My DADDY Strongest....

Da, daddu, dada, dad....you are my strongest
Dad (daddu) never drives a car, he has always been scared about being at the drivers seat. His legs freeze when he has his hands on the steering wheel. So...he never drove a car or atleast I haven't been passenger to a drive by Da. In the 15 years I spent in Oman, Dad always preffered to hire his company driver to take him to work and back...he also developed strong bonds with them (as he admired the courage of those who managed to move a car by its wheels). At time his friendship with his office drivers were really useful as very often they took us shopping, dropped us to picnic spots or otherwise just took us on an errand.
But Da was firm....he said he would never drive and he didn't. He was not weak or scared...his weakness actually came from his strength...his family. He loves us and he personally did not want to drive the streets of Oman as he believed that the smallest of accidents on the streets could get his family in a no-no situation in a strange land.

Actually da is different. I cannot compare him to other dads (because everone has a best dad too)but he is minea and i cannot ask for anyone better. Keeping me happy has been dads past time hobby. I am his jaan cum jaanu and i do get a little uncomfortable when people try calling me the name that i feel only dad has the right call me with. Well, earlier when i was a fat, round obese little piggy...da would call me batati or battu (meaning potato -batata). Again, no one would dare call me that...i would burst into tears feeling hurt and laughed at because of my appearance. But da...he could do anything and just get away with it.

I remember when i scored great results in my Xth...i had been in Mumbai for my college admission while da and ma were back in Oman. Later, Ma told me how excited daddu was when he heard about my results. We use to stay on the 4th floor and on that particular day the building lift had gone for a tizzy. Dad had done some four five rounds up down the building just to share his excitement with neighbours and call me and family outside from the ISD booth which was a kilometre away. He bought peda boxes and distributed it to his colleagues not even half- thinking about whether it fit his budget.

Then i remember my first offical interview at DNA in April 2007....six of us from college were called for the job....all came alone except for me. Da again came with me as i did not know the directions to the office well (again i have poor navigational skills -- gee i can never give directions). The interiviewer called us in for the first round which was followed by the second. The ordeal lasted for over 3 hours. All that time, daddu waited below the building (not even at the reception - so that i wouldnt feel out of place with da around). He waited patiently....I got the job.....he was elated. He had a tear in his eye. He earned it....
Love you so much dad,  wish i could be there in Oman for your 50th b'day. You are my strongest man, the first and the last i'd ask. My first love .....My daddu........

WAITING

Two people wait endlessly for hours at a bus stop. Both are unperturbed by the heavy downpour, and stay silent for long until they find an answer to their trouble in each other…

Carelessly I got down the bus, with half-expectations from what I did and where I was going. I feel like a loose shelf, ever ready to fall with the burden of things upon me.
As soon as I get down the bus pulls away. I cross the road towards another bus stop I see in the opposite direction, to take a bus back home. I do it every Sunday; it helps me kill my boredom. I get up at eight in the morning, have my breakfast and incessantly move out of my one bedroom apartment for a long bus ride from home to an incoherent destination and back. It thrills me.

They think I am crazy because I try to find happiness in the smallest pleasures of life. Now, I wish to stay away from them, I love the way I am but they always try and find flaws in my life.
They tell me that there is a void in my life, my eyes look empty to them…I hate it when they say it.
Why? Only because I am a 38 years old spinster. What if I never had a companion? Was it wrong if I snubbed every man who approached me?

‘No,’ you are not normal, they say, they, who claim to be my friends. Actually, they loathe my status, they are trying to force their sadness upon me….burden me further, make me fall before I could try and sit.
I already feel heavy; I do not want more, is all I can argue.

Well, somewhere they know I am vacant like my fishbowl without water, they have seen me draw two tea cups every morning and drink both leaving none so as to satiate the hollow in my life. They are angered when I pick up my receiver and talk, only to hear myself. They tell me that my ear drums ring an unhappy and lonesome calling. I have no family, nobody to call a father, no mother, siblings though living, died years ago for me. If I have someone it is only my friends, but they do not seem to understand me very well now. They have begun to jeer at me and I am not enjoying it.

