fair representative of the Ten Commandments methinks, and even the fallen angel’s territory has proper representation too: Drive like hell, and you will be there. Won’t Yamraj love such publicity!

Modern-day problems don’t escape the notice of these brilliant brothers of mine. So, with divorce rates going up with every passing day, the Indian BRO Code does its bit to add to the numbers with this piece of advice: If married, divorce speed. But if you’re a family man, the next line is definitely for you: Alert driving on the road, fetches you tea at home.

In fact, the BROs know my clinomaniac generation really well. Why else would they say: If you sleep, your family will weep? My parents wholly sympathized with this particular road sign! Sigh! I, on the other hand, was rather kicked by their version of a haiku:

A spill,

a slip,

a hospital trip.

Pretty neat, don’t ya think? (This next one goes: TRAFFIC JAM. YELLOW TAPE. PARENT CRYING. Profound!)

So, well, here I was the year before last, all kicked and excited about this “new” discovery, when I was speaking to this guy about my experiences in Ladakh, and how “I had found” all these funny road signs and was thinking of compiling them and doing a story on them. The guy I was speaking to, as he whipped out his card to inform me, was Ajay Jain of Kunzum.com! For those who don’t know him, click on the link, and for those who do, well, you now know why the encounter made it to No. 13 of my list of “Million-dollar moments of my life”.

But then, I wanted to write about it all the same, and I did... two years later! And that’s what you kind souls have been reading. But that’s not enough...you need to see these beauts for yourself. So, Don’t be a gama, in the land of lamas, and get out there and appreciate the funnier aspects of those beautiful, long drives. I’ll see you on the road. It’s going to be legen...wait for it...dary!

For the moment, here are some more gems to keep you entertained:

-- Don’t gossip, let him drive. (yes, yes, they’re a tad bit sexist too! Hmph!)

-- I am sharp as a knife. It’s a cute life.

-- Life is short, don’t make it shorter.

-- Speed is like a knife, it cuts through life.

-- Daydreaming is good, but not while driving.

-- Ladakh gives a lot of pleasure, but only if enjoyed at leisure.

-- Gadi chalaane ka showk farmaaiiye, shoke nahin.

-- Know AIDS, no AIDS.

-- Lower your gear, curve is near.

-- This is a highway, not a runway.

-- Mountains are a lot of pleasure, but only if you drive at leisure.

-- After whisky, driving is risky.

-- Be Mr Late, not Late Mr.

-- Drink and drive, you won’t survive.

-- Alert today, alive tomorrow.

-- Drive on horse power, not rum power.

And last, but not the least: BRO: We can make roads anywhere but the sky.

I hear ya Brother!!!