I am waiting at the stop, like a lost traveller. It has just started raining; the drops are slowly raging becoming forceful with the tick of every second. The drops hit my senses, I realise the need to come back to the present.
I push open my umbrella, it unfurls its rainbow colours, and my head feels colourful with the reflection. Now I suddenly feel pleasant. The road is empty as nobody really finds the need to be on the street early on a Sunday morning, ceaselessly waiting for a bus.
The rain is getting heavier, I am drenched completely, it is past half an hour but I cannot see a motor pass by. The emptiness of the street slowly begins to creep into the vacant heart of mine. Tears begin to roll down my eyes, but I cannot see my tears , the rains try hard to wash it along with them….but my senses allow me to decipher the salinity of my tears and the sweetness of rain water. I know I am crying but nobody can see me crying, even not him.

Oh! I didn’t realize, there is a young man standing besides me, his yellow raincoat covers him and he is the only person I see on the road. It looks like he is also waiting for a bus. Though I am waiting I really do not know whether my reason will give me satisfaction.
Another fifteen minutes move by, with only two of us on the street I still see no sign of a bus. As time passes his restlessness grows. I think he wants to go somewhere urgently. He looks at me every few seconds, trying to find means to approach me, though he seems a little hesitant, I know he will, any moment.

I can see him come closer to me. His face looks pale, troubled and anxious. I try and distance myself but it becomes impossible since he is trying to strike a conversation, but I don’t really want to talk to anyone. I want to be left by myself but he comes closer.
“If you do not mind, can I ask where you are heading for?” he asks hesitantly.
“Why?” I ask angrily, as if he were intruding my comfort zone.
“Actually, I don’t think heavy rain like this will permit moving of buses, we could hire a taxi instead. It would be cheaper if we shared one.”

“I am not interested? I prefer waiting.” I said rudely.
He turned back, after giving me a go-to-hell stare and said, “Sorry, if I have to say this, but you were very rude, I was just trying to be kind to you.”
Realising I was in the wrong, I apologized for my behaviour. He then moved away from me and sat on the railing, still waiting. Another half an hour passed by, I couldn’t see a bus yet. He was still waiting for a bus, I felt bad, I shouldn’t have been so impolite.

“I think you should take a cab and leave, you are getting soaked out here,” I suggest.
“Oh! Its ok, I prefer the bus, lets see how long it takes, it should be there…in a few moments right. If I have waited so long, why not a few more hours.” he replied sarcastically.
The rain splashed endlessly, my rainbow umbrella did not help much, and neither did his yellow raincoat.
In actuality, we were bathing under a cold shower for hours. The tap didn’t shut and I don’t think we wanted it to either. It helped me loosen the aching knots within me, but I failed to understand how it was helping him.

“You seem to be disturbed,” he said as if reading my mind.
I wanted to give back to him once again, for intruding my privacy. But I stayed calm and replied only few minutes later. “I love getting drenched in the rain; it makes me feel better. Otherwise, only the foolish would wait for hours like this. Does that answer your question?”

“Got it! You are counting time and your loneliness is disturbing you. Isn’t it?” he quipped with a smirk. Unintentionally, he got the hint.

“Yes, it kills me everyday, I hate to say it but this is how I stay alive,” I said half-brooding, trying to sense self –pity. I had opened myself to a person I knew only for few hours or so. I became a little conscious and tried keeping shut. But somehow, I wanted to pour myself. “My friends tell me that I live a life of a recluse, I hate them for this. They never reciprocate when I want them to.”

“Ok, go on,” he said, his ear consuming every word that hit his drums, appreciating my fears without sympathy. “Can I know who your friends are? I mean…if you really don’t mind mentioning those pig-heads who keep on saying this to you?”

“Yes of course, those pig-heads are my sheets, my sofa, the pillows where I lay, my house keys, my chair, my table….”

He interrupted suddenly. “I think we need to talk about this at a coffee table. You mind a hot cup of coffee….the weather also seems perfect. And my car just stands bang opposite this stop. We could hitch to the nearest outlet…that’s if you…”

“I don’t mind, I want to talk,” I said shocked yet not discomfited with what he said. He had a car, then what forced him to wait. Where did he want to go? Questions cropped, but he had listened to me and I couldn’t have asked better. I walked along with him to his car.

That day had been alleviating, I found a friend, a human, now my lifeless friends had nothing to laugh at me about.
We only spoke for few months, until Leukemia drew us apart. He died, I knew he was going to die, no one knew about it though. He needed to talk, so did I. We found relief in each other. He was a companion whose presence made a big difference to my inanimate life. His death didn’t kill me; it gave me a reason to live, a reason to understand souls like me. Now I am not alone…I am at peace. My friends don’t see me cry anymore, his memories are enough to re-live what I lost.

Epilogue

Kaheen mere aasuon ne mujhe dhoka de diya,
Raah main chalte chalte mera saath chod liya,
Baithi hoon main tanha, kisi ke yaadon main ghum hoon kahin,
Lekin ajib hain haseen aa rahi hain, aasun nahin,
Shaayad in aasuon ko un lamho ne kaid kar liya…

Failed and flawed religious Glory

It is a very disturbing fact...most of us cannot see beyond religion. It is an argument where i have perenially failed in voicing my opnion among a bunch of unrelenting and 'never going to be convinced individuals.'
It is also disturbing to see how biased we are about people from other religions. We fail to see that we share a common culture that which can be traced to our struggle for independence..where we fought as Indians and not Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs or Christians.

It also worries me to see that people have become so violent and so sensitive about faith that they overlook the defeaning cry of their fellow human. Religious hooliganism has crossed boundaries of humanity...and the impact is scary.
Surprisingly, we all have our prejudices about the 'typical hindu/muslim/christian'...we do not realise that they are after all people who are very much a part of the common thread that we share which ultimately goes into building a strong nation.

Today, I was reading a front page story on the Bilkis Banu case.

Fourteen of her relatives were murdered by a bunch of sick 'hindutva fundamentalists' during the Godhra riots of 2002. Banu who was 8 months pregnant then was gangrapped by these men and her 3 year old son was smashed to death. It is a crime...it is the most disturbing and inhuman story i heard of in recent times. Even thinking of it gives me goose pimples.....the only thought that comes to me is 'Why did they do it?' And the only definite answer i can draw is that they were muslims...that is why?? Those Hindutvas believed that each of those innocent muslims deserved death....BUT WHY??

Only because 50 karsevaks were burned in a train at Godhra station...was that a ticket to commit Mass murder in the name of religion. Political hypocrisy has existed far too long...and my blood boils when i read stories of my innocent fellow country men who are victimised for someone elses crime...only because they belong to the same religion. It pinches me to learn that the leader of the same state who takes an oath to protect citizens commits mass genocide and still gets away with it because of the support of the majority...

Further, the accused in Bilkis Banu's case have been given life imprisonment as the judge termed it as not being 'the rarest of rare' and so the accused couldnt be sent to the gallows (death sentence).
Godhra happened in 2002, i was young then,it is 2008 and people havent yet recieved justice...our system is flawed, her pain is fresh and i personally believe that Justice delayed is justice denied.

Even the Sikh riots of 1984 (after the assasination of Indira Gandhi) is shockingly dismaying. Scores of sikhs were burned/beaten to death and many women raped only because the assasinators of Indira Gandhi were Sikhs. It was a Hindu backlash of sorts to teach the community of the perpetrators a lesson.
Male members of Sikh community were taken out, "were beaten first and then burnt alive in a systematic manner. In some cases tyres were put around their neck and then petrol was poured on them. In some cases white inflammable powder was thrown on them, which immediately caught fire. This was common pattern followed. The shops were identified and looted and then burnt."
To top it all Rajiv Gandhi (her son) on being asked what the government was doing to control the riots, very insensitively commented, "When a tree falls (Indira Gandhi..he meant) the tremors would be felt."

Such political insensitivity has destroyed foolish religious minds. I am still hoping to see a day when we would see each other as self made Indians than religious entities. What makes 'people' is not their 'religion'....we need to understand that and learn....But when?

Are we Indians so suseptible to religious instigation and political exploitation...I think our own GODS are too embarrased too answer for our shameful deeds

GENERATION GAP(e)

What is with the generation? The gap between the young and old seems to be large...wider than the length of a nine yard saree, and this distance is probably too long for people from both generations to reach the other.
The Gen X and the Gen Y phenomenon have so rapidly caught the craze of its inheritors that they no longer feel the need to be inherited by anyone. They are individuals identical by birth but very much in search of their own identity.
Differences between generations are usually bound by cultural and societal upbringing and this gap is only a stark assertion of the variants in their experiences, opinions, habits and behaviour.

For instance,
When mom says, you are not to receive calls from any of your guy friends after 12 in the night, you retaliate because you feel that ‘women’ (apparently your mother) is still living in an old mesh and you wish you could get her out of it but ignore it as a gap between two similar (in body) but different intellectuals (in mind).

When you believe in partying hard with the shortest of clothes or literally living off...the purse strings you have been pulling...you hate the grandmother questioning which comes from older relatives. They are old; frustrated pig heads… is what you triumphantly preach.

When Dad advices his young lad to ride his bike slow, this ‘I am crazy about bikes' dude wonders whether the ‘Gods were really crazy’ when they sent his unadventurous dad down on earth....He doesn't have a sense of adventure…Poor him (you feel).

And while you are busy buzzing your girl friend or showering her with unnecessary ‘whats up babes/darling/ sweetheart’ smses, your mother prepares a delicacy for your father...and reveals her anxiety about treating him to a great meal.
You begin to smirk and wonder...when will they learn that in the world of technology, the stomach has no say....it is just the efficacy of the speed in your hands that manages to impress and not the food.

The youth prefer living on modern junked junk of burgers, pizzas and variants of KFCs, McDs but they hate roti, sabzi and daal...and feel it is all so traditional...and again begin to cringe about the huge generation gap.

But if you are still gaping for bigger gaps, we need to look far beyond our borders and water bodies….more than a Generation Gap we suffer from a “Cross-Continental GAP.”

Most of us today are a bunch of trying and dying hard 'wannabes'. The culture in the west has charmed us so much, that our own values go for a toss...and when the oldies try to have a say…we impinge calling it a Generation gap.
Today these visible differences can be rooted to our desire to imitate a culture that was never propagated by our forefathers but always considered elitist for a reason we do not know.

So while the old may prefer listening to ‘Pandit Ravi Shankar’, country music or ghazal maestros like ‘Pankaj Udhas’ or ‘Jagjit Singh’; we laugh at their stupidity for ignoring bollywood mish-mash, bootilicious Beyonce, belly shaking Shakira, hard rock or all that Hip-hop jazz. Where is the Generation-next heading then? Is this huge gap because of education or an impact of the west?

It is best though, to accept the differences and move on…rather than pondering about where and how the gap widened in the first place?

Today, the gap exists in the ever-present orthodox nature of the old and the young are just trying to stem out from these traditional beliefs…Some of them also call it the hypocrisy of the old while some feel ‘what is past is past’ and there is a need for change.

Inter-religious/caste marriages in India are the most obvious examples. While generations that preceded us believed that such marriages would never work, the generation today is trying hard to prove them wrong. Some are half-successful while some are basking in their triumphant success of proving their elders wrong.

The gap is widening, but slowly there is also a sense of acceptance which is coming way…though we cannot cut ourselves completely from the main stem, the branch is now learning how to bloom without the help of the stem.
To breakaway would mean that one generation just does not want to be a part of the other and finally decides to split. So for now we need to enjoy the gap…because with all the confrontations, arguments… what comes out is a person who is a confluence of Both.

What India....what PRIDE?

There i go again...i say something i barely expect you to understand. My INDIA...my pride, it is a fruitless attempt of making me feel Indian everytime.

My pride stems from the most improbable feat....
Yipee!India won the 20-20 world cup,
Horrible!! they treat my India like a piece of junk abroad, OR
Gosh!!!my fellow Indian was victim to racial slurs; she was called an 'Indian' in a popular game show.

Sometimes, me and my Indianess force me to protest...I run down the closest street and amidst media glare; burst crackers or bombs, or burn or hail effigies of the most likely brain diggers who re-ignited that indianess in me (Be it team-Australia, be it Jade Goody, or be it Dhoni's Team India or Indian doctor Haneef)

Particpating in media activism...I send spades of smses to the money making media, believing that my Yes or No sms would make an impact on my countries pride (which is highly unlikely).
I dont mind sitting home and sending a Rs.6 sms to add a 0.00001 difference to the media polls early next morning. ....but yes i am still making that small difference...so i heed no answers to anybody.
I wish to stand behind the reporter who talks passionately infront of the camera speaking about the hue and cry i make when my fellow Indian is disturbed abroad. I signal from behind waving a hand to the camera...or looking at it in the eye...just to show that i exist...(I am whole, i am Indian..look at me...i have a voice...listen to me).
I speak to the journalist on the channels mike saying "I am unhappy with the treatment meted out to them....this is unfair and i am ready to kill."

I believe my opinion will make a difference...my voice will ring an alarming cry and people will realise the consequence of hurting an Indian's pride.

Now i am satisfied, i have retained my pride, i come back home and lie back. I am now Indian...no one can crush my unfathomable pride.

Unasbashed i go gaga over how my dear bhai-behen, ma-beti, baap-daada are treated
outside the country...But i forget....they kill my pride everyday. My Indianess is shaken every minute. Another fellow Indian is stripping my ego every second.

Is there nothing to fathom...when 14 men molest a women on a new years night, when mind-boggling statistics reveal that a woman is being raped every 30 minutes in a safe metro like Mumbai OR when Dalit women are being stripped for the lowliness of their caste (just do a google search and i wont be surprised if you were shocked) and paraded throughout the village naked in the eyes of thier sons/fathers/husbands.

Where is my glory then....when man kills man in the name of religion, when a muslim faces the wrath of marrying a rich Marwari Hindu somewhere in Kolkatta or when the west of my country triumphs in the name of communalism wherein people harp on the development by Narendra Modi and forget the thousands of innocent victims of the Godhra riots in 2002.

Isn't my vanity crushed when the youth speak of politics 'as shit' and a game of blood suckers (poli=many and tics=bloodsuckers) and blatantly refuse to be a part of it. I fear then...about my tomorrow...because i know not who would wish to lead.

I douse in my bhaartiya sanskriti...but these values and principles are only left in a lurch...when the young fag and booze endlessly and engage is promescuity, strongly asserting that their 'life' is nobodies business and your questioning is a criminal act of forbearance.

The youth believe its cool to release the burden of being a Virgin (which they can't hold far too long)....today, they would rather prefer too many name plates on their unvirgin card than gamble their lives for the nation at war or politics.

I then loose my stem of strength because i fail to comprehend to their lives and see it a self-mockery of my prolonged absitnence from this all.....

I then begin to dread being in the country of Naxals, and the LTTEs, i fear death in the name of fundamentalism when the SIMIs or equivalent of the Al- Qaida's glorify the radical nature of their religion and spread terror....
I then begin to loath on the 'Hindutava' that politicians keep talkin about without realising its impact on the innocent minority, which is a complete enslavement and vindication of their rights.....

If I force my insight further...i know i am nested in false pride from which i dont know if i would ever rise.....WHAT PRIDE then....Which INDIA then??